already in the right lane when Corporal Lanza abruptly moved into it.
He saw that the Pontiac and the Ford were trapped in the left lane, and thought, as the drivers of the Pontiac and the Ford did, that they could probably catch up with Lanza at South Broad and Oregon. But in the meantime, there was only one possible course of action for him to take, and he took it.
He drove the Bug onto the sidewalk, down the sidewalk to Pattison Avenue, and then down Pattison past the U.S. Naval Hospital and Franklin Delano Roosevelt Park to South Broad Street.
As he approached South Broad, as he saw Lanza’s Cadillac turn left onto South Broad Street, the traffic light turned orange and then red. Matt ran it, which caused the horns of several automobiles to sound angrily. But he did not lose Lanza, even though Lanza was driving like hell.
Policemen tend to do that, Matt thought wryly, remembering his encounter with the State Trooper on the way to the Oaks and Pines Lodge, secure in the knowledge they are unlikely to get a ticket from a brother officer.
The traffic lights at first Oregon Avenue and then Snyder Avenue were green, permitting the Lanza Cadillac and the Payne Volkswagen to sail through without stopping. They were stopped at Passyunk Avenue and South Broad Street, however, which gave Detective Payne the opportunity to search in vain in his rearview mirror for either a Ford or a Pontiac.
Corporal Lanza turned left at the intersection of South Broad and Spruce Streets, and then wove his way around to the Penn-Services Parking garage, which he entered.
Detective Payne was familiar with the Penn-Services Parking garage, which was around the corner from the Bellvue-Stratford Hotel and not far from his apartment and the Union League Club. It was in the Penn-Services Parking garage that Mr. Anthony “Tony the Zee” DeZego had met his untimely end at the hand of assassin or assassins unknown. Where Matt found Miss Penelope Detweiler lying in a pool of her own blood.
Matt drove around the block until he saw Corporal Lanza come out of the building. Lanza did not look at the Volkswagen as it passed him.
Matt parked the Volkswagen illegally in an alley and ran down the alley and saw Lanza crossing a street. He followed him as discreetly as he could, very much afraid that Lanza would sense his presence and turn around.
But he didn’t. He walked purposefully down a street and entered an apartment building. Matt looked around for a pay telephone but couldn’t see one.
He backtracked to the next block and found a tavern. He went inside, went to the phone booth, and searched his pockets futilely for coins. The bartender was visibly reluctant to make change for someone who didn’t even buy a lousy beer, but finally came through.
Matt called Police Radio and asked the dispatcher to pass to William Five (Harris’s radio call sign) his location.
Sergeant Jerry O’Dowd, in Tony Harris’s Ford, pulled up in front of the tavern less than ten minutes later. Before he was completely out of the car, the Pontiac pulled up behind him, and two men Matt had never seen before got out of it.
“Lanza’s in an apartment around the corner,” Matt said to O’Dowd.
“Good man,” O’Dowd said.
“Until you called me on the radio, O’Dowd, I didn’t know you were in on this,” one of the two men from the Pontiac said. He pointed at Matt. “Or him. He works for you?”
“Excuse me,” O’Dowd said politely. “Sergeant Framm, Detective Pillare, this is Detective Payne.”
Both men shook Matt’s hand.
“It’s a good thing we were, wouldn’t you say, Framm?” O’Dowd asked. “You lost Lanza before you got to the Naval Hospital.”
There was no doubt in Matt’s mind that Sergeant Framm was the man O’Dowd would not trust to follow an elephant down Broad Street.
“I got caught in traffic . . .” Framm began.
“Nobody, Olsen or Wohl, has to know about this,” O’Dowd interrupted. “Payne did not lose Lanza. Everything is fine.”
“Yeah, well . . . Hell, all’s well that ends well, right?”
“Show us the apartment, Matt,” O’Dowd said, “and then you can get some sleep.”
When Matt got back to the apartment, the red light on the answering machine was flashing.
“I knew you wouldn’t call me back,” Evelyn’s recorded voice said. “What have I done wrong, Matt?”
Mssrs. Paulo Cassandro, Joseph Fierello, Francesco Guttermo, Ricco Baltazari, and Gian-Carlo Rosselli were sitting at a table at the end of the bar off the lobby of the Hotel