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There were going to be at least thirty-knowing Martha, probably more-police officers at 606 Glengarry Lane, all of them armed, and many senior enough to be accompanied by their own armed drivers. The person of the district attorney was going to be about as safe as it could be. And if something happened that required the immediate presence of the district attorney, any of the white shirts’ unmarked cars would be available to take her there with siren howling.
But, because he went where she went, poor Al Unger would just have to hang around the car waiting for the radio to go off while the D.A. was at the party. He wouldn’t be alone. Deputy Commissioner Coughlin’s driver and the drivers of the other senior white shirts would also have to hang around waiting for their radios to go off. Martha Peebles Pekach would ensure, of course, that the caterer’s waiters would make sure they were fed.
Eileen was not surprised-the weather was wonderful- that the party was being held outside the stables. Alexander Peebles’s polo ponies were long gone, and the grass field where they had once played was ideal for an outside party.
Tables had been set up, and waiters moved among them serving drinks and steaks and Italian sausage from charcoal stoves.
Their hostess and her husband greeted them as they walked on the field.
“Sorry to be late, Ben had to work,” Eileen said, hugging Martha Peebles.
“You’re here, that’s all that matters,” Martha Peebles said. She kissed Dr. Solomon. “I put you with the Paynes,” Martha went on, gesturing toward one of the tables.
“Guess who I got a postcard from?” Captain Pekach said.
“When you get a minute, I’ve got something to tell you about that,” Eileen said.
“In a couple of minutes,” Pekach said.
Eileen saw Ben smiling, and she saw why. Amelia A. Payne, M.D., was sitting with her parents. Ben not only would have someone to talk to-he really had little in common with the cops, or for that matter with Brewster C. Payne-and he and Amy Payne both liked each other and shared a disdain for some of their fellow healers at the University of Pennsylvania Medical School and many of UP’s bureaucratic procedures, about which they could-and almost certainly would-talk at length.
Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Brewster C. Payne got to their feet as the Solomons approached the table.
The men wordlessly shook hands. Eileen sat down beside Patricia Payne, and Ben sat down across the table beside Amy.
“Where’s the birthday boy?” Eileen asked-and before Patricia could answer, dealt with the waiter. “Irish rocks for me. Diet Coke over there.” She pointed at her husband, then added: “Make it a double. I’ve been a good girl all day.”
“One for me, too, please,” Patricia Payne said. “Not a double.”
“Where is Sergeant Payne?” Eileen asked.
Amelia A. Payne snorted.
“I guess you’re thrilled, huh?” Eileen asked.
“Not really,” Amy said, “truth to tell.”
“Matt went into the house for something. He’ll be back,” Patricia said.
“Is it safe to say you’re thrilled?” Eileen asked Patricia.
“Mixed emotions,” Patricia replied. “Proud? Sure. Happy for Matt. Sure. But the badge the mayor pinned on him was his father’s.”
“Ouch,” Eileen said. “They kept it all these years?”
“I had it. I thought it was the right-”
“It was,” Eileen said, firmly.
“Mother Moffitt showed up at the ceremony,” Amy said. “To cast her usual pall on things.”
“Amy!” Patricia Payne said.
“Dave got another postcard from our fugitive,” Coughlin said, obviously to get off the subject of Mother Moffitt.
“He told me,” Eileen said. “There was something today… I’ll tell you later, when I tell Dave.”
“Am I permitted to ask? ‘Our fugitive’?” Brewster Payne said.
