calling from the tavern down the corner from our friend’s house. He drove straight here, with the suitcase, and took it into the house.”
“Good man,” Wohl said.
“Oooops, there he comes.”
“With the suitcase?”
“No. He doesn’t have it. He’s changed out of his uniform.”
“You’re going to stay there, right?”
“Right. He’s walking back to his car. But Captain Olsen can see him. No problem.”
“Olsen is on him?” Wohl asked, surprised.
“Yes, sir. Olsen won’t lose him.”
“If anything happens, call this number, they’ll know where to get me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to send somebody to back you up,” Wohl said. “In case somebody interesting comes to pick up the suitcase.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good job, Jerry,” Wohl said, and hung up.
If Olsen can work this job himself, why can’t I? I’d love to catch Ricco Baltazari or one of his pals walking down Ritner Street with that suitcase in his hand.
Dangerous thought. No!
“Jack, can we get our hands on Tony Harris?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get on the horn to him and tell him to go back up O’Dowd.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then turn this over to the duty lieutenant and go home and get some sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That applies to you too, Detective Payne. With all the jumping from roof to roof, and through windows, you’ve done today, I’m sure you’re worn out. Go home and go to bed. I want you here at eight A.M., bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
That, to judge by the kicked puppy look in your eyes, was another failed attempt to be jocular.
“Yes, sir.”
Or is there something else wrong with him? Something is wrong.
“Jack, you want to go somewhere for a nightcap?” Wohl asked. “The reason I am being so generous is that I just took forty bucks from my father and Chief Coughlin, who don’t play poker nearly as well as they think they do.”
“I accept, Inspector. Thank you.”
“The invitation includes you, Detective Payne, if you promise not to jump through a window or otherwise embarrass Lieutenant Malone and me.”
“Thank you, I’ll try to behave.”
The look of gratitude in your eyes now, Matt, is almost pathetic. What the hell is wrong with you?
Jack Malone had two drinks, the second reluctantly, and then said he had to get to bed before he went to sleep at the bar.
“I’m going to call the Schoolhouse, and see what happened to Lanza,” Wohl said. “And then I’m going home. Order one more, please, Matt.”
Two minutes later, Wohl got back on the bar stool beside Payne.
“Lanza went to the Schermer woman’s apartment. The lights went out, and Olsen figures he’s in for the night,” he reported.
“And you’re hoping that somebody will show up at his house for the suitcase?” Payne asked.
Wohl nodded. “We may get lucky.”
“Why didn’t he take it with him? Isn’t that woman involved?”
“I don’t know how much she’s involved, and I don’t know why he left the suitcase at his house. These people are very careful.”
Payne nodded.
“And now that Malone has gone home, and I don’t have to be officially outraged—as opposed to personally admiring—at your roof-jumping escapade, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”
“Jesus, does it show?”
“Yeah, it shows.”
Matt looked at him for a moment, and then at his drink for a longer moment, before finally saying, “Penny Detweiler is in the psycho ward at University Hospital.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wohl said.
But not surprised. A junkie is a junkie is a junkie.
“I put her there,” Matt said.
“What do you mean, you put her there?”
“You really don’t want to hear this.”
You’re right. I really don’t want to hear this.
“I’m not trying to pry, Matt. But, hell, sometimes if you talk things over, when you’re finished, they don’t seem to be as bad.”
It was quarter to two when Inspector Wohl, not without misgivings, installed Detective Payne behind the wheel of the unmarked Ford and sent him home with the admonition to try not to run any stoplights or into a station wagon full of nuns.
I believed what I told him, that if it hadn’t been the other woman showing up at his apartment, that it would have been something else. That being turned loose from a drug addiction program does not mean the addiction is cured, just that, so far as they can tell, it’s on hold.
But clearly, if the horny little bastard wasn’t fucking every woman in town, it would not have happened. Taking the Detweiler girl to bed was idiotic. He has earned every ounce of the weight of shameful regret he’s carrying.
But his wallowing in guilt isn’t going to do anybody any good.