When Wohl came on the line, Commissioner Czernick asked, "Anything going on down there that you can't leave for five minutes?"
"No, sir."
"Then will you please come up here, Peter?"
There are four interview rooms in the first-floor Roundhouse offices of the Homicide Division of the Philadelphia Police Department. They are small windowless cubicles furnished with a table and several chairs. One of the chairs is constructed of steel and is firmly bolted to the floor. There is a hole in the seat through which handcuffs can be locked, when a suspect is judged likely to require this kind of restraint.
There is a one-way mirror on one wall, through which the interviewee and his interrogators can be observed without being seen. No real attempt is made to conceal its purpose. Very few people ever sit in an interview room who have not seen cop movies, or otherwise have acquired sometimes rather extensive knowledge of police interrogative techniques and equipment.
When Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson walked into Homicide, Miss Louise Dutton was in one of the interview rooms. Mawson recognized her from television. She was wearing a suit, with lace at the neck. She was better-looking than he remembered.
With her were three people, one of whom, Lieutenant DelRaye, Mawson had once had on the witness stand for a day and a half, enough time for them both to have acquired an enduring distaste for the other. There was a police stenographer, a gray-haired woman, and a young man in blue blazer and gray flannel slacks who looked like a successful automobile dealer, but who had to be, Mawson decided, Staff Inspector Wohl, "very bright; very young for his rank."
"Miss Dutton, I'm J. Dunlop Mawson," he said, and handed her his card. She glanced at it and handed it to Inspector Wohl, who looked at it, and handed it to Lieutenant DelRaye, who put it in his pocket.
"Lieutenant, I intended that for Miss Dutton," Mawson said.
"Sorry," DelRaye said, and retrieved the card and handed it to Louise.
"The station sent you, I suppose, Mr. Mawson?" Louise Dutton asked.
"Actually, it was your father," Mawson said.
"Okay," Louise Dutton said, obviously pleased. She looked at Inspector Wohl and smiled.
"Gentlemen, may I have a moment with my client?" Mawson asked.
"You're coming back?" Louise Dutton asked Inspector Wohl.
"Absolutely," Wohl said. "I'll just be a couple of minutes."
"Let's step out in the corridor a moment, Miss Dutton, shall we?" Mawson asked.
"What's wrong with here?"
"I meant alone," he said, gesturing at the one-way mirror. "And I wouldn't be at all surprised if there was a microphone in here that someone might inadvertently turn on."
She got up and followed him out of the room, and out of the Homicide office into the curved corridor. Mawson saw her eyes following Inspector Wohl as he walked down the corridor.
"How far did the interview get?" Mawson asked.
"Nowhere," she said. "The stenographer just got there."
"Good," he said. "I've been looking for you since four this morning, Miss Dutton. Where have they had you?"
"Since four?"
"Your father called from London at half past three," Mawson said.
"Okay," she said.
"I went to your apartment, and they said you had been taken here, and when I came here, no one seemed to know anything about you. Where did they have you?"
"What exactly are you going to do for me here and now, Mr. Mawson?" Louise replied.
"Well, I'll be present to advise you during their interview, of course. To protect your rights. You didn't answer my question, Miss Dutton?"
"You can't take the hint? That I didn't want to answer it?They didn't have me anywhere. Where I was, I don't think is any of your business."
"Your father is going to be curious, I'm sure of that."
"It's none of his business, either," Louise said.
"We seem to have somehow gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Dutton," Mawson said. "I'm really sorry. Let's try to start again. I'm here to protect your interests, your rights. To defend you, in other words. I' m on your side."
"My side? The cops are the bad guys? You've got that wrong, Mr. Mawson. I'm on their side. I'll tell the cops anything they want to know. I want them to catch whoever butchered Jerome Nelson."
"You misunderstand me," Mawson said.
"I want to be as helpful and cooperative as I can," Louise said. "I just wasn't up to it last night… or early this morning, and that's what that flap was all about. But I've had some rest, and now I'm willing to do whatever they want me to."
"What 'flap'?"
"There was some disagreement last night about when I was to come here," she said. "But Inspector Wohl took care of that."
"All I want to do, Miss Dutton, is protect your rights," Mawson said. "I'd like to be there when they question you."
"I can take care of my own rights," she said.
"Your father asked me to come here, Miss Dutton," Mawson said.
"Yeah, you said that," Louise said. She looked at him thoughtfully, obviously making up her mind. "Okay. So long as you understand how I feel."
"I understand," Mawson said. "You were close to Mr. Nelson?"
She didn't respond immediately.
"He was a friend when I needed one," she said, finally.
Mawson nodded. "Well, why don't we go back in there and get it over with?"
The door from the curving third-floor corridor to the commissioner's office opens onto a small anteroom, crowded with desks. The commissioner's private office is to the right; directly ahead is the commissioner's conference room, equipped with a long, rather ornate table. Its windows overlooked the just-completed Metropolitan Hospital on Race Street.
When Peter Wohl walked into the outer office, he saw the conference room was crowded with people. He recognized Deputy Commissioner Howell, Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, Captain Henry C. Quaire, commanding officer of the Homicide Bureau, Captain Charley Gaft of the Civil Disobedience Squad, Captain Jack McGovern of the Second District, and Chief Inspector of Detectives Matt Lowenstein before someone closed the door.
"He's waiting for you, Inspector," Sergeant Jank Jankowitz said, gesturing toward the commissioner's office door.
"Thank you," Peter said, and walked to the open door and put his head in.
"Come on in, Peter," Commissioner Czernick said. "And close the door."
"Good morning, sir," Peter said.
"I've got a meeting waiting. This will have to be quick," Czernick said. "I want to know what happened with that TV girl from the time I asked you to keep a lid on things. If something went wrong, start there."
"Nothing went wrong, sir," Peter said. "I had her taken from the scene by two cops I borrowed from Jack McGovern. She went to WCBL, and the cops stayed with her until she was finished. Then they took her home. I later went to her apartment and brought her to Homicide." He smiled, and went on: "Jason Washington put on his kindly uncle suit, and the interview went very well. She told me afterward she thought he was a really nice fellow."
Commissioner Czernick smiled, and went on: "But you did get involved with what happened later? With the Nelson murder?"
"Yes, sir. I was on my way home from dinner-"
"Did you go by the Moffitt house? I didn't see you. I saw your dad and mother."
"No, I didn't," Peter said. "I'm going to go to the wake. I went and had dinner… damn!"
"Something wrong?"
"I had dinner in Alfredo's," Peter said. "Vincenzo Savarese came by the table, with his wife and sister, and said he was sorry to hear about Dutch Moffitt, and left. When I called for the bill, they told me he'd picked up the tab. I forgot about that. I want to send a memo to Internal Affairs."