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I wonder why Martha Peebles doesn’t talk that way, using the teeth-clenched diction Stillwell’s wife does? Peter Wohl wondered.
According to Matt Payne, Martha has more money than God, and this house makes it rather obvious that she didn’t make it last week. Ergo, she too should talk through her nose and as if she has lockjaw.
But she doesn’t. Martha sounds, if not like Lois Sabara, at least like my mother, and Stillwell’s wife sounds exactly like the horny married lady from Bala Cynwyd on Matt’s answering machine.
“And how, Inspector Wohl, is Officer Payne?” Helene asked.
Jesus H. Christ! Don’t let your dirty imagination run away with you!
“It’s quarter to eight, Helene. By now I’d say he’s on the third pitcher of beer and convinced, given the chance, he could solve all the problems of the Police Department.”
“I don’t quite follow you?”
“He’s on the town, more or less.”
“I thought he was—that you had him under protection in some mysterious place. And he’s on the town?”
“No mysterious place. He’s in his apartment. And tonight he’s at the FOP—the Fraternal Order of Police building, on Spring Garden Street. Jack Malone, who is in charge of his security, decided that if there was any place more secure than Matt’s apartment, it would be downstairs in the FOP, where there are generally at least a hundred armed cops.”
“Yes, of course,” Helene said through clenched teeth and sounding exactly like the horny lady from Bala Cynwyd on Matt’s answering machine.
Except, of course, we don’t know that she’s from Bala Cynwyd. Warren Lomax said she sounded like she was from Bala Cynwyd.
“I’m going to drop in on him tomorrow morning,” Wohl said. “I’ll tell him you were asking about him.”
“Yes, please. He’s such a nice young man.”
And such a comfort to a bored teeth clencher to boot? And that is a martini you’re drinking, Helene, isn’t it?
“Peter,” Farnsworth Stillwell said, walking up. “I really do have to have a word with you.”
“Certainly.”
“Martha, I need a few minutes alone with Inspector Wohl. Is there somewhere?”
“David, darling, would you take them into the library?”
“Sure,” Pekach said.
“Thank you, David darling,” Wohl said softly as he followed Pekach out of the room.
Pekach glared at him, and then smiled and shook his head.
“Do I detect a certain element of jealousy, Inspector?”
“Absolutely, David.”
Do I really think that Matt is fucking Stillwell’s wife? And presuming for the sake of argument that I do, am I annoyed because that’s a pretty fucking dumb thing for him to be doing? Or because he’s getting in where Peter Wohl ain’t?
r /> “I hope, Farnsworth,” Wohl said as he followed Pekach into the library, “that this won’t take long. My glass seems to have a hole in it.”
“No problem,” Pekach said. “Martha’s father never liked to get far from the sauce.”
He heaved on what looked like a chest. It unfolded upward into a bar.
“There’s even a refrigerator and running water in this thing,” Pekach said, demonstrating.
“How nice,” Stillwell said.
