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“What do you want me to do with it?”
It was a moment before Wohl replied.
“Give it to Homicide. And then see if you can m
ake a connection to Cassandro.”
“Yes, sir.”
Wohl had an unpleasant thought. There was a strong possibility that he would have to remind Washington that a new chain of command was in effect. Washington was used to reporting directly to him. He might not like having to go through Weisbach.
“What did Weisbach say when you told him?”
“He said he thought we better give it to Homicide, but to ask you first.”
Thank God! Personnel conflict avoided.
“Write this down, Jason. The true sign of another man’s intelligence is the degree to which he agrees with you.”
Washington laughed.
“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and hung up.
“Who was that?” Amy asked.
“Jason Washington.”
“I thought so. How did he know you were here? What did you do, put an ad in the Bulletin? Who else knows where you spent the night?”
“There is a very short list of people who have to know where I am all the time. The tour lieutenant knows where to find me. Since only Matt and Jason called, to answer your question two people have reason to suspect I spent the night here.”
“God!”
“There is a solution to the problem,” Peter said. “I could make an honest woman of you.”
“Surely you jest,” she said after a moment’s pause.
“I don’t know if I am or not,” Peter said. “You better not consider that a firm offer.”
She stood up. “Now I’m sorry I fixed your face,” she said, and walked toward the bathroom.
“Nice ass,” he called after her.
She gave him the finger without turning and went into the bathroom, closing the door.
Jesus, where did that “make an honest woman of you” crack come from?
He stood up and started looking for his clothing.
Lieutenant Foster H. Lewis, Sr., of the Ninth District, a very tall, well-muscled man, was sitting in a wicker armchair on the enclosed porch of his home reading the Philadelphia Bulletin when Officer Foster H. Lewis, Jr., of Special Operations, pushed the door open and walked in.Tiny, who knew his father was working the midnight-out tour, was surprised to see him. It was his father’s custom, when he came off the midnight-out tour, to take a shower and go to bed and get his eight hours’ sleep. And here he was, in an obviously fresh white shirt, immaculately shaven, looking as if he was about to go on duty.
“I thought you were working the midnight-out,” Tiny said.
“Good morning, son. How are you? I am fine, thank you for asking,” Lieutenant Lewis said dryly.
“Sorry.”
“I was supposed to fill in for Lieutenant Prater, who was ill,” Lieutenant Lewis said. “When I got to the office, he had experienced a miraculous recovery. And I thought you were working days.”
