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“Not much. I’ve heard they’re very effective.” He chuckled, and added: “Sort of an unshaven Highway Patrol, in dirty clothes, beards, and T-shirts—concealing unauthorized weapons—reading ‘Legalize Marijuana,’ who cast fear into the drug culture by making middle-of-the-night raids.”
“Everybody in Five Squad, according to the Widow Kellog, is dirty, and she implied that they did her husband.”
“My God!”
“Washington believes her, at least about the whole Five Squad being dirty. Before all this crap happened, I was going to bring you in on it.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Practically speaking, our priorities are the Mayor’s priorities. I don’t think he wants to be surprised again by dirty Narcotics people the way he was with Cazerra and company. Internal Affairs dropped the ball on that one, and I don’t think we can give them the benefit of the doubt on this one. Yeah, it looks to me that you’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“What kind of help can I have?”
“Anything you want. Washington and Harris, after getting their hands dirty on the Cazerra job, would love to work on a nice clean Homicide, especially of a police officer. And if there is a tie to Narcotics…Jesus!”
“What?”
“I forgot about the Mayor ordering Payne into Homicide,” Wohl said. He reached for his telephone, pushed a button, and a moment later ordered, “Paul, would you get Chief Lowenstein for me, please?”
He put the telephone down.
“Drink your coffee, Mike,” he said. “The first thing you’re going to have to do is face the fact that your innocent, happy days as a staff inspector are over. You have just moved into the world of police politics, and you’re probably not going to like it at all.”
“That thought had already run through my mind,” Weisbach said. He picked up his mug and, shaking his head, put it to his mouth.
The telephone rang. Wohl picked it up.
“Good morning, Chief,” he said. “I wanted to check with you about sending Detective Payne to Homicide. Is that still on?”
He took the headset from his ear so that Weisbach could hear the Chief’s reply.
“Denny Coughlin just told me what happened to the Detweiler girl,” Lowenstein said. “I presume you’re giving Matt some time off?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, when he comes back, send him over whenever you can spare him. I’ve spoken to Captain Quaire. They’re waiting for him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And please tell him I’m sorry about what happened. That’s really a goddamn shame.”
“I’ll tell him that, sir. Thank you.”
“Nice talking to you, Peter,” Chief Lowenstein said, and hung up.
“He didn’t sound like someone about to retire, did he?” Weisbach said.
“No, he didn’t.”
One of the telephones on Wohl’s desk rang.
“This is what happens when I forget to tell Paul to hold my calls,” he said as he reached for it. “Inspector Wohl.”
“Ah, Peter,” Weisbach overheard. “How is the Beau Brummell of Philadelphia law enforcement this morning?”
“Why is it, Armando, that whenever I hear your voice, I think of King Henry the Sixth?”
“Peter, you are, as you well know, quoting that infamous Shakespearean ‘kill all the lawyers’ line out of context.”
