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And Martinez is not Matt Payne. He had two years undercover in Narcotics, and was damned good at it. He's had the time to develop the intuition. And he's not going off half-cocked, either, strictly on intuition. The last time he was here, he wouldn't give me this guy's name.
Wohl got up from the table and went into his bedroom. He took a small notebook from his bedside table, looked up a number, and dialed it.
"Chief Marchessi, this is Peter Wohl. Sorry to disturb you at home, sir. I think our man has come up with something. Have you got time in your schedule this morning to talk to us, sir?"
There was a pause.
"Thank you, Chief. We'll be there."
He hung up and went back in the kitchen.
"At half past eight, Hay-zus, we're going to see Chief Inspector Marchessi at Internal Affairs. You know where it is?"
"Yes, sir. At Third and Race."
"Be there."
"Yes, sir."
When Martinez had gone, Wohl went to the phone on the coffee table in his living room and dialed another number, this one from memory.
There was no answer on Detective Payne's line, and his answering machine did not kick in, although Wohl let it ring a long time.
Finally, he hung up and looked at his watch.
Christ, 1 won't get any breakfast at all!
****
At ten minutes past seven, Matt Payne very nearly drove Miss Penelope Detweiler's Mercedes into the wrought-iron gate of the Detweiler estate in Chestnut Hill.
He stopped so suddenly that Penny was thrown against the dashboard.
"When the hell did you start closing the goddamned gate?"
"No, I don't think I'm hurt, but thank you for asking, darling."
"Sorry. Are you all right?"
"I'm going to be sore all over," Penny said innocently. "If it's not one thing, it's another. Whatever am I going to do about you, Matthew darling?"
"What's with the gate?"
"There's some kind of a machine on it. It closes automatically at ten, something like that, and then opens automatically when it gets light in the morning."
"Not this morning."
He got out of the car and went to a telephone box and lifted a telephone receiver. It rang automatically.
"May I help you?" a voice said.
"Princess Penelope seeks entrance to the castle," Matt said.
"Yes, sir," the voice, which Matt now recognized as that of Jensen, the chauffeur, said. He did not seem amused.
The right half of the double gates creaked majestically open.
"I'll tell you something else that gate does," Matt said as he drove through it. "It permits your parents to know when your boyfriends bring you home."
