W.E.B Griffin: The Witness

"The number we gave her or Police Emergency?" Washington asked.

"Police Emergency. She said our number was next to the bed, and she used the phone in the kitchen."

"She get a good look at the cop?"

"White guy."

"Would she recognize him if she saw him again?"

"She doesn't know; she doesn't think so. I think she means that. I mean, I don't think she would be afraid to point her finger at the doer."

"Did she see the two cars outside?" Wohl asked.

"No.He looked out the window.He said 'the cops have changed again.' I think you have to figure he saw the two cars. Otherwise how would he know they were going off and coming on?"

"You couldn't get more precise times out of her?" Washington asked.

"No. 'Around six.' "

"She said she saw the gun?"

"Right."

"And saw him shoot it?"

"Right. And then he fell."

"There are no puncture wounds in the body," Wohl said.

"There would have to be."

"The doctor says she looked. The doctor says she thinks he died of a heart attack.

"What the hell?"

"Get on the radio, Tony," Washington ordered. "Tell the lab people toreally look for a bullet-how many shots did she say she heard?"

"One. Said it sounded like a.22."

"Yeah," Washington said. "Tell the lab people to look very carefully for a bullet hole. In the carpets, in the furniture."

'You think the medical examiner will find the wound, Jason?" Wohl asked.

"I have no idea what he'll find. But if Mrs. Monahan said she heard a shot-"

"Where are you going to be?" Harris asked.

"The inspector and I are going to talk to the cops who were on the job."

"There's bullshit in there somewhere," Tony said as he got up from the table. "The cops going off the job say they were relieved. The cops coming on the job say there was nobody there when they got there."

"Tony," Washington said. "Check with the district and see what their RPCs who rolled by there just before six saw. And the same from Highway. I'll be at Bustleton and Bowler for the next hour or so."

Harris nodded his understanding and walked out of the cafeteria.

"What was that you were saying before about Stillwell?" Washington asked.

"He's being appointed a deputy attorney general for corporate crime," Wohl replied. "He told me last night. He wants me to become his chief investigator."

"Are you going to take it?"

"Last night, it was all I could do to keep myself from telling him to go fuck himself. Now, after this, I may need the job."

"That's why you tied one on?"

"He said he doesn't think we can get a conviction. And that was before we lost Monahan. But he did say that the feds are going after Payne."

"I don't understand that."

"You ever hear of the Coalition for Equitable Law Enforcement? Something like that, anyway?"

"Yeah. I know who they are."

"They have requested that the Justice Department investigate the shooting of Charles David Stevens, alleging that it violated his civil rights."

"And the feds are going along with it?"

"According to Stillwell, they are," Wohl said. "But to answer your question, Jason, I don't know why I got drunk. But at the time, it seemed like a marvelous idea."

"I don't think Matt's got anything to worry about. That was an absolutely justified shooting; Stevens had shot at him-hithim-before Matt shot."

"Tell that to the Coalition for Equitable Law Enforcement."

"I don't know what, if anything, this means, but I just remembered hearing that they-the Coalition-were just about out of business, going broke, when Arthur Nelson rescued them with a substantial donation."

"That figures, knowing Nelson's interest in equitable law enforcement," Wohl said bitterly. "Jesus, what a field day that sonofabitch is going to have with this!"

"I hadn't even thought about that," Washington said, shook his head, and then asked, "You know what's going to happen now?

"Those sleaze-balls are going to walk."

"You're going to the Athletic Club, where you will take a steam bath, followed by a shave and haircut."

"Am I?"

"You're going to have to face Czernick and the mayor, and soon. Don't give Czernick the opportunity to point out to Carlucci that you were hung over. I'll try to get to the bottom of which cops were where and when. And by then, maybe the medical examiner can tell us what happened to Monahan."

"He got shot, is what happened to Monahan," Wohl said. "Because I fucked up his protection."

"Wait until we sort it out before you start kicking yourself. Right now, go sweat the whiskey out of you."

"A good long shower will do as well as a steam bath," Wohl said. " Besides, I've got to go home anyway to dress properly before I meet the firing squad."

"Then don't answer your phone. Or the radios in your car."

Wohl nodded, and then pushed himself up from the table.

In the ten minutes Peter Wohl had been in his car en route from his apartment to Special Operations, there had been three calls for WWilliam One.

That meant, he believed, that the police radio operator had been instructed, most likely by the Hon. Taddeus Czernick, commissioner of police, but possibly by the Hon. Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Philadelphia, to keep trying to locate Staff Inspector Peter Wohl until you find him.

He had not responded to the calls for W-William One because he was absolutely sure that the message for him would be to immediately report to the commissioner. It was bad enough that Monahan had been killed while he was charged with his protection; he didn't want to face Czernick and/or the mayor and have to tell him that although Mrs. Monahan said she saw a cop shoot him, there were no wounds in the body, or that the two groups of cops who were supposed to be sitting on Monahan told conflicting stories and he wasn't sure who was telling the truth.

There had also been two calls on the Supervisor Band that he had listened to with half a mind. They were not intended for him. Someone was trying to reach I-Isaac Seventeen. The only reason he paid any attention to the calls at all was because, in the happy, happy days of yore when he had not been W-William One, commanding officer of the Special Operations Division, he had been I-Isaac Seventeen, just one more simple staff inspector.

I wonder who I-Isaac Seventeen is now, and I wonder why W-William Seven wants to talk to him.

Jesus H. Christ! As far as turning my brain back on is concerned, that shower didn't do me a goddamn bit of good.

He grabbed the microphone.

"W-William Seven, I-Isaac Seventeen."

"Isaac Seventeen, can you meet me at the medical examiner's?"

Even with the frequency clipped tones of the radio, Jason Washington' s deep melodic voice was unmistakable.

"Isaac Seventeen, on the way."

Wohl tossed the microphone onto the seat beside him, braked sharply, and then made a wide sweeping U-turn, tires squealing in protest, and headed for the medical examiner's office.

Jason wouldn't want me there unless he has learned something.

The ME probably found the bullet puncture that damned redhead couldn' t find. It's not much, but it's something!

Jason Washington was sitting in his car outside the medical examiner' s office when Wohl pulled into the parking lot. There was a space next to him. Wohl pulled into it, and then got in Washington's car.

"I suspect when you walk in there," Washington said, "there will be a message for you to call the commissioner immediately. So let's take a minute here."

"They've been calling me on the radio every three minutes," Wohl said. "That Isaac Seventeen business was clever, Jason, thank you."

"It will prove to be clever if Czernick, or somebody else who remembers you used to be Isaac Seventeen and will run to Czernick, wasn't listening to the radio."