was due to his closeness to the mayor than to give the mayor the benefit of the doubt, and to believe Carlucci had given Wohl Special Operations, and had the expired Inspector’s List reopened, because he really believed Wohl was the best man in the Department for the job, and that he deserved the promotion.
When the Wohls came out of the Commissioner’s office door into one of the curving corridors of the Roundhouse, and started walking toward the elevators, Captain Richard Olsen of Internal Affairs walked up to them.
“Looking for me, Swede?” Wohl asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“I guess you know my dad? What about my mother?”
“Chief,” Olsen said. “Good to see you again. How do you do, Mrs. Wohl?”
“I’m doing very well, thank you, after what just happened in there,” Olga Wohl said.
“And just what happened in there?”
“Say hello to the newest inspector,” Chief Wohl said.
“No kidding?” Olsen said. “Jesus, Peter, congratulations. Well deserved.”
He took Wohl’s hand and shook it with enthusiasm.
Swede seems genuinely pleased. But my fans are still outnumbered by maybe ten to one.
“Thanks, Swede. It will not be necessary for you to kiss my ring.”
“Peter!” Olga Wohl said. “Really!”
“What’s up Swede? You were looking for me?”
“First of all, don’t jump on Mike Sabara for telling me where I could find you. I practically had to get down on my knees and beg.”
“That’s not good enough,” Wohl said. “As my first official act as an inspector, I’ll have him shot at sunrise. Did your guys come up with something last night?”
“Yeah. Could you give me a minute?”
“Peter, I understand,” Chief Wohl said. “We’ll get out of your way.”
He hugged his son briefly, but affectionately, and then, after she’d kissed their son, propelled Olga Wohl toward the elevator.
“You want to go get a cup of coffee or something?” Olsen asked.
“I didn’t have any breakfast,” Wohl said. “So I need some, which I think, under the circumstances, I’ll even pay for.”
“I know just the place,” Olsen said. “If that was an invitation.”
Olsen led him, on foot, to The Mall, a bar and restaurant on 9th Street. It was popular not only with the Internal Affairs people, but also with Homicide detectives. Wohl had spent a lot of time and money in The Mall as both a staff inspector and when he’d been in Homicide. It was just what he wanted now, for it offered a nice menu and comfortable chairs at a table where their conversation would not be overheard.
He ordered Taylor ham and eggs, hash browns and coffee.
“Same for me, please,” Olsen said, and waited for the waitress to leave.
“I sent for Sergeant Framm and Detective Pillare first thing this morning . . .” Olsen began.
“They’re the two you had on Lanza?” Wohl interrupted.
Olsen nodded.
“. . . Framm opened the conversation by saying, ‘It couldn’t be helped, Captain, he dodged through traffic.’ ”
“Oh, shit, they lost him?”
“They did,” Olsen said. “And your Sergeant O’Dowd did . . .”
"O’Dowd was there too?”
Olsen nodded again. “And he lost him too, but your man Payne stayed with him.”
“Detective Payne was there too?”
Goddammit, Lanza knows Matt, and he shouldn’t have been anywhere near him. I am going to have to sit on him, and hard.
“And he followed him to an apartment house in Center City, and then arranged for a somewhat chagrined Sergeant Framm, Detective Pillare, and Sergeant O’Dowd to join him.”
If O’Dowd was there, and what the hell was he doing there, he knew Payne was there, and should not have been there. Unless, of course, O’Dowd told Matt to be there. Jesus Christ!
“You lose people. It happens to everybody. It’s certainly happened to me,” Wohl said.
“Shortly after Lanza got to the apartment building, Mr. Gian-Carlo Rosselli and Mr. Paulo Cassandro entered the premises, stayed approximately twenty minutes, and then left, obviously pleased with themselves, and went to the bar at the Hotel Warwick where they stayed until closing.”
“Who did Lanza see in the apartment building?”
“A lady,” Olsen said, and handed Wohl a photograph. “Brilliant detective work by myself this morning identified her as Antoinette Marie Wolinski Schermer, believed by Organized Crime to be the girlfriend of Mr. Ricco Baltazari, proprietor of Ristorante Alfredo.”
“What’s she doing with Lanza? He spend the night there?”
“Yeah, and it’s not the first time.”
The waitress delivered the coffee.
“I’m going to need another one of these,” Wohl said to her.
She nodded and left. Wohl took a sip, then another, then looked at Olsen.
“It would seem he has nice friends, our Corporal Lanza,” Wohl said.
“Yeah, doesn’t he?” Olsen replied. “So I