The Assassin Part 22

"Maybe we could take up a collection," Wohl said. "Put a pickle jar in every district."

He pushed open the door to his apartment and went inside.

"I need a shower," he said. "If you haven't already drunk it all, help yourself to a beer, and then call the tour lieutenant and tell him I'll be at Pekach's . . . Martha Peebles's Martha Peebles's."

"Yes, sir," Matt said.

He sat down on the white leather couch and pulled the telephone to him. There were lipstick-stained cigarette b.u.t.ts in the ashtray.

"You forgot to conceal the evidence," he called. "How did you do with whoever likes Purple Pa.s.sion lipstick?"

"And clean the ashtrays," Wohl called back. "And not that it's any of your business, but she told me she was not that kind of girl. She was deeply annoyed that I thought she would do that sort of thing on the fifth date."

Matt chuckled and dialed, from memory, the number of the lieutenant on duty at Special Operations.

"Special Operations, Lieutenant Wisser."

Must be somebody new. I don't know that name.

"Lieutenant, Inspector Wohl asked me to call in that until further notice, he'll be at the Peebles's residence in Chestnut Hill. The number's on the list under the gla.s.s on his desk."

"Who is this?"

"My name is Payne, sir. Detective Payne."

"I've been trying to reach the inspector. Is he with you?"

Matt could hear the sound of the shower.

"No, sir. But I can get a message to him in a couple of minutes."

"Tell him that Chief Wohl has been trying to get him. That he's to call. He said it was important."

"Yes, sir, I'll tell him."

"Do I know you, Payne?"

"I don't think so, sir."

The phone went dead in Matt's ear.

He replaced the telephone in its cradle, carried the ashtray into the kitchen, emptied it, took another Ortlieb's beer from the refrigerator, and sat on the couch with it and the current copy of Playboy Playboy until Wohl reappeared. until Wohl reappeared.

"Your dad wants you to call," Matt reported. "Lieutenant Wisser said he said it was important."

Wohl sat on the couch beside him and dialed the telephone.

Matt could only guess at what the conversation was, but there was no mistaking that Wohl's att.i.tude changed from concern to annoyance, and then resignation.

"Okay, Dad. Six-thirty, maybe a little later. Okay. Six-thirty, no later no later," he concluded, and hung up, and turned to Matt: "If you can find the hit man, tell him the mayor will probably be at 8231 Rock-well Avenue from about half past six."

"Oh?"

"It may just be for a friendly evening with old friends, and then again, it may not be," Wohl said.

Matt waited for more of an explanation, but none was forthcoming.

ELEVEN.

There was a light-skinned black man in a white coat standing under the portico of the Peebles's turn-of-the-century mansion when Wohl drove up.

"Good afternoon, sir. I'll take care of your car. Miss Peebles is at the barbecue pit."

He gestured toward a brick path leading from the house to a grove of trees.

Peter Wohl did not permit anyone else to drive his car. He had spent three years and more money than he liked to remember rebuilding it from the frame up, and had no intention of having it damaged by someone else.

"I'll park it, thank you. Around the back?"

"Beside the carriage house, if you please, sir."

Matt, who had followed him to the estate, now followed him to the carriage house.

There were two cars already parked there. One, a nearly new Ford four-door sedan both Matt and Wohl recognized as the unmarked Department car a.s.signed to Captain Mike Sabara, Wohl's deputy. The other was a four-year-old Chevrolet with a Fraternal Order of Police sticker in the rear winds.h.i.+eld.

They each noticed the other looking at it, and then shrugged almost simultaneously, indicating that neither recognized it.

They walked across the cobblestones past the carriage house (now a four-car garage) to the brick walk and toward the barbecue pit. They were almost out of sight of the house when they heard another car arrive.

It was a Buick Roadmaster Estate Wagon, and at the moment Matt decided that it looked vaguely familiar, there was proof. The Buick wagon stopped at the portico of the mansion and Miss Penelope Detweiler got out.

"s.h.i.+t," Matt said.

"Someone you know, I gather?" Wohl said.

"Precious Penny Detweiler," Matt said.

"Really?" Wohl sounded surprised.

