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“All I want to do, Miss Dutton, is protect your rights,” Mawson said. “I’d like to be there when they question you.”
“I can take care of my own rights,” she said.
“Your father asked me to come here, Miss Dutton,” Mawson said.
“Yeah, you said that,” Louise said. She looked at him thoughtfully, obviously making up her mind. “Okay. So long as you understand how I feel.”
“I understand,” Mawson said. “You were close to Mr. Nelson?”
She didn’t respond immediately.
“He was a friend when I needed one,” she said, finally.
Mawson nodded. “Well, why don’t we go back in there and get it over with?”
****
The door from the curving third-floor corridor to the commissioner’s office opens onto a small anteroom, crowded with desks. The commissioner’s private office is to the right; directly ahead is the commissioner’s conference room, equipped with a long, rather ornate table. Its windows overlooked the just-completed Metropolitan Hospital on Race Street.
When Peter Wohl walked into the outer office, he saw the conference room was crowded with people. He recognized Deputy Commissioner Howell, Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, Captain Henry C. Quaire, commanding officer of the Homicide Bureau, Captain Charley Gaft of the Civil Disobedience Squad, Captain Jack McGovern of the Second District, and Chief Inspector of Detectives Matt Lowenstein before someone closed the door.
“He’s waiting for you, Inspector,” Sergeant Jank Jankowitz said, gesturing toward the commissioner’s office door.
“Thank you,” Peter said, and walked to the open door and put his head in.
“Come on in, Peter,” Commissioner Czernick said. “And close the door.”
“Good morning, sir,” Peter said.
“I’ve got a meeting waiting. This will have to be quick,” Czernick said. “I want to know what happened with that TV girl from the time I asked you to keep a lid on things. If something went wrong, start there.”
“Nothing went wrong, sir,” Peter said. “I had her taken from the scene by two cops I borrowed from Jack McGovern. She went to WCBL, and the cops stayed with her until she was finished. Then they took her home. I later went to her apartment and brought her to Homicide.” He smiled, and went on: “Jason Washington put on his kindly uncle suit, and the interview went very well. She told me afterward she thought he was a really nice fellow.”
Commissioner Czernick smiled, and went on: “But you did get involved with what happened later? With the Nelson murder?”
“Yes, sir. I was on my way home from dinner—”
“Did you go by the Moffitt house? I didn’t see you. I saw your dad and mother.”
“No, I didn’t,” Peter said. “I’m going to go to the wake. I went and had dinner . . . damn!”
“Something wrong?”
“I had dinner in Alfredo’s,” Peter said. “Vincenzo Savarese came by the table, with his wife and sister, and said he was sorry to hear about Dutch Moffitt, and left. When I called for the bill, they told me he’d picked up the tab. I forgot about that. I want to send a memo to Internal Affairs.”
“Who were you with?”
“A girl named Barbara Crowley. She’s a nurse at the Psychiatric Institute.”
“That’s the girl you took to Herman Webb’s retirement party?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I admire your taste, Peter,” Commissioner Czernick said. “She seems to be a very fine young woman.”
“So my mother keeps telling me,” Wohl said.
“You should listen to your mother,” Czernick said, smiling.
