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Nice try, Wohl thought, somewhat unkindly, but a waste of effort. Matt Lowenstein wouldn’t vote Republican if Moses were heading the ticket.
“Tell the man about your unusual idea, Matt,” Callis said.
Lowenstein laid out, quickly but completely, what he had in mind.
“What do you think of the chief’s idea, Peter?” Stillwell asked.
Covering your ass, Still?
“We know what we think about it,” Callis said. “What we want to know is what you think about it.”
Thank you, Mr. District Attorney.
“All right. Gut reaction. Off the top of my head. I love it.”
“Why?” Callis asked.
“‘District Attorney Thomas J. Callis announced this afternoon that he will bring the six, eight, whatever it is, members of the gang calling themselves the Islamic Liberation Army before the Grand Jury immediately, and that he is confident the Grand Jury will return murder and armed robbery indictments against all of them.’”
“You were listening when Lowenstein said they have just the one witness?”
“Yes. And I was also listening when he said he thought other witnesses might experience a miraculous return of memory.”
“You want to put your money where your mouth is?” Callis asked.
“Am I going to be allowed to take part in this?”
“It’s yours, if you want it,” Callis said.
“I’ve got a pretty heavy schedule—”
“Meaning you really don’t want to get involved, now that you’ve had ten seconds to think it over?”
“Meaning, I’ll have to have some help with my present calendar.”
“No problem,” Callis said. “That can be arranged.”
Callis, Wohl thought unkindly, but with a certain degree of admiration, has just pulled a Carlucci. If this works, he will take, if not all, at least a substantial portion of the credit. And if it goes wrong, that will be Farnsworth Stillwell’s fault.
Or Matt Lowenstein’s fault. Or mine.
Probably the latter. When you get to the bottom line, Farnsworth Stillwell is smarter than either Lowenstein or me. Or at least less principled. Or both.
“Keep me up-to-date on what’s going on,” Callis said. “And later today, Still, I’ll want to talk to you about the municipal court judge.”
“Right, Chief,” Stillwell said. “Gentlemen, why don’t we go into the conference room and work out some of the details?”
“Thank you, Tommy,” Lowenstein said.
Callis grunted. When he gave his hand to Peter Wohl, he said, “You’d better hope your people can protect Mr. Monahan, Peter. For that matter you’d better hope he doesn’t have a heart attack.”
When Officer Matthew Payne walked into the Special Operations Office, the sergeant had given him the message that Inspector Wohl had called in at 7:12 to say that he would not be in until later, time unspecified.
Officer Payne sat down at his desk and opened the Bulletin. He had just started to read Mickey O’Hara’s story about the robbery and murder at Goldblatt & Sons Credit Furniture & Appliances, Inc., when, startling him, the newspaper was snatched out of his hands.
Officer Charles McFadden was standing there, looking very pleased with himself.
“Jesus Christ, Charley!”
