W.E.B Griffin - The Murderers

Matt’s two small armchairs held Captain David Pekach and Lieutenant Jack Malone, having what seemed to be a serious conversation; they didn’t look at her.

Martha Peebles smiled and stood up when she saw her, and stepped over Mary-Margaret McCarthy and the FBI agent to come to her. Mary-Margaret and the FBI agent smiled at her.

“How’s Grace?” Martha Peebles asked softly as she put her cheek next to Amy’s.

“I stopped off earlier and gave her something to help her sleep,” Amy said.

“How terrible for her!”

Amy nodded.

A large arm gently draped itself around Amy’s shoulders. She looked up into the face of Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin.

“I checked with the Medical Examiner,” he said softly. “He released the body at noon. Kirk and Nice picked it up at half past twelve.”

“I know, Uncle Denny,” she said. “Thank you.”

She looked around for Matt. He was in the kitchen, leaning against the refrigerator, holding a can of beer. He didn’t seem drunk, which could or could not be a good thing. There was no sign that he was armed, but Amy knew better. Matt carried his. 38 snub-nose in an ankle holster.

“It was the right way to go, darlin’,” Coughlin said. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“I always trust you, Uncle Denny,” she said sincerely, and with a smile.

He squeezed her shoulder.

“Uncle Denny, I think it might be a good idea to get all these people out of here.”

“I was thinking the same thing, darlin’.”

“Getting him to take it might be a problem, but I’ll try to give him something to help him sleep.”

“I’ll see to it,” Coughlin said, and raised his voice. “David? See you a minute?”

Amy walked into the kitchen. Sitting at the small table, which was covered with whiskey bottles, empty cans, and the remnants of a take-out Chinese buffet were Inspector Peter Wohl, his father, Chief Inspector August Wohl (Retired), Captain Mike Sabara, Detective Charley McFadden, and her father.

“I agree with McFadden,” Amy heard Chief Wohl say. “If he’d been hit in the head with a two-by-four, or something, I’d say he walked in on a burglar, but two bullets in the back of the head? That makes it a hit.”

Detective McFadden beamed to have the Chief agree with him.

Amy walked up to her brother, and resisted the temptation to kiss him. He looked desolate.

“How’re you doing, Sherlock?”

He nodded and raised his beer can.

“OK. You want a beer?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I think I would. Thank you.”

“The beer’s been gone for an hour,” Peter Wohl said. “We can call and get some. Or would you like something stronger?”

“Hello, Peter,” Amy said. “How are you?”

“Long time no see,” he said evenly.

“There’s scotch, bourbon, and gin, honey,” Brewster C. Payne said. “And Irish.”

“Yes, of course, Irish,” Amy said. “An Irish, please. A short one, over the rocks. And then I think we should call off the wake.”

Her father nodded and stood up to make the drink.

“Have you been out to Chestnut Hill?” he asked.

“Not since I saw you there. I gave Grace something to help her sleep, and I called a while ago and Violet said she’d gone to bed. I was tied up at the hospital.”

“I left when Dick went to sleep,” her father said.

In other words, passed out, Amy thought. He was three-quarters drunk when I left there.

“I’ll go out there first thing in the morning,” Amy said, and then turned to her brother. “I asked you how you’re doing?”

He shrugged.

“What a goddamned waste,” he said.

“I want a minute with you alone when everybody’s gone,” she said.

“None of your goddamned pills, Amy.”

“I’m trying to help,” she said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Your beer must be warm.”

“Is that a prescription? Booze in lieu of happy pills?”

“It might help you sleep.”

He met her eyes for a moment.

“Dad, could you make two of those, please?” he called.

Their father turned to look over his shoulder at her. She nodded, just perceptibly, and he reached for another glass.

“Charley,” Mary-Margaret McCarthy called, “we’re going.”

There was a tone of command in her voice. She was a nurse, an R.N. who had gone back to school to get a degree, and was, she had once confided in Amy, thinking about going for an M.D.

McFadden immediately stood up.

Matt needs somebody like that, Amy thought. A strong-willed young woman as smart as he is. He didn’t need Penny.

God, what a terrible thing to even think!

“We’re going too,” Martha Peebles announced. She already had her David-whom she usually called, to his intense embarrassment, “Precious”-in tow.

One by one, the men filed into the kitchen and shook Matt’s hand.

“Circumstances aside, it was good to see you, Amy,” Peter Wohl said, and offered her his hand.

“Thank you,” she said.

He was almost at the top of the stairs when she went quickly after him.

“Peter, wait a moment,” she called, and he stopped. “I’d like to talk to you,” Amy said.

“Sure. When? Will it wait until morning?”

“I won’t be with Matt more than a minute,” she said.

“OK,” he said with what she interpreted as reluctance, and then went down the stairs.

Her father touched her shoulder.

“You’re the doctor. Is there anything I should be doing for Matt?”

“Just what you are doing,” she said.

“Should I go out to Chestnut Hill in the morning, or is it better…”

“He’s your friend, Dad,” Amy said. “You’ll have to decide.”

“Yes, of course.”

Finally, after a final hug from Denny Coughlin, Amy was alone with Matt.

He met her eyes, waiting for whatever she had to say.

“This was not your fault, Matt. She had a chemical addiction-”

“She was a junkie.”

“-which she was unable to manage.”

“And I wasn’t a hell of a lot of help, was I?”

“What happened is not your fault, Matt.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

“The best thing you can do-an emotional trauma like this is exhausting-is to get a good night’s sleep.”

“And things will seem better in the morning, right?”

“I’ve got something to give you…”

“No, thank you.”

“…a mild sedative.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not climbing the walls, or hysterical, or…”

“It’s inside, Matt, it’s a pain. It will have to come out. The better shape you’re in when it does, the better. That’s why you need to sleep.”

“You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? You never know when to take no for an answer.”

“OK. But people, even tough guys like you, have been known to change their minds. I’ll leave the pills.”

“Take two and call me in the morning?” Matt asked, now smiling.

“If you take two, you won’t be able to use a telephone in the morning. One, Matt, with water, preferably not on an empty stomach.”

“My stomach is full of Chinese.”

“I’ll be at home until half past seven or so,” Amy said. “If you want to talk.”

“Amy, believe it or not, I’m touched by your concern,” Matt said. “But all I need is to finish this”-he held up his whiskey glass-“and get in bed.”

And then he surprised her by putting his arms around her.

“Who holds your hand when you need it, Doc?” he asked softly. “Don’t you ever get it up to here with other people’s problems?”

“Yeah,” she said, surprised at her emotional reaction. “Just between thee, me, and the lamp pole, I do. But not with your problems, Matt. You’re my little brother.”