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“Gotcha, huh?”
“Why aren’t you out fighting crime?”
“Need a favor.”
“Okay. Within reason.”
“Be my best man,” Charley said.
“I have this strange feeling you’re serious.”
“Margaret’s going to call her mother this morning; we’re going to get married in six weeks.”
“Yeah, sure, Charley. I’d be honored.”
“Thank you,” Charley said very seriously, shook Matt’s hand enthusiastically, and walked out of the office.
When he was gone, Matt picked up and read the Bulletin and then the Ledger. Both carried stories about the robbery of Goldblatt’s. The Ledger story was accompanied by a photograph of a press release from the Islamic Liberation Army, claiming responsibility. Mickey O’Hara’s story in the Bulletin hadn’t mentioned the Islamic Liberation Army.
Matt found that interesting. He allowed himself to hope that the press release was a hoax, on which the Ledger had bit, and which would show them up for the assholes they were.
The society pages of both newspapers (called “LIVING” in the Ledger) carried stories of the festivities of the Delaware Valley Cancer Society on Rittenhouse Square, complete with photographs of some of the guests, standing around holding plastic champagne glasses. Matt hoped that he would find Helene’s picture, and then, in the caption, her last name. He examined each of them carefully but was unable to find a picture of Helene.
Of course not. While this momentous occasion was being photographed for posterity, Helene and I were thrashing around in our birthday suits on my bed. It’s a shame I don’t have a picture of that for my memory book.
The telephone rang.
“Good morning. Inspector Wohl’s office, Officer Payne.”
“You’re remarkably cheerful,” Wohl’s voice said.
“Yes, sir. Every day, in every way, things are getting better and better.”
“I gather you were not alone in your monastic cell last night?”
“Yes, sir. That’s true.”
“I’m in the DA’s office, Matt. Get word to Pekach and Sabara that I want to see them in my office at half past eleven. Tell them to keep lunch free too.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the upper right drawer of my desk, you’ll find a ring of keys. They’re to the elementary school building at Frankford and Castor.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Get a car and take Lieutenant Malone over there. Tell him I want his assessment of the building as a headquarters—listen carefully: for Special Operations headquarters and Special Operations; for Special Operations headquarters and Highway; and for Special Operations headquarters, Special Operations, and Highway. All three possibilities. Got it?”
“Yes, sir. I understand.”
“Don’t help him,” Wohl said.
“Sir?” Matt asked, confused.
“I want to know what you think too, separately,” Wohl said. “Get him back in time for the eleven-thirty meeting.”
“Yes, sir. What would you like me to do with the stuff for the FBI?”
“You have it all?”
