The Investigators Part 14

The telephone would not have, as he thought of it, pinged, had not Mrs. Irene Craig, his silver-haired, stylish, fiftyish secretary, been quite sure he would want to take the call. Irene had been his secretary-and confidante and friend-from the moment he had joined his father's law firm fresh from law school. She had been the first employee of B. C. Payne, Lawyer, when he had started out on his own, and their law offices had been two small and dark rooms in a run-down building on South Tenth Street.

The law offices of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester now occupied all of the eleventh floor and most of the twelfth floor of the Philadelphia Savings Fund Society Building on Market Street, east of Broad, and as befitted the executive secretary to the managing partner of what had arguably become Philadelphia's most prestigious law firm, Mrs. Craig's annual compensation exceeded that of seventy percent of the lawyers in Philadelphia.

She had other duties, of course, but she-quite correctly-regarded her primary function as the management of her employer's time, which included putting only those telephone calls through to him that she believed he not only would want to, but should, deal with himself.

A half hour before, she had been asked to bring him a pot of coffee and then to see that he wasn't disturbed. Under that circ.u.mstance, Mr. Payne knew Mrs. Craig would normally put through only a call from the president of the United States offering to nominate him for the position of chief justice of the United States Supreme Court, or from his wife. Everybody else would be asked if he could return their call.

He picked up the telephone.

"Brewster Payne," he said.

"Sorry to bother you," Mrs. Craig said, "but Armando C. Giacomo, Esquire, is on the line, begging for a brief moment of your time."

"The Colonel's not here?"

"I tried that. Manny wants to speak with you."

The Colonel was J. Dunlop Mawson, Esq., the other founding partner of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester, who had served as a lieutenant colonel, Judge Advocate General's Corps, U.S. Army, and loved the sound of that rank.

It was arguable whether the Colonel or Manny Giacomo was the most successful criminal lawyer in Philadelphia. Giacomo & Giacomo-the second Giacomo was his son, Armando C. Giacomo III-was a thirty-plus-attorney law firm with its own building on South 9th Street that did little else but criminal law.

The elder Giacomo-a slight, lithe, dapper, fifty-year-old who wore what little was left of his hair plastered to the sides of his tanned skull-was very good, and consequently, very expensive. Like Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, he had a well-earned reputation for defending, most often successfully and invariably with great skill, people charged with violation of the whole gamut of criminal offenses. His clients in criminal proceedings were seldom ordinary criminals, however, for the very good reason that ordinary criminals seldom had any money.

The difference between them was that from the beginning it had been understood between the Colonel and Brewster Payne that their firm would not represent the mob-as often called the Mafia-under any circ.u.mstances, and Giacomo often did.

Giacomo, himself the son of a lawyer and whose family had been in Philadelphia from the time of the Revolution, was a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania and the Yale School of Law. He had flown Corsairs as a naval aviator in the Korean War. He could have had a law practice much like that of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester's, which drew most of its clientele from the upper echelons of industry, banks, insurance companies, and from familial connections.

Manny Giacomo had elected, instead, to become a criminal lawyer, and had become known (unfairly, Payne thought, since mobsters were only a small fraction of his clients) as the mob's lawyer. Payne had come to believe-he knew Giacomo's personal ethics were impeccable-that Giacomo represented the mob primarily because they had the financial resources to pay him, but also because he really believed that an accused was ent.i.tled to the best legal representation he could get.

Giacomo was also held in high regard by most police officers, primarily because he represented, pro bono publico, pro bono publico, police officers charged with police brutality and other infractions of the law. police officers charged with police brutality and other infractions of the law.

Payne reached for one of the telephones on his desk and pushed a flas.h.i.+ng b.u.t.ton, aware that he was doing so for the same reason Mrs. Craig had put the call through: curiosity why Manny Giacomo wanted to speak to him, rather than the Colonel.

"Armando, how are you?" Payne said.

"Thank you for taking my call, Brewster."

"Don't I always take your calls?"

"No, I don't think you do. Sometimes, frankly, when Mrs. Craig tells me you just stepped out of the office, I suspect that you're at your desk and just don't want to talk to me."

"You don't really believe that, do you, Armando? Isn't that the tactic of putting someone on the defensive?"

Giacomo laughed. "Did it work?"

"To a degree. But it also heightened my instincts of self-preservation. What are you about to try to talk me into, Armando, that you already know I would rather not do?"

"I need a personal favor, Brewster."

"Personal? Or professional?"

"Truth to tell, a little of each."

"My curiosity is piqued. Go on."

"I represent a gentleman named Vincenzo Savarese."

"A 'gentleman' named Vincenzo Savarese? If that's the case, your Mr. Savarese is not the same chap who immediately came to my mind."

Silver-haired, sixty-four-year-old Vincenzo Savarese was the head of the Philadelphia mob.

"Mr. Savarese, my my Mr. Savarese," Giacomo said, "has never been convicted, in any court, of any offense against the peace and dignity of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania or any of the other United States of America." Mr. Savarese," Giacomo said, "has never been convicted, in any court, of any offense against the peace and dignity of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania or any of the other United States of America."

"Possibly he has a very good lawyer."

"I've heard that suggested," Giacomo said.

