That mystery was immediately explained when both the Hon. Alvin W. Martin, mayor of the City of Philadelphia, and Monsignor Schneider climbed out of the Cadillac. Police Commissioner Ralph J. Mariani got quickly out of the passenger’s front seat of the Crown Victoria and walked up to them.
“I guess I better start looking busy,” the Highway sergeant said, and started to walk back to the Highway bikes. As he passed the mayor and party, he saluted. Commissioner Mariani waved him over.
A moment later, the Highway sergeant pointed to Matt, and a moment after that, started to walk quickly-almost trot-back to where Matt and McFadden were standing.
“The commissioner wants to see you,” the Highway sergeant said.
“Oh, shit,” Matt muttered, and walked over.
“Good morning, Mr. Mayor, Commissioner, Monsignor,” Matt said.
“My goodness,” Monsignor Schneider said, “what happened to your face?”
“I lost my footing chasing a fellow last night, Monsignor.”
“How was that, Sergeant?” the mayor asked.
“I was chasing a car thief, sir.”
“The one on Knight’s Road?” Commissioner Mariani asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Sergeant,” the commissioner said. “But it was a little more than that, wasn’t it? The fellow ran a light, slammed into a family in a van, and sent them all to the hospital? And then left the scene?”
"Yes, sir.”
“I saw that in the paper,” the mayor said.
“Did you catch him?” Monsignor Schneider asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“You really do get around, don’t you, Sergeant?” the monsignor said, admiringly.
“What’s with the hand?” the commissioner asked.
“I bruised it on the driveway, sir.”
“And still managed to catch this fellow?” the monsignor asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you do, walk up on it, Sergeant?” Mariani asked.
“Yes, sir. I was taking… a detective-we were working on the Williamson job-home. And it happened right in front of us.”
“And how is that going?” Schneider asked. “The Williamson ’job,’ I think you said?”
“Well, sir, we have a pretty good psychological profile of the doer that should help us find him, and we have some pretty good evidence to put him away once we do-”
“For example?” the monsignor interrupted.
“With all respect, Monsignor, I’m not supposed to talk about details of an ongoing investigation.”
“And that’s a good rule, and I’m pleased to see you’re paying attention to it,” Commissioner Mariani said. “But I’d like to know, and I think the mayor would, and neither the mayor nor me is about to ask Monsignor Schneider to give us a moment alone. I’m sure he understands why.”
“My lips are sealed, Sergeant,” the monsignor said.
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “There was sperm at the scene, sir. They are already doing the DNA. Once we catch this fellow, get another DNA sample from him, and match it, it’ll prove conclusively that he was at the scene.”
“The certainty of a DNA match is on the order of several million to one, Monsignor,” Commissioner Mariani pronounced.
“Absolutely fascinating,” the monsignor said. “I was just telling the commissioner and the mayor, Sergeant, that when I last spoke with Stan, he made it pretty clear that while he’s here-and we don’t have him occupied-he’d like to spend some time watching the police-specifically you, Sergeant- at work. I confess I hadn’t thought about what you just said about your having to be closemouthed about details of an ongoing investigation.”
“I don’t think that would be any problem with Mr. Colt,” the mayor said. “Do you, Commissioner?”
“The problem, Mr. Mayor,” Mariani replied, “would be making sure that Mr. Colt understood that whatever he saw, or heard, when he was with Sergeant Payne couldn’t go any further.”
“I don’t think that would be a problem at all,” Monsignor Schneider said. “I’m sure Stan would understand. After all, he’s played a detective on the screen so often.”
The commissioner smiled. A little wanly, Matt thought.
A Traffic Unit sergeant walked up to them, saluted, and said, “Commissioner, Mr. Colt’s airplane’s about to land.”
Lieutenant Ross J. Mueller of the Forensic Laboratory of the Pennsylvania State Police in Harrisburg rose to his feet and extended his hand when Tony Harris was shown into his office.
“What can we do for you, Detective?” he asked, smiling cordially.
Mueller was a very large, muscular man who wore a tight-fitting uniform and his hair in a crew cut. Tony remembered what Dick Candelle had said about him probably having trouble finding his ass with both hands.
“Thank you for seeing me, sir,” Tony said, “but I really hoped I could see Lieutenant Stecker.”
Mueller looked at his watch.
“At the end of this tour-in other words, in an hour and five minutes-Lieutenant Stecker will hang up his uniform hat for the last time, and enter a well-deserved retirement. I’m taking his place. Now, how can Headquarters help Philadelphia?”
“Sir, I’m working a homicide…”
“In what capacity?”
“Sir?”
“As the lead detective? One of the investigators? In what capacity?”
“I’m the lead detective on the job, sir.”
“And you’re here officially?”
“Yes, sir, I’m here officially.”
“I thought perhaps that was the case. I don’t recall hearing that you were coming.”
“Sir, I just got in the car and came out here.”
“You didn’t check with your supervisor so that he could make an appointment for you?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“And who is your supervisor?”
“Lieutenant Jason Washington, sir.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” Lieutenant Mueller said, writing Washington’s name on a lined pad.
If you don’t know who Jason Washington is, Herr Storm Trooper, you really can’t find your ass with both hands.
“Could you give me his phone number, please?” Lieutenant Mueller asked.
Tony gave him, from memory, the number of the commanding officer of the K-9 Unit of the Philadelphia police department. It was in his memory because he had noticed that it was identical, except for the last two digits, which were reversed, to that of the Homicide Unit.
He had made the quick judgment that despite his implied offer to help, Lieutenant Mueller was going to be part of the problem, not a solution.
“I’m going to call your Lieutenant and introduce myself,” Lieutenant Mueller said, “and suggest the next time he thinks we can help Philadelphia, he call and set up an appointment.”
“Yes, sir. Sir, I wasn’t aware that was necessary, and I don’t think Lieutenant Washington is, either.”
“Probably not,” Mueller said, smiling. “But you’ve heard, I’m sure, Detective… Harris, was it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That a new broom sweeps clean.”
“Yes, sir, I’ve heard that.”
“I’m the new broom around here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you’re here. So how may we be of assistance?”
“Sir, as I said, I’m working a homicide. We have a visor hat… like a baseball cap, without a crown, that the doer left at the scene. Our lab, specifically Mr. Richard Candelle, has been able to lift only a partial that’s probably an index finger.”
"Candelle, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I believe I have met your Mr. Candelle. African-American, isn’t he?”
“Yes, sir. He is.”
“Go on, Detective Harris.”
“I was hoping that you could have a look at it, and see if you couldn’t find more than we have.”
“We have, as you might not be aware, an Automated Fingerprint Identification System.”
“Yes, sir. I’ve heard that.”
“It’s state-of-the-art technology. In the hands of an expert- I’ve been certified in its use myself-it sometimes can do remarkable things.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, we’ll have a look at it for you, Detective. And get word back to you within, possibly, seventy-two hours.”