“Maybe that rule could be bent,” D’Amata said, smiling. “I heard Dr. Payne call Commissioner Coughlin ‘Uncle Denny,’ and Inspector Wohl ‘Honey.’ ”
“That was at the party,” Matt said, chuckling. “And subject to change. But she’s worked with us before, Harry. I don’t think there would be a problem.”
“What I think we should do now,” D’Amata said, “is seek the wise guidance of the Black Buddha. He’s a white shirt- they get paid to make decisions.”
Matt caused the screen of his laptop to go blank, then took out his cell phone and held down the number that caused the phone to automatically dial the cell phone of Lieutenant Jason Washington.
“Washington.”
“Payne, sir.”
“I was just about to call you, Sergeant Payne.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Where are you, Matthew?”
“At the scene, sir.”
“Stay there, and make sure D’Amata and Slayberg stay there. Commissioner Coughlin, Chief Lowenstein, Captain Quaire, and I will be there shortly, to exhort you vis-a-vis the rapid solution of that case.”
“Yes, sir.”
Washington turned off his cell phone.
NINE
Matt pushed the End button on his cellular. "Washington’s on his way here,” he announced. "And so are Coughlin, Lowenstein, and Quaire.”
"What’s that all about?” D’Amata asked.
Matt shrugged. “He wants the three of us here.”
“Was he in the office?” D’Amata asked.
“He didn’t say.”
“Then we have to go on the premise that he-they-may be two minutes away,” D’Amata said. “ ‘Jesus is coming, look busy.’ How can we best do that?”
“I don’t know about you two, but I’m going back to doing the scene,” Slayberg said, and walked out of the kitchen.
“Emperors and people like that like to be welcomed when they go someplace,” D’Amata said. “Matt, why don’t you and I go outside and wait?”
They left the apartment by the rear door. There was a uniform standing at the foot of the stairway, and other uniforms were standing just inside the POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape. On the other side of the tape there were not only more spectators than Matt expected-Cheryl Williamson’s body had been taken away; the show was over-but more than a dozen representatives of the print, radio, and television press.
He didn’t see Mickey O’Hara, and wondered where he was. Mickey was usually the first press guy at the scene of a murder.
The answer to that came when-ignoring questions several of the journalists called out-they walked around the end of the building to the front. There, behind the yellow-and — black POLICE LINE tape were even more spectators and representatives of the press, and Mickey O’Hara was among them. To make sure they didn’t cross the tape, two uniforms stood directly in front of the press, one male, one female, both looking as if they had left the Academy as long as two weeks ago.
On the inside of the tape, there were a number of police officers, in uniform, and others with badges visible on their civilian clothing. Captain Alex Smith, the Thirty-fifth District commander, and Lieutenant Lew Sawyer were talking to a woman with a badge on her dress, whom Matt remembered after a moment to be Captain Helene Durwinsky, the commanding officer of the Special Victims Unit, and a man with a lieutenant’s badge hanging on his suit jacket. He saw Detectives Domenico and Ellis, of Special Victims, standing a few feet from the white shirts, with several other detectives Matt didn’t recognize.
“You got the word?” Captain Smith said.
There was no question what “the word” was, but Matt didn’t know if Smith was speaking to him or Joe D’Amata.
“With no explanation, sir,” D’Amata replied.
“It may have something to do with Phil’s Philly,” Captain Smith said dryly. “On which-according to my wife, one of Phil’s most devoted listeners-about forty-five minutes ago, Mrs. McGrory spoke at some length about Miss Williamson being raped and tortured while the police stood not caring outside her door.”
“Oh, shit!” D’Amata said.
“I just talked to her,” Matt said. “I used her kitchen to talk to the brother. She didn’t say anything about talking to that ass… Phil’s Philly.”
Phil’s Philly was a very popular radio talk show. Philadelphians dissatisfied with something in the City of Brotherly Love could call the number, and be reasonably sure both of a sympathetic ear on the part of Phil Donaldson, and that Mr. Donaldson would then call-on the air-whoever had wronged the caller, to indignantly demand an explanation, an apology, and immediate corrective action.
“Well, she did,” Captain Smith went on. “My wife said that Phil’s first call was to Commissioner Mariani, and when Commissioner Mariani ‘was not available’ to take the call, Phil called the mayor. Who made the mistake of taking the call.”
Three unmarked cars pulled up shortly thereafter, within moments of each other. Television and still cameras recorded Deputy Commissioner Dennis V. Coughlin and Captain F. X. Hollaran as they walked into the apartment complex, ducked under the POLICE LINE tape, and walked up to Captain Smith’s group. Smith and Sawyer, who were in uniform, saluted.
The press then recorded the same out-of-the-car-and-under — the-tape movement of Captain Henry C. Quaire and Lieutenant Jason Washington, and then turned their attention to Chief Inspector of Detectives Matthew Lowenstein.
Lowenstein ducked under the tape and then spoke, while the cameras rolled, to the two young uniformed officers standing in front of the assembled press.
“Do you know who I am?” Lowenstein demanded, firmly, as flashbulbs went off and television cameras followed his movements.
“Yes, sir,” both young officers replied, in unison.
“Most of the ladies and gentlemen of the press will respect this crime scene tape,” Lowenstein said, pointing to it. “That one”-he pointed to Mickey O’Hara-"will more than likely try to sneak under it. If he does, use whatever force you feel is appropriate. Like breaking his arms and legs.”
“Yes, sir,” both young officers said, earnestly, in unison.
Mickey O’Hara laughed with delight.
Chief Lowenstein then walked up to the group around Deputy Commissioner Coughlin. The uniformed officers saluted him.
“I can’t believe you did that!” Coughlin said, not quite able to restrain a smile. “What the hell was that about?”
Chief Lowenstein was one of a tiny group of senior police officers who was not awed by either Deputy Commissioner Coughlin’s rank or his persona, possibly because they had graduated from the Police Academy together and had been close personal friends ever since.
“You all looked guilty as hell,” Lowenstein said. “Playing right into Philadelphia Phil’s hand. I decided a little levity was in order.”
“I hope Mickey doesn’t try to get past the tape,” Captain Hollaran said. “That female uniform’s got her eye on him.”
Deputy Commissioner Coughlin followed the nod of Hollaran’s head, saw a very determined, very slight, very young female police officer, her baton in her hands, glowering at Mickey O’Hara, who outweighed her by fifty pounds. Coughlin had a very difficult time not laughing out loud.
He returned his attention to the group and settled his eyes on Matt.
“Sergeant,” he ordered, “take us someplace where we can talk privately.”
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “Will you follow me, please, Commissioner? ”
He led the procession to the front stairs of the building and up them to Cheryl Williamson’s apartment. This was not the time, he decided, to take further advantage of Mrs. McGrory’s hospitality.
He led the procession into Cheryl Williamson’s kitchen. It was crowded with all of them in it.
“This will all seem a lot less amusing if that little scene is on the six o’clock news, and the mayor sees it,” Coughlin said. “Jesus, Matt!”