W.E.B Griffin: The Witness

"It's a pretty good theory," Wohl said.

"You tell me why it's a good theory."

"We don't think they were trying to kill Monahan, just scare him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," O'Hara said.

"I'll tell you what we think this whole thing is about, and where we are, but if you print it, you can really screw things up. Not only for me, but for a lot of other people."

"You prick!" O'Hara said. "You know that after you told me that, I couldn't use it."

"Fuck it," Matt Payne said. "The risk is too great, don't tell him."

Mickey turned to look at him in what looked like hurt surprise. "For the rest of your life, I will misspell your name," he said.

He turned at Wohl. "Doeshe know what's going on?"

"No. He's just worried about me."

"Okay, Peter," O'Hara said after a moment. "Boy Scout's Honor." He held up three fingers as Boy Scouts do when giving their word of honor. "I won't use any of this until you tell me I can."

It took Wohl ten minutes, during which Mickey O'Hara asked a very few questions, all of which struck Matt as being penetrating.

"Okay," Mickey said, finally. "So what are you doing here drinking beer with Wyatt Earp? Why aren't you out catching-better still, shooting by accident, or at least running over-this rogue cop of yours?"

"Two reasons," Wohl said. "For one thing, I think I would probably get caught if I did. More importantly, Jason Washington asked me to make myself scarce until five o'clock. That's what I'm doing."

"Can I stick around?"

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Well, and all this time, I thought we were buddies," O'Hara said. " How would you feel about me interviewing Arthur X? Getting hisIslamic slant on this?"

"Will he talk to you?"

"Yeah, I think so. He likes being in the newspapers." He saw the look on Wohl's face. "Relax, I won't give anything away.

"If I thought you would, I wouldn't have told you what I did."

"I just had a better idea," O'Hara said. "Fuck Arthur X. I know what he's going to say. I'm going to see Sam Goldblatt and maybe Katz too."

"Who?" Matt asked.

"Sam Goldblatt, of Goldblatt's furniture," O'Hara replied. "Ol' Mr. I-have-to-think-about-my-wife-and-children. The one who covered his ass about these scumbags by having his eyesight conveniently fail. Phil Katz is Goldblatt's nephew."

"Oh," Matt said, and then asked, "why?"

"'Mr. Goldblatt, would you tell me how you feel about the people who killed both poor Mr. Cohn and now poor Mr. Monahan escaping punishment because you have bad eyesight? My one point three million readers would like to know. In case they wanted to buy a washing machine, or something, and wanted to make sure they were buying it from somebody who was always thinking about his wife and children.'"

Wohl chuckled. "I really think you would do that."

"You'd better believe it."

"I'll tell you what I did do," Wohl said. "When Goldblatt and Katz walked out of their houses this morning, they found a Highway RPC waiting for them. Highway's going to sit on both of them for the next couple of days, at least."

"To protect them? Or to remind them they need protection?"

"Both."

"Mr. Goldblatt, considering what happened to poor Mr. Monahan, do you think the police are going to be able to protect you from these people you weren't able to see well enough to identify?"

"If you added, 'and your family,' " Wohl said, "that might not be a bad question to ask."

"Consider it asked," O'Hara said.

He stood up, shrugged into his fur-collared overcoat, finished off his bottle of beer, and went down the stairs.

At five minutes past four, just after Officer Charles McFadden had relieved Officer Frank Hartzog on the protection detail of Officer Matthew M. Payne, the doorbell rang.

"Who's there?" McFadden asked, through the intercom.

"Sergeant D'Angelo."

"You know a Sergeant D'Angelo, Inspector?" McFadden asked Wohl.

"Yeah. Let him in."

"Be right down," McFadden said, and went down the stairs.

The face that first appeared at the head of the stairwell a moment later was that of the Hon. Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Brotherly Love. He was followed by a burly, curly-haired man in his late twenties.

"I didn't know anybody lived up here," the mayor thought aloud, and nodded at the occupant, Officer Payne, as he looked around.

"What the hell is this all about, Peter?" he asked.

"Chief Lowenstein said he would be here at four," Wohl said. "He must have been delayed."

"That's not what I asked," the mayor said, but he did not pursue the question. He looked at Matt.

"How's your leg, son?"

"Pretty good, sir. Thank you."

"I don't suppose there's any coffee?"

"I can make some in just a minute," Matt said, and started to get out of his leather armchair.

"Al, make coffee," the mayor ordered.

Sergeant D'Angelo went into the kitchen.

"Coffee's in the cabinet right over the machine," Matt called.

"Got it," D'Angelo called back.

The telephone rang.

"Hello?" Matt answered it.

"Chief Lowenstein. Is Carlucci there?"

"Mr. Mayor," Matt said. "Chief Lowenstein for you, sir."

Carlucci snatched the phone from Payne's hand.

"Lowenstein, what the hell's going on?…

"How did that happen?…

"I'll be damned," he said; and hung up.

He looked at Wohl.

"That was Lowenstein. He's at the district attorney's. That's why he' s late."

"Yes, sir."

"Mr. Samuel Goldblatt just identified from photographs all of the doers of the Goldblatt job, and is prepared to go before the Grand Jury on Monday. And,and, get this: Tom Callis just called Giacomo, as a professional courtesy, and informed him he will personally prosecute."

"That's good news, sir," Wohl said.

"Did you know about this, Peter?"

"I'd heard that another attempt to get Mr. Goldblatt to testify would be made, sir."

"Stop the bullshit, Peter, what do you know about this sudden change of heart?

"Chief Lowenstein told me that he was going to have a talk with Mr. Goldblatt, sir. And I believe that Mickey O'Hara saw him, Goldblatt, today too."

"O'Hara? What about O'Hara?"

"He was here earlier, sir."

"He was here? How is it, Peter, that every sonofabitch and his brother but the police commissioner and me knew where you were?"

"I wasn't aware you were looking for me, sir."

"Czernick was looking for you, and he couldn't find you. Or so he told me."

"Chiefs Coughlin and Lowenstein knew I was here, sir. And so did Captain Sabara."

"I don't like it a goddamn bit the way the three of you treat Czernick like the enemy," Carlucci said. "It has to stop. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now, what about O'Hara?"

"Mr. O'Hara led me to believe he was going to ask Mr. Goldblatt and the nephew, Katz, about how they felt about these people going to walk with Monahan dead."

"You got him to do that?"

"It was Mickey's idea, sir."

"Bullshit," the mayor said.

The telephone rang again, and Matt answered it.

"Is that you, Matty?" Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin asked.

"Yes."

"Is the mayor there? Lowenstein?"

"Chief Lowenstein is on his way here from the district attorney's office."

"Who is that?" the mayor asked suspiciously.

"Chief Coughlin, sir."

"Give me the phone," he ordered sharply. Matt handed it over.

"What the hell is this all about, Denny?"

Matt couldn't hear what Coughlin replied.

"If the both of you aren't here in ten minutes, we will adjourn this meeting to the commissioner's office. Capisce?" Carlucci said, and hung up.

He turned to Wohl.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what the hell is going on around here?"