Detective Unger had, en route to the apartment, made a radio call.
"DA-1 to C-1."
"Go."
"Can you tell the commissioner that DA-1 is en route to the Roundhouse, and would like him to be there if he has the time?"
There was a thirty-second delay, which Detective Unger had correctly presumed was how long it took to relay the message to the commissioner in the backseat and get a response.
"DA-1, the commissioner will be there in thirty minutes."
Commissioner Mariani nodded at Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Chief of Detectives Lowenstein, and sat down in Coughlin's chair, left vacant for him at the head of the table.
"I didn't hear anything on the radio," he said. "What's going on?"
"We've positively identified one of the doers in the Roy Rogers job," Coughlin said. "And have a pretty good idea who the other one is. He fits the description, he's the other guy's cousin, and he's been in trouble with the doer before."
"Good. You could have told me that on the telephone. Who are they?"
"Two young guys from the Paschall Homes Housing Project, " Coughlin said. "You know, Seventy-second and Elm-wood in southwest Philly?"
Mariani nodded.
"Lawrence John Porter, twenty, the doer, the one we've been calling the 'fat guy,' and Ralph David Williams, nineteen, " Coughlin went on. "Neither has ever been in bad trouble before."
"How'd you find them?"
"Tony Harris went to Harrisburg. The State Police've got a new machine, and they could lift more points from the print than Candelle could here," Lowenstein said.
"Good points?"
"It wouldn't matter if they were, Ralph," Eileen said.
"Excuse me?"
"A federal judge refused to admit fingerprints in a trial-a trial here-a couple of months back."
"I heard something about that."
"I'm not saying it'll happen, but we do have judges here who like to make law by following federal precedent. If the prints are inadmissible, all you've got is witnesses…"
"Something wrong with that, Eileen?"
"All the defense has to do is create reasonable doubt in the mind of one juror," she said. "And we all know the jury pool always contains a number of people who are simply unable to believe that any black kid ever did anything wrong."
"You're not trying to tell me you think these two cop-killers are going to walk?"
"I'm trying to tell you, Ralph, that it's a possibility, which will become a certainty if we make any mistakes from here on in."
"God damn it!"
"That's the bad news, Ralph," Coughlin said. "The good news might, I say might, be that we can find the murder weapon… It's a revolver and we have a bullet-"
"And can tie the weapon to either one of these two," Eileen interjected. "Credibly tie it to either one of them."
"Or really get lucky, and once they're arrested, they confess. They're just a couple of young punks," Coughlin went on.
"Which any public defender six months out of law school will contend was obtained by mental duress…" Eileen said.
"Jesus," Lowenstein said.
"… or worse. And I don't think we can count on these two being defended by an incompetent from the Public Defender's Office. This is Murder Two, and they will assign the best man they've got. Or, worse than that, some really competent defense lawyer will take itpro bono because this trial's going to be all over the papers and TV."
"You've got their sheets?" Mariani asked.
Lowenstein shoved a folder across the conference table to him.
"There's not much," he said. "A couple of shoplifting charges, car burglaries, that sort of thing."
Mariani read the records of previous encounters with the law of the two suspects, shrugged, and then looked at Eileen Solomon.
"Okay, Eileen. What do you think we should do?"
"I don't think we should rush to arrest these two until we have a better case."
"Matt told me he was concerned that these two, having gotten away so far with the Roy Rogers job, and knowing you can only be executed once, might do the same sort of thing again, just as soon as they spend what they took from the Roy Rogers," Mariani said, but it was a question.
"That's a valid concern, and I share it," Eileen said.
"So you're suggesting we just sit on these two until we can make a really tight case?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Now that we know who they are, maybe we can get something from snitches," Lowenstein said. "For example, whether or not they still have the.38."
Mariani nodded.
"And we could run their mug shots before some of the witnesses and see if it jogs their memory," Coughlin said.
"Taking great care with that, so the defense can't claim we suggested whom the witnesses should pick out," Eileen said.
"How soon could you start surveillance of these two?" Mariani asked.
"I can have detectives from Southwest outside their door in however long it takes them to get there. I'd rather use undercover cars, which means I would have to have your permission to take a couple-five or six would be better-undercover cars away from the Impact Unit or Internal Affairs. With a little luck, I could have them in place in probably under an hour," Lowenstein said.
"You've got my permission, of course," Mariani said, then had a second thought. "No, you don't. Because you don't need it. Peter Wohl's already got the authority. The mayor ordered the formation of a Special Operations task force for this job, remember?"
"I remember," Lowenstein said.
"That's right," Coughlin said.
"He's already got authority to request support from everybody, right?" Mariani asked.
Coughlin and Lowenstein nodded.
"The mayor gave Wohl the job," Mariani said. "Let him do it. You better put the arm out for him."
"He's downstairs in Homicide with Quaire and Washington, " Lowenstein said.
"You already called him?" Mariani asked.
"I didn't have to. We were all having dinner at Augie Wohl's house when Quaire called me," Coughlin said.
"Okay, then, Denny," Mariani said, and then his voice changed as he added, formally, "Under your supervision, Commissioner Coughlin, the Special Operations task force, paying cognizance to the suggestions of the district attorney, will proceed with the investigation. So inform Inspector Wohl."
"Yes, sir," Coughlin said.
"Then that's it," Mariani said. "Eileen, we all appreciate your support."
"Let's do this right," Eileen said. "We need to get those two off the street permanently."
[THREE] When the district attorney of Philadelphia started to get off the Roundhouse elevator at the first floor, where the Homicide Division had its headquarters, she saw the surprise on the faces of Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Chief Inspector Lowenstein.
"Why not?" she asked. "I'm here. And the last I heard, I was welcome in Homicide."
"The last I heard, there was no place in the department where you are not more than welcome at any time," Coughlin said, and waved her off the elevator. "But I thought I detected a tone of annoyance in Ben's voice."
"We have a deal," she said. "I keep my mouth shut when the hospital calls Ben, and he keeps his shut when I have to work." She chuckled.
"What?" Lowenstein asked.
"One time when the hospital called, I said, 'Oh, hell, Ben, not now,' and he replied, 'You knew what you were getting into when you married a doctor.' "
Coughlin looked confused.
"Isn't that what you cops tell your wives when they complain about the odd hours you have to keep?" the D.A. asked.
Lowenstein chuckled.
"I don't have a wife. I wouldn't know," Coughlin said.
They got off the elevator and walked down the corridor to Homicide.