Payne chuckled.

"What do you want, Armando?"

"Mr. Savarese would be very grateful if you could spare him a few minutes, no more than five, of your time."

"He wants to talk to me?" Payne asked, incredulously. "What about?"

"What Mr. Savarese hopes is that you will give him five minutes of your time, in person."

"He wants to come here?"

"He would be grateful if you would permit him to do so."

"What does he want?"

"He would prefer to discuss that with you in person."

"What the h.e.l.l is going on, Armando?"

"Mr. Savarese would like to ask a personal favor of you."

"What kind of a personal favor?" Payne asked, just a little sharply.

There was a perceptible pause before Giacomo replied.

"It has to do with your daughter," Giacomo said.

"My daughter?" Payne asked, genuinely surprised, and then, without giving Giacomo time to reply, asked another question. "Is he there with you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, he is."

"I presume your client is aware that I do not accept criminal cases?"

There was another pause before Giacomo replied.

"Mr. Savarese has asked me to say that this is a personal matter and has nothing to do with the law."

"But it has something to do with my daughter?" Payne asked, rhetorically. "And when would he like to come see me?"

"Right now, if that would be convenient," Giacomo replied immediately. "For no more than five minutes."

Now there was a pause before Payne replied.

"I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, Armando, based on our past dealings."

"But you will see Mr. Savarese?" Giacomo asked.

"You want to come right now? You are coming with him, Armando?"

"Yes. And yes."

"Come ahead," Payne said.

Payne replaced the telephone in its cradle, shrugged, and then pushed the b.u.t.ton that would cause Mrs. Craig's telephone to tinkle.

She didn't answer.

She put her head in the door.

"You want me to find the Colonel?"

"I don't care what he's doing, I want him in here with me."

"Very curious," she said.

"She said, in ma.s.sive understatement," Payne said.

When Mrs. Irene Craig pushed open the door to Brewster Cortland Payne's office to admit Armando C. Giacomo, Esq., and Mr. Vincenzo Savarese, Mr. Payne, who was behind his desk, stood up. So did Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, a slim, dignified fifty-six-year-old, who had been seated in a green leather armchair to one side of a carved English (circa 1790) coffee table.

"Good morning, Counselor," Giacomo said, walking to Payne with his hand extended. "Thank you for receiving us on such short notice."

"h.e.l.lo, Armando," Payne said, and took the hand.

Giacomo crossed to Mawson. He did not seem surprised to find him in Payne's office.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Colonel," he said. "How nice to b.u.mp into you, so to speak, like this."

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Armando," Mawson said.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Vincenzo Savarese?" Giacomo said.

Savarese was slight, and had very pale, almost translucent skin. His eyes were prominent and intelligent, and he was dressed in a conservative, nearly black single-breasted, vested suit.

This man is a thug, Payne thought, Payne thought, and if the stories are true, a murderer by his own hand when he was younger-and in many other ways a criminal. I don't want to forget that. and if the stories are true, a murderer by his own hand when he was younger-and in many other ways a criminal. I don't want to forget that.

Savarese crossed first to Payne.

"I am in your debt, Mr. Payne, for receiving me under these circ.u.mstances."

He put out his hand. Payne took it and was surprised at how fragile and soft it was.

Didn't I hear someplace that he is an accomplished violinist?

"Colonel Mawson and I were having a cup of coffee," Payne said, gesturing toward the coffee table and the green leather furniture. "May I offer you a cup?"

"Thank you, no," Savarese said. "I don't want to take any more of your and Colonel Mawson's time than I have to."

"How may I be of service, Mr. Savarese?" Payne asked after Savarese had lowered himself gingerly onto the couch.

"I hope you will believe me that I would not have troubled you if it was not absolutely necessary," Savarese said. "May I get directly to the point?"

"Please do," Payne said.

"I come to you as a father and grandfather who needs help he cannot get elsewhere for his daughter and granddaughter."

"Go on," Payne said.

"My daughter is grown, a married woman, married to . . . Her husband is Randolph Longwood, of Bala Cynwyd. Perhaps you are familiar with the name?"

"The builder?" Colonel Mawson asked.

"Yes, the builder. I think I should say that I have no business relations.h.i.+p of any kind with my son-in-law."

"You know Randy Longwood, Brew," Mawson said. "He belongs to Rose Tree Hunt."

"Of course," Payne said, a little uncomfortably, and more than a little surprised that the ident.i.ty of Longwood's father-in-law had escaped the Rose Tree Hunt Club Members.h.i.+p Committee. He had had trouble getting Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson past it, as they had had questions about the suitability for members.h.i.+p of a lawyer practicing criminal law.

"My daughter has a daughter," Savarese went on, "who has recently suffered some sort of emotional shock."

Payne looked at him but said nothing.

"The nature of which we really don't know," Savarese continued. "Except that, whatever it was, it was quite severe. She is currently hospitalized at University Hospital. Her family physician had her admitted, and arranged for her to be attended by Dr. Aaron Stein."

"Stein is a fine . . ."-Payne stopped himself just in time from saying "psychiatrist"-"physician."

"So I understand," Savarese said. "He has recommended that my granddaughter be seen by Dr. Payne."