The Investigators Part 75

When there was no immediate response, Jesus put his hand to the knocker again.

McFadden, who was nearly a foot taller and seventy pounds heavier than Martinez, shouldered him aside.

"Cool it, Jesus, okay? Give him a second!"

At the moment the door opened, Detective Payne looked out the crack, saw Detectives McFadden and Martinez, said, "Oh, s.h.i.+t!" and started to close the door.

Detective McFadden, in what was a Pavlovian response-he was accustomed to having people attempt to shut doors in his face-shoved his foot into the doorjamb and pushed against the door with his shoulder.

He didn't get it open, but neither did Detective Payne manage to close it.

They looked at each other through the crack.

"Can I come in or what?"

"Open the f.u.c.king door, Payne!" Jesus said.

Detective Payne shrugged, and opened the door.

"Surprise, surprise!" he said.

McFadden and Martinez walked through the door.

"What was that all about?" Charley asked, making reference to Matt's attempt to close the door in his face. And then he looked across the sitting room to the bedroom, and saw a d.a.m.ned good-looking female getting dressed. She was fastening her bra.s.siere; apparently she had not yet had time to put on her underpants.

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h!" Charley said, somewhat admiringly.

Matt went to the door to the bedroom and pulled it closed.

"I don't believe this. I honest to Christ don't believe this!" Jesus said.

"Sorry, Matt," Charley said. "What do you want us to do? Wait in the hall?"

"Why?" Matt said. "The cat, so to speak, is out of the bag. Just tell your friend there if he says something out of line, I'll tear his leg off and shove it up his a.s.s."

"Try it, hotshot!" Martinez said.

"Shut up, Jesus," Charley said firmly. "And keep it shut!"

"What's going on? What are you doing here?"

"Wohl sent us. Or maybe Chief Coughlin did. We got a warrant for Calhoun. . . . How long is-your friend-going to be in there?"

"She's about to leave," Matt said.

"Why don't we wait until she does?" McFadden said.

Matt nodded and went into the bedroom.

Susan was zipping up her skirt. She looked frightened, on the edge of tears.

"They're two guys I work with . . ." Matt began.

"You could have closed the G.o.dd.a.m.n door!" Susan said, almost sobbed.

"Honey! I didn't know. . . ."

"What do they want?"

"They've got a warrant for a guy, the dirty cop, I've been watching."

"I thought they'd come for me!"

"They don't even know who you are," Matt said rea.s.suringly.

"Just some bimbo you spent the night with, right?" she said, trying to make a joke of it.

"Well, I could introduce you to them as my fiancee, I suppose," Matt said, and then had a sobering thought. "What I am going to do is introduce you as somebody else. How about 'Patricia Walsh'? How does that sound?"

She looked at him with a blank expression.

"Just trying to cover all the bases," Matt said.

She went into the bathroom. He followed her and watched as she combed her hair and put on her lipstick.

"I'll call you at the office when I find out what's going on," Matt said.

"They have a recorder on my telephone at the office," Susan said.

"s.h.i.+t," Matt said, furious with himself for not remembering that. "Okay. Unless something happens, meet me downstairs at noon. We'll have lunch."

"Not at the bank?"

"Downstairs," he said. "Honey, I didn't have any idea those two were going to show up here!"

She walked out of the bathroom past him and stopped by the side of the bed to slip her feet into her shoes.

Matt thought there was something delightfully graceful and feminine in the way she did that, standing on one leg at a time, and then he saw the briefcase half full of the money Bryan Chenowith had stolen from banks and had given Susan to hold for him where he'd put it, between the bedside table and the bed.

s.h.i.+t!

Susan finished putting on her shoes, smiled uneasily at him, walked to the door to the sitting room, and waited for him.

He walked to her.

"I love you," Matt said.

"Oh, G.o.d!" Susan said, and put her hand up to touch his cheek.

Matt opened the door and motioned for her to precede him through it.

"Pat," he said. "This is Detective McFadden and Detective Martinez. This is Patricia Walsh."

"I'm happy to meet you, Pat," McFadden said, and smiled.

"How do you do?" Susan said.

Martinez said nothing.

Matt led Susan to the door to the corridor and opened it.

She looked up at him and then kissed him, rather chastely, on the lips.

"I'll see you later," Matt said.

Susan nodded and went out into the corridor. Matt closed the door after her.

"Very nice, Matt," McFadden said. "Sorry we walked-"

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

"What's with you?" McFadden snapped.

"I'm not sure if you're trying to cover for your buddy, or just stupid."

"What are you talking about?" McFadden asked, genuinely confused.

"Patricia Walsh, my a.s.s! That was Susan Reynolds!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" McFadden exclaimed in an exhale.

"What do you know about Susan Reynolds?" Matt asked Martinez.

"Wohl briefed us just before he sent us up here," McFadden said. "We know all about her."

"You're supposed to be surveilling her, not f.u.c.king her!" Martinez said. "I can't believe this. Not even from you, hotshot!"

Matt looked at Charley McFadden.

"Charley, it's not like that. I'm not just . . . f.u.c.king her!"

"What were you doing in there, then?" Martinez said. "Making another f.u.c.king bomb?"

Matt, his fist balled, took two quick steps toward Martinez.

McFadden, moving with surprising speed, stepped between them and put his hands on Matt's shoulders.

"Cool it, Matt!" he ordered.

He maintained the pressure of his ma.s.sive hands on Matt's shoulders until he felt him relax, then let him go and turned to Martinez.

"What Wohl told us, Jesus, was that we have nothing to do with what Matt's doing for the FBI. He said he was only telling us about that, those people, so that we wouldn't f.u.c.k it up by saying something, doing something, that might f.u.c.k up what he's he's doing." doing."

"What he's doing is-"

"Whatever he's doing is none of our f.u.c.king business, okay?" McFadden interrupted him.

Martinez shrugged.

"We're here to do what Wohl told us to do, and nothing more. You got that?"

"I hear what you're saying, Charley."

McFadden looked at his watch.

"It's ten minutes after seven. You're meeting this Lieutenant . . . whatsisname?"

"Deitrich," Matt furnished.

"At eight, right? Where?"

"Here."

"That gives us fifty minutes," McFadden said. "That ought to be enough time for us to tell you what's been going down. And to have breakfast. I'm starved."

"I think it would be better if we ate up here," Matt said. "What do you feel like eating?"

"I've been up all night. I could eat a f.u.c.king horse," Charley said.

"I don't think they have any horse," Matt said. "But they do a nice breakfast steak."

"Sounds good."

"Martinez?" Matt asked.

Martinez shrugged.

Matt picked up the telephone and ordered the Penn-Harris steak and eggs breakfast for two, and an extra-large pot of coffee.

"Good morning, Mr. Savarese. This is Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin of the Philadelphia Police Department. I hope I didn't call too early."

"What's on your mind, Mr. Coughlin?"

"I think it's quite important that we have a talk, Mr. Savarese, at your earliest convenience."