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“Mickey.”
“Mickey, we should be going,” Eleanor said. “We’ve been here long enough.”
“You’re right,” Mickey said. He tossed his drink down, shook hands all around, and opened the door for Eleanor.
“Interesting man,” Brewster Payne said as the door closed after them.
“He’s supposed to be the best police reporter on the Eastern Seaboard.”
“He has a Pulitzer, I believe,” Brewster Payne said, and then changed the subject. “Denny Coughlin tells me you insist on going to your apartment when they turn you loose?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How much do you know of what else has happened?”
“I know about the threats, and the firebomb. Is there something else?”
“No. I just didn’t know how much you knew. Just before we came here, Dick Detweiler phoned. They wanted to come see you—he called earlier, as soon as he heard what had happened—but I told him you were getting out in the morning.”
“Thank you.”
“He also volunteered to send out to Wallingford as many of the Nesfoods plant security people as would be necessary for as long as would be necessary. The point of this is that if the reason you don’t want to come home is because of your concern for your mother and me, that won’t be a problem. Dick would really like to help.”
“I’m a cop,” Matt said. “I’m not about to let these scumbags run me out of town.”
“I told you that’s what he would say,” Patricia Payne said.
“And I’ll have people with me,” Matt said.
“That was explained to us in great detail by Denny Coughlin. Having said that, I think Denny would be more comfortable if you were in Wallingford.”
“I’m going to the apartment, Dad,” Matt said.
“The police are taking these threats seriously, honey,” Patricia Payne said. “Getting in to see you is like trying to walk into the White House.”
“I suspect Uncle Denny had a lot to do with whatever security there is here,” Matt said. “In his godfather, as opposed to chief inspector of police, role.”
“I think that probably has a lot to do with it,” Brewster Payne agreed, smiling. “Okay. You change your mind—I suspect you’ll get claustrophobia in your apartment—and we’ll get you out to the house.”
The door opened again, and a nurse came in. She was well under one hundred pounds, but she was every bit as formidable and outraged as the two-hundred-pounder Patricia Payne had imagined.
“Liquor is absolutely forbidden,” she announced. “I should think you would have known that.”
“I tried to tell my wife that,” Brewster C. Payne said, straight-faced, “but she wouldn’t listen to me.”
Matt laughed heartily, and even more heartily when he saw the look on his mother’s face. Each time his stomach contracted in laughter his leg hurt.
Jason Washington was waiting for Peter Wohl when he walked into the building at Bustleton and Bowler at five minutes to eight the next morning.
“Morning, Jason.”
“Can I have a minute, Inspector?”
“Sure. Come on in the office. With a little bit of luck, there will be hot coffee.”
“How about here? This will only take a yes or a no.”
“Okay. What’s on your mind?”
