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“At Bustleton and Bowler.”
“I want them separated,” Wohl said.
“Sergeant Carter was on the scene. I told him to keep the two groups—the three going off and the three coming on—apart. Or do you mean separated from each other?”
“I would be happier with separated from each other, but I suppose it’s too late for that now.”
“You think they really had something to do with this?”
“I honest to God don’t know what to think. But something, goddammit, went wrong.”
“Well, let’s go get you a fried egg sandwich.”
“What?”
“You need something in your stomach. Besides black coffee. The only food, in my experience, that hospital cafeterias can’t screw up is a fried egg sandwich.”
“I’ll eat later.”
“I told Tony to come to the cafeteria after he’s talked to Mrs. Monahan. Before I go charging off anywhere, I want to hear what Tony says.”
Wohl looked at him.
“Peter, come on. What you have to do is calm down.”
“Okay,” Wohl said after a moment. “You’re probably right.”
“A little Sen-Sen might be in order too,” Washington said. “And I hope you have an electric razor in your car.”
“That bad, huh?”
“What was the occasion?”
“Stillwell got me alone at Dave Pekach’s—Martha Peebles’s—house. There was a little party. They’re going to get married. Anyway, he told me that he’s getting appointed a state assistant DA. He offered me a job as his chief investigator.”
“You’ve lost me somewhere,” Washington said as they entered the cafeteria. “Go find a table. I’ll get it.”
Wohl sat down at a table, then spotted a soft drink machine. He went to it and deposited coins and got a can of 7-Up, which he drank down quickly. The cold produced a sharp pain in his sinus.
He remembered, as he pressed his fingers against his forehead, the telephone call he had made to Matt Payne sometime during the evening.
“Oh, shit!” he said aloud.
He deposited more coins and carried a second can of 7-Up back to the table.
Washington appeared carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee and four fried egg sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper on it.
Wohl took one. When the waxed paper was open his mouth salivated.
Jesus Christ, of all the times to tie one on!
“What, if anything, I think I have to ask, has been done about notifying anybody else?” Washington asked. “Specifically, the commissioner?”
“Mike Sabara called Lowenstein and Coughlin. I told him to ask Lowenstein to notify the commissioner, and I told him to tell both of them that I am trying to find out what the hell happened.”
“Then you’re not in as bad shape as you look,” Washington said.
“Oh, yes, I am,” Wohl said.
