"Matt's supposed to call later with the name of the safe-deposit box number. Jason's going to do everything about a search warrant but hand it to a judge for his signature."
Coughlin nodded.
Wohl handed him the sheet of paper on which Dr. Martinez had written, "Miss Cynthia Longwood was stripped naked and orally raped by a policeman under circumstances that were themselves traumatic."
Coughlin's eyebrows went up, and he looked at Wohl for amplification.
"Amy gave me that this morning," Wohl said.
Coughlin went off on a tangent.
"You've been seeing a lot of Amy, haven't you?"
"How do you define 'a lot'?"
"You know how to define 'a lot,' " Coughlin said. "Does Amy believe this?"
Wohl nodded.
"This is a patient of hers?"
Wohl nodded again, and added, "And she's Vincenzo Savarese's granddaughter."
"I heard his daughter had married a Main Line guy," Coughlin said "but I didn't make the connection until just now. Longwood is the builder, right?"
Wohl nodded.
"You think Savarese knows about this?"
"I think that message-it was phoned in to the hospital for Amy in the wee hours this morning-came from Savarese. "
"Savarese called the hospital?"
"More likely one of his goons. I talked to the doctor and the nurse who talked to them. Both agreed the guy on the phone didn't use the kind of vocabulary in the message. "
"Anything else?"
"Amy is concerned about violating medical ethics, and when I told her I was going to talk to you about this, asked me to tell you this girl is about to get shoved off the cliff into schizophrenia, and please be careful."
"That's all?"
"She found traces of hard stuff in the girl's blood, making her-and me-think there's a drug connection."
Coughlin grunted, read the message again, then raised his eyes to Wohl.
"You thinking what I'm thinking, Peter?"
"I hope so," Wohl said.
Coughlin made a "give it to me" gesture with his hand.
"There was a drug bust. That's the 'already traumatic circumstances.' Then this animal did this to her, and let her go. What is she going to do? Walk into a district and tell the desk sergeant, 'I was making a buy, and one of your cops'…?"
"You think Savarese has also figured that out?"
"No one has ever accused Savarese of being slow."
"Anybody but you know about this?"
"Washington."
Coughlin's eyebrows rose in question.
"There's a boyfriend. He has not called the hospital. I told Jason to find out who he is."
"But not to talk to him?"
"Not to talk to him."
"And next?"
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Chief. How do I handle this?"
"You talk to the boyfriend. Do you think Washington has anything yet?"
"He's had two hours. Let me find a phone, and I'll find out."
He started to push himself away from the table. Coughlin waved him back into it.
"Now that you've joined the upper crust, Peter," Coughlin said smiling at him, "let me show you how the upper crust finds a telephone."
He twisted around in his chair, caught a waiter's eye, and put his balled fist next to his ear, miming someone holding a telephone. The waiter nodded and immediately brought a telephone to their table, plugging it into a socket on the table leg.
"Thank you," Coughlin said smiling at Wohl, then dialed a number from memory.
Wohl thought it interesting that Coughlin had not found it necessary to ask for Washington's number.
He either has a great memory-which is of course possible-or he has been calling that number frequently.
"How much were you able to learn about the boyfriend? " Coughlin began the conversation without any other opening comment.
Wohl smiled. He knew that Jason Washington had begun his police career walking a beat in Center City under Lieutenant Dennis V. Coughlin. They had been friends-and mutual admirers-ever since. Polite opening comments were not necessary. Washington would immediately recognize Coughlin's voice and know what Coughlin wanted to know.
Coughlin, in an automatic action, had taken a small leather-bound notebook and a pencil from his pocket. He scribbled quickly on it as Washington replied.
"Sit on it until I get back to you. I'm with Wohl," Coughlin said and hung up.
Now it was Peter Wohl's turn to look at Coughlin with a question on his face.
"One boyfriend," Coughlin said. "Ronald R. Ketcham, twenty-five, five-ten, brown hair, 165 pounds, no record except for traffic violations, lives in one of the garden apartments on Overbrook Avenue near Episcopal Academy…"
He looked at Wohl until Wohl indicated he knew the garden apartment complex, and then went on:
"… works for Wendell, Wilson, the stockbrokers in Bala Cynwyd. Has not been to work for three days, and has not been seen around his apartment. His car, a Buick coupe, is locked up in the garage. There are no signs of forcible entry into his apartment, and no signs of any kind of a struggle inside the apartment. He could, of course, be in Atlantic City."
"Or passed through Atlantic City on his way to swim with the fishes," Peter said.
"You think?"
"If Savarese found out this guy was with his granddaughter when she was raped."
"How could Savarese know that?" Coughlin asked.
"How could he know she was raped?" Peter countered.
"Maybe he found this guy before Jason did."
"If that's the case…" Peter said.
"Yeah," Coughlin said. "Savarese is now looking for the cop."
"I'm tempted to say let him have him," Peter said.
"You don't even want to start thinking things like that, Peter," Coughlin said almost paternally.
"The other thought I have been having, if this went down the way I think it did, was that-"
"It sounds like something an already dirty Five Squad cop would do?"
Wohl nodded.
"Knowing that another dirty cop would not turn him in," Coughlin agreed.
Both of them fell silent for nearly a full minute.
"You open to suggestion, Peter?" Coughlin finally asked.
"Wide open," Wohl said.
"Okay. Tell Jason to find out what else he can about Mr. Ketcham. I'll put out a Locate, Do Not Detain on him. And I will think about what to do about our friend Vincenzo. "
"For example?"
"I know that you think it would probably be a good thing, but we really can't permit Savarese to cut the limbs off this scumbag one at a time with a dull knife," Coughlin said.
"My mouth ran away with me," Peter said.
"So long as it wasn't your heart," Coughlin said.
"I wish we had more than 'seems likely' to tie somebody on Five Squad to the oral rape-"
"We don't even have 'seems likely,' all we have is 'could be,' " Coughlin interrupted. "What are you thinking? "
"We go into Calhoun's safe-deposit box in Harrisburg. And then Jason explains to him that not only do we now have him with money he can't explain, but that we are about to find out who raped this girl, and in his own best interests, he should tell us about everything."
"Too many 'ifs.' There may be nothing in that box to incriminate him about anything. And if we go into the box, then they know we're looking at them. And they shut down. And what if Calhoun is the scumbag who did that to the girl?"
"Then Jason tells him who the girl is, and that unless he goes along, we tell Grandpa."
Coughlin looked at him.
"Maybe you will get to be police commissioner," he said. "I am seeing in you a certain amoral ruthlessness I never noticed before."
He met Peter's eyes, then stood up.
"For the time being, only you, me, and Jason. Agreed?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thank you for lunch, Peter."
"Chief, I'm sorry I didn't ask you before I accepted…"