I’m Brother Jerome, and that is Brother Matthew,” the man said.
Marion turned and saw another man, a younger one, almost a boy, nicely dressed, standing behind him, just inside the door.
“The Lord sent you?”
“Yes, He did,” Brother Jerome said.
“Why?”
“You misunderstood the Lord’s message, Marion,” Brother Jerome said. “You have the Lord’s method out of sequence.”
“I don’t understand,” Marion said.
O’Dowd picked up the Bible from the desk and read aloud: “ ‘I smote you with blasting and with mildew and with hail in all the labours of your hands; yet ye turned not to me.’ ”
“Haggai 2:17,” Marion said.
“Precisely,” Brother Jerome said, adding kindly, “First mildew, Marion. Then hail, and only finally blasting.”
“Oh,” Marion said. “Oh! Now I understand.”
“Marion, could I see your newspaper, please?” the younger man asked.
“Certainly,” Marion said and gave it to him. Then he turned back to Brother Jerome. “I knew the Lord wanted to tell me something,” he said.
Brother Matthew patted the newspaper as if he expected to find something in it. Brother Jerome gave him a dirty look. Brother Matthew shook his head, no, and shrugged.
“Well, the Lord understands, Marion,” Brother Jerome said. “You were trying, and the Lord knows that.”
“Marion, where’s the transmitter?” Brother Matthew asked.
Brother Jerome closed his eyes.
“It’s in the 30th Street Station,” Marion said. “Why do you want to know?”
“The Lord wants us to take over from here, Marion,” Brother Jerome said. “He knows how hard you’ve been working. Where’s the transmitter in 30th Street Station?”
“In a locker,” Marion said, and reached in his watch pocket and took out several keys. “I really can’t tell you which of these keys . . .”
“It’s all right, Marion,” Brother Jerome said, taking the keys from him. “We’ll find it.”
At 7:45 P.M., Detective Matthew M. Payne got off the elevator in the Psychiatric Wing of the University of Pennsylvania Hospital.
One of the nurses at the Nursing Station, a formidable red-haired harridan, told him that Miss Detweiler was in 9023, but he couldn’t see her because his name wasn’t on the list, and anyway, her doctor was in there.
“Dr. Payne is expecting me,” Matt said. “Ninety twenty-three, you said?”
Penny was sitting in a chrome, vinyl-upholstered chair by the window. She was wearing a hospital gown and, he could not help but notice, absolutely nothing else. Amelia Payne, M.D., was sitting on the bed.
“What are you doing here?” Dr. Payne snapped.
“I heard this is where the action is,” Matt said.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Amy said. “I think you had better leave.”
“Please, Amy!” Penny said.
“Take a walk, Amy,” Matt said.
Dr. Payne considered that for a long moment, and then pushed herself off the bed and walked to the door, where she turned.
“Five minutes,” she said, and left.
Matt walked over to Penny and handed her a grease-stained paper bag.
“Ribs,” he said. “They’re cold by now, but I’ll bet they’ll be better than what they serve in here.”
“I don’t suppose I could have eaten roses, but candy would have been nice,” Penny said. “Matt, are you disgusted with me?”
“I was,” he blurted. “Until just now. When I saw you.”
“My parents blame you for the whole thing, you know,” she said.
“I figured that would happen.”
“Amy says it was my fault.”
“Amy’s right,” Matt said. “If you had thrown something at me, even taken a shot at me, that would have been my fault. But what you did to yourself . . .”
Penny suddenly pushed herself out of the chair. She threw the bag of ribs at the garbage can and missed. She turned to the window. Matt could see her backbone and the crack of her buttocks. He looked away, then headed for the door.
“Amy’s right. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Penny turned.
“Matt!”
He looked at her.
“Matt, don’t leave me!”
After a long moment, he said, his voice on the edge of breaking, “Penny, I don’t know what to do with you!”
“Give me a chance,” she said. “Give us a chance!”
Then she walked, almost ran to him, stopped and looked up at him.
“Please, Matt,” she said, and then his arms went around her.
I love her.
A junkie is a junkie is a junkie.
Oh, shit!
District Attorney Thomas J. Callis, after a psychiatric examination of Marion Claude Wheatley, petitioned the court for Mr. Wheatley’s involuntary commitment to a psychiatric institution for the criminally insane. The petition was granted.
District Attorney Callis, after studying the available evidence, decided that it was insufficient to bring Mr. Paulo Cassandro, Mr. Ricco Baltazari, Mr. Gian-Carlo Rosselli, or any of the others mentioned in Mr. Vito Lanza’s sworn statements to trial.
Mr. Vito Lanza, on a plea of guilty to charges of possession of controlled substances with the intention to distribute, was sentenced to two years imprisonment. At Mr. Callis’s recommendation, no charges were brought against Mrs. Magdelana Lanza.
Inspector Peter Wohl retained command of the Special Operations Division of the Philadelphia Police Department.
Detective Matthew M. Payne was led to believe by Supervisory Special Agent H. Charles Larkin of the Secret Service that his application for appointment to the Secret Service would be favorably received. Detective Payne declined to make such an application.
Mr. Ricco Baltazari was found shot to death in a drainage ditch in the Tinnicum Swamps near Philadelphia International Airport. No arrests have been made to date in the case.