W.E.B Griffin - The Murderers

“I would have been here yesterday,” Tiny said. “Personally, not because Wohl would have sent me. But Washington said there would be enough people here then, and I should come today.” Tiny paused. “I’m sorry about what happened, Matt.”

“Thank you.”

“Anyway, you’re stuck with me,” Tiny said. “And apropos of nothing whatever, I haven’t had my breakfast.”

“See what’s in the refrigerator while I have a shower,” Matt said.

Matt came back into the kitchen ten minutes later to the smell of frying bacon and percolating coffee, and the sight of Tiny Lewis neatly arranging tableware on the kitchen table. He had taken off his suit jacket and put on an apron. It was a full-sized apron, but on Tiny’s massive bulk it appeared much smaller. He looked ridiculous, and Matt smiled.

“I’ll bet you can iron very well, too,” he said.

“Fuck you, you don’t get no breakfast,” Tiny replied amiably.

“When you’re through with that, you can vacuum the living room.”

“Fuck you again,” Tiny said. “Tell me about the double homicide at the Inferno.”

Over breakfast, Matt told him.

“This Atchison guy is very good,” he concluded. “Smart and tough. And his lawyer is good, too. Just when Milham was starting to get him, the lawyer-”

“Who’s his lawyer?”

“A guy named Sidney Margolis.”

Tiny snorted. “I know who he is. A real sleazeball. My father told me he’s been reported to the bar association so often he’s got his own filing cabinet.”

“He’s smart. He saw Milham was getting to Atchison, and said, ‘Interview over. My client is in great pain.’”

“Was he?”

“After Margolis told him he was, he was. And that was it.”

“I wish I could have seen the interview,” Tiny said.

“Milham is very good.”

“You heard about his lady friend’s husband?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think he had anything to do with it?”

“No,” Matt said immediately.

“Neither does my father,” Tiny said. “He said it’s two-to-one it’s something to do with Narcotics. Heading the long list of things I was absolutely forbidden to do when I came on the job was accept an assignment to Narcotics. He said those guys roll around on the pigsty floor so much, and there’s so much money floating around that he’s not surprised how many of them are dirty, but how many are straight.”

“Charley and the Little Spic were undercover narcs, and so was Captain Pekach. They’re straight.”

“The exceptions that prove the rule,” Tiny said. “So what do we do today?”

“I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going out to Chestnut Hill in half an hour. Jesus, I hate to face that! The funeral is this afternoon.”

“You mean, we’re going to Chestnut Hill. I have heard my master’s voice, and it said I’m not to let you out of my sight.”

“Family and intimate friends only,” Matt said. “I think it will be my family, the Detweilers, and the Nesbitts. And that’s it.”

“So what do I tell Wohl, since the riffraff aren’t welcome?”

“I’ll call him.”

“Matt, I don’t mind feeling unwelcome. With a suntan like mine, you get pretty used to it. If I can help some way…”

“You’d make a lousy situation worse, Tiny, but thanks,” Matt said. He got up from the table and started toward the telephone, then stopped. He touched Tiny’s shoulder, and Tiny looked up at him. “I appreciate that, pal,” Matt said.

“Somehow saying I’m sorry about what happened doesn’t seem to be enough.”

Matt picked up the telephone and dialed Wohl’s home number. When there was no answer, he called the headquarters of the Special Operations Division to see if, as he often did, Wohl had come to work early. When Wohl’s private line was not answered by the fifth ring, the call was automatically transferred to the line of the tour lieutenant.

“Special Operations, Lieutenant Suffern.”

“Matt Payne, sir. Have you got a location on the Inspector?”

“Yeah. I got a number. Just a minute, Matt,” Lieutenant Suffern said, and then his voice changed: “Matt, I was sorry to hear…”

“Thank you.”

“If there’s anything I can do?”

“I can’t think of a thing, but thank you. I appreciate the thought.”

“Here it is,” Suffern said, “One-thirty A.M. this morning until further notice.” He then read Matt the telephone number at which Inspector Wohl could be reached.

A look of mingled amusement and annoyance flickered across Matt’s face. The number he had been given was familiar to him. It was the one number in Greater Philadelphia where calling Inspector Wohl at this time would be a very bad idea indeed. It was that of the apartment of his sister, Amelia Payne, M.D., Ph. D.

“Thank you, sir.”

“When you feel up to it, Matt, we’ll go hoist a couple.”

“Thank you,” Matt said. “I’d like to.”

Matt hung up and turned to Tiny, a smile crossing his face at his own wit.

“Wohl can’t be reached right now,” he said. “He’s at the doctor’s.”

“So what do we do?”

“When all else fails, tell the truth,” Matt said. “You go to the schoolhouse and when Wohl shows up you tell him I said ‘Thank you, but no thank you, I don’t want any company.’”

“I don’t know, Matt,” Tiny said dubiously. “Wohl wasn’t making a suggestion. He told me to sit on you.”

“Oh, shit,” Matt said, and dialed Amy’s number.

“Dr. Payne is not available at this time,” her answering machine reported. “If you will leave your name and number, she will return your call as soon as possible. Please wait for the tone. Thank you.”

“Amy, I know you’re there. I need to talk to Inspector Wohl.”

A moment later, Wohl himself came on the line.

“What is it, Matt?”

“Tiny Lewis is here. Having him go with me to the Detweilers’ is not such a good idea. The funeral is family and intimate friends only.”

“So your sister has been telling me,” Wohl said. “He’s there? Put him on the line.”

Matt held the phone up, and Tiny rose massively from the table and took it.

“Yes, sir?” he said.

Tiny’s was the only side of the conversation Matt could hear, and he was curious when Tiny chuckled, a deep rumble, and said, “I would, too. That’d be something to see.”

When he hung up, Matt asked, “What would be ‘something to see’?”

“The Mayor’s face when somebody tells him he can’t get in. Wohl said he knows the Mayor’s going to the funeral.”

“This one he may not get to go to,” Matt said. “My father said nobody’s been invited, period.”

“Wohl also said I was to drive you out there, if you wanted, and then to keep myself available. I was going to do that anyway.”

“You can take me over to the Parkway as soon as I get dressed. I’m going to drive my sister out there, in her car.”

“Yeah, sure. But listen to what I said. You need me, you know where to find me.”

Inspector Peter Wohl was examining the hole gouged in his cheek by Amy Payne’s dull razor-and from which an astonishing flow of blood was now escaping-when Amy appeared in the bathroom door.

She was in her underwear. It was white, and what there was of it was mostly lace. He found the sight very appealing, and wondered if that was her everyday underwear, or whether she had worn it for him.

That pleasant notion was immediately shattered by her tone of voice and the look on her face.

“It’s for you,” she said. “Again. Does everyone in Philadelphia know you’re here?”

“Sorry,” he said, and quickly tore off a square of toilet paper, pressed it to the wound, and went into her bedroom. He sat on the bed and grabbed the telephone.