"Before we send the hit man to the mayor's house, do you suppose he'd have time to do a job on Pekach's girlfriend?"

They reached the barbecue pit. It was a circular area perhaps fifty feet across, with brick benches, now covered with flowered cus.h.i.+ons, at the perimeter. There were several cast-iron tables and matching chairs, each topped with a large umbrella. Each table had been set with place mats and a full set of silver and gla.s.sware.

A bar had been set up, and another black man in a white jacket stood behind that. A third black man, older and wearing a gray jacket, whom Matt recognized as Evans, Martha Peebles's butler, was, a.s.sisted by Captain Pekach, adjusting the rack over a large bed of charcoal in the grill itself, a brick structure in the center of the circle.

"G.o.d," Wohl said softly, "ain't getting back to simple nature wonderful?"

Martha Peebles came up to them when they stepped inside the circle.

"I'm so glad you could come," she said. "David is fixing the fire."

She gave her cheek to Matt, who kissed it, and then to Wohl, who followed suit.

"I think I should warn you, Martha," Matt said. "That when he's at work, we don't let the captain play with matches."

"Penny Detweiler's coming," Martha said. "She should be here any minute."

"She's here."

"I ran into her and her mother at the butcher's, and I asked them to join us. . . ."

Matt smiled insincerely.

"And Grace said she and d.i.c.k were tied up, but Penny . . ."

"Would just love to come, right?" Matt said.

"And I told Grace you would drive her home, afterward. Is that all right?"

The bartender approached them.

"Can I get you gentlemen something?"

"How are you fixed for strychnine?"

"I'm beginning to suspect that wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done," Martha said. "If I did the wrong thing, Matt, I'm sorry. It was just that I knew she is just home . . ."

"I don't think you're capable of doing the wrong thing, Martha," Matt said. "On the other hand, I'm famous for being ill-mannered. Sure, I'll take her home." He turned to the bartender: "I'll have a beer, please. Ortlieb's, if you have it."

"The same for me, please," Wohl said.

Officer Paul T. O'Mara, holding a bottle of Pabst, walked up. He was in civilian clothing, a sports coat, and slacks.

"h.e.l.lo, Paul," Wohl said.

Matt decided Wohl was surprised and not entirely pleased to see whoever this guy was.

"Inspector, would you please call your father?"

"How old is that request?" Wohl asked.

"He called me at my dad's house about ten," O'Mara said. "He said he couldn't find you at your apartment. I called Captain Sabara . . ."

"And he said I'd probably be here?"

"Yes, sir."

"He got through to me," Wohl said. "But good job, Paul, running me down."

"Yes, sir. Miss Peebles asked me to stay . . ."

"How lucky for you."

"Captain Sabara said it would be all right."

"Paul, this is Matt Payne," Wohl said.

"Yes, sir, I know who he is." He put out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Payne."

"Paul took your job, Matt," Wohl said. "So far he's been doing a much better job than you ever did."

"Thanks a lot," Matt said.

Captain Mike Sabara, whose acne-scarred olive skin gave him a somewhat menacing appearance, walked up to them, trailed by his wife.

"How goes it, boss?" Sabara asked.

"Inspector," Mrs. Sabara said.

"h.e.l.lo, Helen," Wohl said. "It's good to see you."

"How are you, Matt? How's things at East Detectives?"

"Take a note, O'Mara," Wohl said. "The inspector desires that supervisors read departmental teletypes."

Sabara looked confused and possibly a little worried, but before he could question the remark, Captain Dave Pekach came up.

"I'm glad you could come," he said. "Both of you. How's East Detectives, Matt?"

"O'Mara," Wohl said. "Take two notes. Same subject."

"Excuse me?" Pekach said.

"Gentlemen, permit me to introduce the latest addition to our happy little family. Detective Payne. The reason I know this is Detective Payne showed me the teletype transferring him. Which was nice, because it was apparently never sent to Special Operations, or if it was, n.o.body ever thought to tell me about it."

"Jesus, Peter, I didn't see it," Mike Sabara said.

"Me, either," Pekach confessed.

"Inspector, I did," O'Mara said. "I guess I should have told you, but I just thought you would know."

"I would have thought so too," Wohl said.