Badge Of Honor: The Victim Part 47

"h.e.l.lo, Precious," she said. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said. "What are you going to do with that thing?"

She pointed the clippers in the general direction of his crotch and opened and closed it. Both of his hands dropped to protect the area.

"Oh, come on," she said. "You know I wouldn't want to hurt that."

"I don't know," he said. "I hope not."

"Something is wrong," she said. "I can tell. Something happen at Bustleton and Bowler?"

"Nothing that anybody can do anything about," Pekach said.

"Well," she said, taking his arm. "You can tell me all about it over lunch. I made French onion soup. Made it. Not from one of those packet things. And a salad. With Roquefort dressing.''

"Sounds good," he said.

"And there's n.o.body in the house," she said. "Which I just happen to mention en pa.s.sant and not to give you any ideas."

"I always wonder when I eat this stuff," Jason Was.h.i.+ngton said as he skillfully picked up a piece of Peking Beef with chopsticks and dipped it in a mixture of mustard and plum preserves, "if they really eat it in Peking, or whether it was invented here by some Chinaman who figured Americans will eat anything."

"It's good," Peter Wohl said.

"They use a lot of monosodium glutamate," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "To bring the taste out. It doesn't bother me, but it gets to Martha. She thought she was having a heart attack-angina pectoris."

"Really?"

"Pain in the pectoral muscles," Was.h.i.+ngton explained, and pointed to his pectorals.

"She went to the doctor and told him that whenever she had Chinese food, she had angina pectoris. He said, in that case, don't eat Chinese food. And then, when she calmed down, he told her that making diagnoses was his business, and about the monosodium glutamate."

"I didn't know that," Wohl said, "about monosodium glutamate."

In his good time, Wohl thought, Jason will get around to telling me what's on his mind. He didn't ask if I was free for lunch because he didn't want to eat Peking Beef alone.

"I feel really bad about Matt Payne," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "If I had any idea he was going to see that Detweiler girl, I would have stopped him."

So that's what's on his mind.

"I know that," Wohl said. "He went over there to help me."

"He thinks you're really something special," Was.h.i.+ngton said.

"He thinks you make Sherlock Holmes look like a mental r.e.t.a.r.d," Wohl replied.

"If I was Matthew M. Payne and they put me back in uniform and in a 12th District wagon or handed me a wrench and told me to go around and turn off fire hydrants, I would quit."

"I think he probably will."

"We need young cops like that, Peter," Was.h.i.+ngton said.

"So?"

"I have a few favors owed me," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "How sore would you be if I called them in?''

"You'd be wasting them," Wohl said. "Czernick decided the way to cover his a.s.s was to jump on the kid before the mayor told him to. He knew that would p.i.s.s off a lot of people. Denny Coughlin, for one. If Coughlin goes to the mayor, and I really hope he doesn't, it would make the mayor choose between him and Czernick. I'm not sure how that would go. And while I agree, I would hate to see Matt resign, and I would really hate to see Denny Coughlin retire. I'd like to see Coughlin as commissioner."

"So you're saying, just let the kid go, right? 'For the good of the Department'?"

"Pekach and Sabara say they know people in the 12th. They'll put in a good word for him."

"You won't?"

"Feldman is the captain. When I was working as a staff inspector, I put his brother-in-law away."

"Christ, I forgot that. Lieutenant in Traffic? Extortion? They gave him five to fifteen?"

Wohl nodded. "I really don't think Captain Feldman would be receptive to anything kind I would have to say about Matt Payne."

"Interesting, isn't it, that Czernick sent Payne to the 12th?"

Wohl grunted.

"You think I could talk to Payne, tell him to hang in?"

"I wish you would. I think you might tip the scales."

"Okay," Jason Was.h.i.+ngton said, nodding his head. And then he changed the subject: "So what's the real story about DeZego and the pimp getting hit?"

"It's your job, you tell me," Wohl said.

"You haven't been thinking about it? That something smells with Savarese pointing Pekach at the pimp? Doing it himself?"

"I've been thinking that it smells," Wohl replied.

"Intelligence has a guy, I guess you know, in the Savarese family.''

Wohl nodded.

"I talked to him about an hour ago," Jason Was.h.i.+ngton said.

"Intelligence know you did that?''

"Intelligence doesn't even know I know who he is," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "He tells me that the word in the family is that Tony the Zee ripped off the pimp, the pimp popped him, and Savarese ordered the pimp hit. I even got a name for the doer, not that it would do us any good."

"One of Savarese's thugs?"

"One of his bodyguards. Gian-Carlo Rosselli, also known as Charley Russell."

"Who has eight people ready to swear he was in Atlantic City taking the sun with his wife and kids?"

Was.h.i.+ngton nodded.

"Tony the Zee ripped off the pimp?" Wohl asked. "How?"

"Drugs, what else?" Was.h.i.+ngton replied.

"You don't sound as if you believe that," Wohl said.

"I think that's what Savarese wants the family to think," Was.h.i.+ngton said.

"Why, do you think?"

"I think Savarese had DeZego hit, and doesn't want the family to know about it."

"Why?"

