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Thirteen months after Sergeant Moffitt's death, his widow, Patricia, who had found work as a secretary-trainee with a law firm, met the son of the senior partner as they walked their small children near the Philadelphia Museum on a pleasant Sunday afternoon.
He told her that his wife had been killed eight months before in a traffic accident while returning from their lake house in the Pocono Mountains. Mrs. Patricia Moffitt became the second Mrs. Brewster Cortland Payne II two months after she met Mr. Payne and his children. Shortly thereafter Mr. Payne formally adopted Matthew Mark Moffitt as his son and led his wife through a similar process for his children by his first wife.
"Can I help you?" the cop on duty called to Matt Payne as Matt walked toward the elevators. It was not every day that a young man with a police officer's badge pinned to the silk lapel of a tuxedo walked across the lobby.
"I'm going to Homicide," Matt called back.
"Second floor," the cop said.
Matt nodded and got on the elevator.
The Homicide Division of the Philadelphia Police Department occupies a suite of second-floor rear offices.
Matt pushed the door open and stepped inside. There were half a dozen detectives in the room, all sitting at rather battered desks. None of them looked familiar. There was an office with a frosted glass door, with a sign, CAPTAIN HENRY C. QUAIRE, above it. Matt had met Captain Quaire, but the office was empty.
He walked toward the far end of the room, where there were two men standing beside a single desk that faced the others. Sitting at the desk was a dapper, well-dressed man in civilian clothing whom Matt surmised was the watch officer, the lieutenant in charge.
As he walked across the room he noticed that one of the two " interview rooms" on the corridor side of the room was occupied; a large, blondheaded man in a sleeveless T-shirt was sitting in a metal chair, his left wrist encircled by a hand-cuff. The other handcuff was fastened to a hole in the chair. The chair itself was bolted to the floor.
He saw Matt looking at him and gave him a look of utter contempt.
As Matt approached the desk at the end of the room the mustached, dark-skinned man sitting at it saw him coming and moved his head slightly. The other two men turned to look at him. Matt saw a brass nameplate on the desk, LIEUTENANT LOUIS NATALI, whom Matt surmised was the lieutenant in charge.
"My name is Payne, Lieutenant," Matt said as he reached the desk. "I was told to report here."
No one responded, and Matt was made uncomfortable by the unabashed examination he'd been given by all three men. The examination, he decided, was because of the dinner jacket, but there was something else in the air too.
"He's all yours," Lieutenant Natali said finally.
"Let's find someplace to talk," the smaller of the two detectives said, and gestured vaguely down the room.
There was an unoccupied desk, and Matt headed for it.
"Let's use this," the detective called. Matt stopped and turned and saw that the detective was pointing to the second, empty interview room. That seemed a little odd, but he walked through the door, anyway.
The two detectives followed him inside. One closed the door after them. The other, the one who had suggested the use of the interview room, signaled for Matt to sit in the interviewee's chair.
Matt looked at it with unease. There was a set of handcuffs lying on it, one of the cuffs locked through a hole in the chair.
"Go on, sit down," the detective said, adding, "Payne, my name is Dolan. Sergeant Dolan."
Matt offered his hand. Sergeant Dolan ignored it. Neither did he introduce the other detective.
"Where's your car, Payne?" Sergeant Dolan asked. "Outside? You mind if we have a look in it?"
"What?"
"I asked if you mind if we have a look in your car."
"I don't know where my car is right now," Matt replied. "Sorry. Why are you interested in my car?"
"What do you mean, you don't know where your car is?"
"I mean, I don't know where it is. I loaned it to somebody. "
"Somebody? Does somebody have a name?"
"You want to tell me what this is all about?"
