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“Get in your car,” he ordered, handing Matt Payne the large envelope. “Head for the Schuylkill Expressway. When you get there, call M-Mary One and get a location. Then either wait for them or catch up with them, and give Lieutenant Fellows this.”
“What is it?”
“When I got home last night, Officer Kellog’s widow was waiting for me. There is no question in her mind that her husband’s death has something to do with Narcotics. She also made a blanket indictment of Five Squad Narcotics. She says they’re all dirty. That’s a transcript, almost a verbatim one, of what she said.”
“You believe her?”
Washington shrugged. “I believe she believes what she told me. Wohl said to get it to the Mayor as soon as we can.”
Washington dialed the unlisted private number of the Commanding Officer, Highway Patrol from memory. It was answered on the second ring.“Captain Pekach.”
“Sergeant Washington, sir.”
“Honest to God, Jason, I was just thinking about you.”
“I was hoping you could spare a few minutes for me, sir.”
“That sounds somehow official.”
“Yes, sir. Inspector Wohl asked me to talk to you.”
“You’re in the building?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come on, then. You’ve got me worried.”
When Washington walked into Captain Pekach’s office, Pekach was in the special uniform worn only by the Highway Patrol, breeches and boots and a Sam Browne belt going back to the days when the Highway Patrol’s primary function had been to patrol major thoroughfares on motorcycles.Washington thought about that as he walked to Pekach’s desk to somewhat formally shake Pekach’s offered hand: They used to be called “the bandit chasers”; now they call them “Carlucci’s Commandos.” Worse, “The Gestapo.”
“Thank you for seeing me, sir.”
“Curiosity overwhelms me, Sergeant,” Pekach said. “Coffee, Jason’?”
“Thank you,” Washington said.
Pekach walked around his desk to a small table holding a coffee machine, poured two mugs, handed one to Washington, and then, waving Washington into one of the two upholstered armchairs, sat down in the other and stretched his booted legs out in front of him.
“OK, what’s on your mind?”
“Officer Kellog. The Narcotics Five Squad,” Washington said. “The boss suggested I talk to you about both.”
“What’s our interest in that?”
“This is all out of school,” Washington said.
Pekach held up the hand holding his mug in a gesture that meant, understood.
“The Widow Kellog came to my apartment last night,” Washington said. “She is convinced that her husband’s death is Narcotics-related.”
“She came to your apartment?” Pekach asked, visibly surprised, and without waiting for a reply, went on: “I think that’s a good possibility. Actually, when I said I was thinking about you just before you called, I was going to ask you if Homicide had come up with something along that line. I figured you would know if they had come up with something.”
“She is also convinced that Officer Kellog was, and the entire Narcotics Five Squad is, dirty,” Washington went on.
This produced, as Washington feared it would, an indignant reaction. Pekach’s face tightened, and his eyes turned cold.
“Bullshit,” he said. “Jerry Kellog worked for me before he went on the Five Squad. A good, smart, hardworking, honest cop. Which is how he got onto the Five Squad. I recommended him.”
“How much do you know about the Five Squad?”
