W.E.B Griffin - The Murderers

Officer Paul Thomas O’Mara, Inspector Wohl’s administrative assistant, attired in a shiny, light blue suit Washington suspected had been acquired from the Bargain Basement at J. C. Penney’s, told him that Captain Mike Sabara, Wohl’s deputy, had not yet come in.

“Give me a call when he does come in, will you, Tommy?” Washington asked, left the Principal’s Office, and climbed stone stairs worn deeply by seventy-odd years of children’s shoes to the second floor, where he entered what had been a classroom, over the door of which hung a sign: INVESTIGATION SECTION.

There he found Detective Matthew M. Payne on duty. Payne was attired in a sports coat Jason knew that Detective Payne had acquired at a Preferred Customer 30% Off Sale at Brooks Brothers, a button-down-collar light blue shirt, the necktie of the Goodwill Rowing Club, and well-shined loafers.

He looked like an advertisement for Brooks Brothers, Jason thought. It was a compliment.

“Good morning, Detective Payne,” Jason said. “You need a shave.”

“I woke late,” Payne said, touching his chin. “And took a chance you wouldn’t get here until I could shave.”

“What happened? Did Milham keep you at Homicide?”

“I was there. But he didn’t keep me. He let me sit in on interviewing Atchison.”

Washington’s face showed that he found that interesting, but he didn’t reply.

“We can’t have you disgracing yourself and our unit with a slovenly appearance when you meet the Mayor,” Washington said.

“Am I going to meet the Mayor?” Payne asked.

“I think so,” Jason replied, already dialing a number.

There was a brief conversation with someone named Jack, whom Detective Payne correctly guessed to be Lieutenant J. K. Fellows, the Mayor’s bodyguard and confidante, and then Washington hung up.

“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?”

“Enough. Before I got promoted, I was the senior lieutenant in Narcotics…no I wasn’t, Lieutenant Mikkles was. But I filled in for Captain Talley enough to know all about the Five Squad. Same thing-good, smart, hardworking, honest cops.”

Washington didn’t reply.

“Christ, Jason, the Narcotics Five Squad is-” He looked for a comparison, and found one: “-the Highway Patrol of Narcotics. The best, most experienced, hardworking people. A lot of pride, esprit de corps. They’re the ones who make the raids, take the doors, stick their necks out. Where did Wohl get the idea they’re dirty?”

“From me, I’m afraid,” Washington said.

Pekach looked at him in first surprise and then anger.

“I’m not saying they’re dirty,” Washington said. “I don’t know-”

“Take my word for it, Jason,” Pekach interrupted.

“What I told the Boss was that I believed Mrs. Kellog believed what she was saying.”

“She’s got an accusation to make, tell her to take it to Internal Affairs.”

“She’s not willing to do that. She doesn’t trust Internal Affairs.”

“I suppose both you and Wohl have considered that she might be trying to take the heat off her boyfriend?” Pekach challenged. “What’s his name? Milham?”

“That, of course, is a possibility.”

“What I think you should do-and if you don’t want to tell Wohl, by God, I will-is turn this over to Internal Affairs and mind our own business.”

Washington didn’t reply.

Pekach’s temper was now aroused.

“You know what Internal Affairs would find? Presuming that they didn’t see these wild accusations for what they are-a desperate woman trying to turn the heat off her boyfriend-and conducted an investigation, they’d find a record of good busts, busts that stood up in court, put people away, took God only knows how much drugs off the street.”

“We can’t go to Internal Affairs with this right now,” Washington said.

“Why not?” Pekach demanded, looking at him sharply. “Oh, is that what you’ve all been up to, that nobody’s talking about? Investigating Internal Affairs? Is that why you can’t take this to them?”

“You’re putting me on a spot, Captain,” Washington said. “I can’t answer that.”

“No, of course you can’t,” Pekach said sarcastically. “But let me tell you this, Jason: If anybody just happened to be investigating Internal Affairs, say, for example, the Mayor’s personal detective bureau, I’d say they have a much better chance of finding dirty cops there than anyone investigating the Narcotics Five Squad would find there.”