I called. I’m out of people, Inspector, I was hoping maybe you could help me out.”
“When are you not going to be out of people?”
“I had the feeling this was special, and that we should have good people on it. I’ll be out of good people until about eight o’clock tonight . . .”
“This is special,” Wohl interrupted without meaning to.
“. . . when I have two good people coming in. What I need between now and then is some way to get Hansen’s film to the Roundhouse lab. And if possible to relieve them.”
“They don’t like overtime?”
“I like to change people. I don’t want Lanza to remember seeing them on Ritner Street.”
“Yes, of course,” Wohl said, feeling more than a little stupid. “Swede, let me get right back to you. Where are you? Give me the number.”
He wrote the number down, put the telephone in its cradle, and then sat there for a moment, thinking.
I need one, better two, good men from now until eight. Who’s available? Jason Washington won’t do. Every cop in the Department knows him. Tony Harris? Jerry O’Dowd?
He pushed himself out of his chair and walked quickly out of his office, stopping at O’Mara’s desk.
“Call the duty lieutenant and find out what kind of an unmarked car we have that doesn’t look like an unmarked car,” he ordered, and then walked out without further explanation.
He walked quickly down the corridor to the door of the Special Investigations Section and pushed it open. Detective Tony Harris was there, and so were Sergeant Jerry O’Dowd, Officer Tiny Lewis, and Detective Matthew M. Payne. Only Lewis was in uniform.
“Tony,” Wohl began without preliminaries, “do you know a cop named Vito Lanza, now a corporal at the airport?”
“Yeah, I know him. He’s sort of an asshole.”
“Damn! Jerry?”
“No,” O’Dowd said, after a moment to think it over. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s going on around here?” Wohl asked.
“We’re waiting for the phone to ring,” Matt Payne said.
“I’m beginning to suspect the mad bomber is not going to call,” Tony Harris said.
“Spare me the sarcasm, please,” Wohl snapped.
“Sorry,” Harris said, sounding more or less contrite.
“I need somebody to surveil Lanza from right now until about eight,” Wohl said. "O’Dowd, I think you’re elected.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know a Sergeant Sanders? Officer Hansen?”
“Both.”
“Okay. They’re sitting on Lanza, who went on duty at three at the airport. I presume they’re parked someplace where they can watch Lanza’s car.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve got O’Mara looking for an unmarked car for you.”
“I’ve got my car here, Inspector, if that would help.”
“No. You might have to follow this guy, and you’d need a radio. ”
“Let him take mine,” Harris said.
You have tried, Detective Harris, and succeeded in making amends, for letting your loose mouth express your dissatisfaction for being here, instead of in Homicide.
“Good idea. Thank you, Tony,” Wohl said. “How are you with a camera, O’Dowd?”
“I can work one.”
“Take Larsen’s camera from him,” Wohl ordered. “Payne, you follow him down there. On the way, unless there’s some around here, get some film. I’m sure it’s 35mm. Sergeant O’Dowd will have the rolls of film Hansen has shot. Take them to the Roundhouse, have them developed and printed. Four copies, five by seven. Right then. If they give you any trouble, call me. Take a look at the pictures. See if you recognize anybody from your trip to the Poconos. If you do, call me. In fact, call me in any case. Then take three copies of the prints to Captain Olsen, in Internal Affairs. Bring the fourth set out here, and leave them on my desk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could I help, sir?” Officer Lewis asked.
"Looking for a little overtime, Tiny? Or are you bored waiting for the phone to ring?”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, Wohl regretted them, and wondered why he had snapped at Lewis.
“More the bored than the overtime, sir,” Tiny Lewis said. There was a hurt tone in his voice.
“When do you knock off here?”
“Five, sir.”
“When your replacement comes, change into civilian clothing, and then go see if you can make yourself useful to Sergeant O’Dowd. You don’t know Corporal Lanza, do you?”
“No, sir.”
“Tony, you sit on the phone. I’ll have the duty lieutenant send somebody to help you. Or maybe O’Mara?”
"O’Mara would be fine,” Harris said.
Wohl had another thought.
“Let me throw some names at you two,” he said, nodding at O’Dowd and Lewis. “Do you know Paulo Cassandro, Gian-Carlo Rosselli, or Jimmy the Knees Gnesci?”
Tiny Lewis shook his head, no, and looked embarrassed.