"Why did he have him hit? Couple of possibilities. Maybe Tony went in business for himself driving the shrimp up from the Gulf Coast. That would be enough. Tony the Zee was ambitious but not too smart. He might have figured, who would ever know if he brought a kilo of cocaine for himself back up here in his suitcase."

"Interesting," Wohl said.

"He was also quite a swordsman," Was.h.i.+ngton went on, "who could have played hide-the-salami with somebody's wife. They take the honor of their women seriously; adultery is a mortal sin."

"Wouldn't Savarese have made an example of him, if that was the case?"

"Not necessarily," Was.h.i.+ngton said. "Maybe the lady was important to him. Her reputation. Her honor. He might have ordered him hit to remove temptation. It didn't have to be a wife. It could have been a daughter-I mean, unmarried daughter. If it came out that Tony had dishonored somebody's daughter, she would have a h.e.l.l of a time finding a respectable husband. These people are very big, Peter, on respectability."

Wohl chuckled.

"You never heard of honor among thieves?" Was.h.i.+ngton asked innocently.

They both laughed.

"Why the h.e.l.l are we laughing?" Wohl asked.

"Everyone laughs at quaint native customs," Was.h.i.+ngton said, and then added, "Or both of the above. Bottom line: For one or more reasons we'll probably never find out, Savarese decided Tony the Zee had to go; he didn't want his family to know that he had ordered the hit, for one or more reasons we'll probably never find out, either; imported those two guys in the photos Dolan took to do the hit; and then had Gian-Carlo Rosselli, aka Charley Russell, hit Lanier, conveniently leaving the shotgun the imported shooters had used on Tony at the crime scene; and finally, pointed us at the pimp. We would then naturally a.s.sume that Lanier had gotten popped for having popped Tony DeZego and tell Mickey O'Hara and the other police reporters, which would lend credence to Savarese's innocence. He almost got away with it. He would have, if it hadn't been for Dolan's snapshots and those two Highway cops ha.s.sling the pimp and coming up with another shotgun."

Wohl exhaled audibly.

"One flaw in your a.n.a.lysis," he said finally. Was.h.i.+ngton looked at him curiously. "You said, 'He almost got away with it,' " Wohl went on. "He did get away with it. What the h.e.l.l have we got, Jason? We don't know who the professional hit men are, and we're not likely to find out. And if we did find them, we don't have anything on them. The only witness we have is a socialite junkie whose testimony would be useless even if we got her on the stand. And we can't hang the Lanier murder on Rosselli, or Russell, or whatever he calls himself. So the b.a.s.t.a.r.d did get away with it. G.o.dd.a.m.n, that makes me mad!"

"You win some and you lose some," Was.h.i.+ngton said, "that being my profound philosophical observation for the day."

"On top of which we look like the Keystone Kops in the newspapers and, for the cherry on top of the cake, have managed to antagonize H. Richard Detweiler, Esquire. Christ only knows what that's going to cost us down the pike. d.a.m.n!"

"What I was going to suggest, Peter," Was.h.i.+ngton said softly, "presuming you agreed with what I thought, is that I have a talk with Mickey O'Hara."

"About what?"

"Mickey doesn't like those guineas any more than I do. He could do one of those 'highly placed police official speaking on condition of anonymity' pieces."

"Saying what?"

"Saying the truth. That Tony the Zee was. .h.i.t for reasons known only to the mob, and that What's-his-name the pimp, Lanier, didn't do it. That would at least embarra.s.s Savarese."

Wohl sat for a long moment with his lips pursed, tapping the b.a.l.l.s of his fingers together.

"No," he said finally. "There are other ways to embarra.s.s Mr. Savarese."

"You want to tell me how?"

"You sure you want to know?"

Was.h.i.+ngton considered that a moment.

"Yeah, I want to know," he said. "Maybe I can help."

"So what you were telling me before," Martha said to Dave, interrupting herself to reach down on the bed and pull a sheet modestly over her, "is that although it's really not Inspector Wohl's fault, he looks very bad?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n shame. He's a h.e.l.l of a cop. I really admire him."

"And those gangsters are just going to get away with shooting the other gangster?''

"That happens all the time," Pekach said. "It's not like in the movies." He tucked his s.h.i.+rt in his trousers and pulled up his zipper. "Even if we somehow found those two, they would have alibis. They'll never wind up in court, is what I mean."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sometimes some things happen," Pekach said.

"Precious, what in the world are you talking about?"

"Nothing," he said. "What makes Wohl look bad is the shot cop. We don't have a d.a.m.n thing on that. And that's bad. It makes the Department look incompetent, stupid, if we can't get people who murder cops in cold blood. And it makes Peter Wohl look bad, because the mayor gave him the job."

"I understand," she said. "And there's nothing that he can do?''

"There's nothing anybody can do that isn't already being done. Unless we can find somebody who saw something-"

"What about offering a reward? Don't you do that?"

"Rewards come from people who are injured," Dave explained. "I mean, somebody knocks off the manager of an A&P supermarket, A&P would offer a reward. The Department doesn't have money for something like that, and even if there was a reward, we'd look silly, wouldn't we, offering it? It would be the same thing as admitting that we can't do the job the taxpayers are paying us to do."

"I don't think so," Martha said.

He finished dressing and examined himself in the mirror.