W.E.B Griffin - Special Operations

Sergeant Ed Frizell raised the same question about the fair division of duty hours when making the stakeout of the Peebles residence official, but bowed to the logic that Officer Payne simply was not qualified to go looking for a suspect on his own. And he authorized three cars, one each for what he had now come to think of as Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, and the Kid. He also independently reached the conclusion that unless Walton Williams was really stupid, or maybe stoned, he would spot the car sitting on Glengarry Lane as a police car, and would not attempt to burglarize the Peebles residence with it there. And that solved the problem of how just-about-wholly inexperienced Matt Payne would deal with the suspect if he encountered him; there would be no suspect to encounter.

At two-fifteen, when Staff Inspector Wohl walked into the office after having had luncheon with Detective Jason Washington atD' Allesandro's Steak Shop, on Henry Avenue, Sergeant Frizell informed him that Captain Henry C. Quaire, the commanding officer of the Homicide Bureau, had called, said it was important, and would Wohl please return his call at his earliest opportunity.

"Get him on the phone, please," Wohl said. Waving at Washington to come along, he went into his office.

One of the buttons on Wohl's phone began to flash the moment he sat down.

"Peter Wohl, Henry," he said. "What's up?"

"I just had a call from the State Trooper barracks in Quakertown, Inspector," Quaire said. "I think they found Miss Woodham."

"Hold it, Henry," Wohl said, and snapped his fingers. When Jason Washington looked at him, Wohl gestured for him to pick up the extension. "Jason's getting on the line."

"I'm on, Captain," Washington said, as, in a conditioned reflex, he took a notebook from his pocket, then a ballpoint pen.

"They-the Trooper barracks in Quakertown, Jason," Quaire went on, " have a mutilated corpse of a white female who meets Miss Woodham's description. Been dead twenty-four to thirty-six hours. They fed it to NCIC and got a hit."

"Shit," Jason Washington said, bitterly.

"Where did they find it?" Wohl asked, taking a pencil from his desk drawer.

"In a summer cottage near a little town called Durham," Quaire said. "The location is:"

He paused, and Wohl had a mental image of him looking for a sheet of paper on which he had written down the information.

": 1.2 miles down a dirt road to the left, 4.4 miles west of US 611 on US 212."

Jason Washington parroted the specifics back to Quaire.

"That's right," Quaire said.

"They don't have anything on the doer, I suppose?" Washington said.

"They said all they have so far is what I just gave you," Quaire said.

"If they call back," Wohl said, "get it to me right away, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Quaire said, his tone showing annoyance.

That was stupid of me, Wohl thought. I shouldn't have told Quaire how to do his job.

"I didn't mean that the way it came out, Henry," Wohl said. "Sorry."

There was a pause, during which, Wohl knew, Henry Quaire was deciding whether to accept the apology.

"The last time we dealt with Quakertown, they were a real pain in the ass, Inspector," Quaire said, finally. "Resented our intrusion into their business. But I know a Trooper Captain in Harrisburg…"

Wohl considered that a moment.

"Let's save him until we need him, Henry," he said. "Maybe we'll be lucky this time."

"Call me if you think I can help," Quaire said.

"Thanks very much, Henry," Wohl said. "I'll keep you advised."

"Good luck," Quaire said, and hung up.

Wohl looked up at Washington.

"I'll get up there just as fast as I can," Washington said. "I'm wondering if I need Tony up there, too."

"Whatever you think," Wohl said.

"Would it be all right if I took the kid with me?" Washington said.

It took Wohl a moment to take his meaning.

"Payne, you mean? Sure. Whatever you need."

"It's in the sticks," Washington explained. "He might be useful to use the phone…"

"You can have whatever you want," Wohl said. "You want a Highway car to go with you?

"No, the kid ought to be enough," Washington said. "Highway and the Troopers have never been in love. Would you get in touch with Tony and tell him, and let him decide whether he wants to go up there, too?"

"Done."

"Maybe I can get a description of this sonofabitch anyway," Washington said. "Or the van."

"I was afraid we'd get something like this," Wohl said.

"It's not like Christmas finally coming is it?" Washington said, and walked out of Wohl's office.

Matt Payne was sitting at an ancient, lopsided table against the wall beside Sergeant Ed Frizell's desk, typing forms on a battered Underwood typewriter.

"Come on with me, Payne," Washington said.

Matt looked at him in surprise, and so did Sergeant Ed Frizell.

"Where's he going with you?" Frizell said.

"He's going with me, all right?" Washington said, and took Matt's arm and propelled him toward the door.

"I need him here," Frizell protested.

"Tell Wohl your problem," Washington said, and followed Matt outside.

"You know Route 611? To Doylestown, and then up along the river to Easton?" Washington asked.

"Yes, sir," Matt said.

"You drive," Washington said.

Matt got behind the wheel.

"Take a right," Washington ordered, "and then a left onto Red Lion."

"Yes, sir," Matt said, and started off.

There was a line of cars stopped for a red light at Red Lion Road. Matt started to slow.

"Go around them to the left," Washington ordered. "Be careful!"

And then he reached down and threw a switch. A siren started to howl.

"Try not to kill us," Washington ordered. "But the sooner we get out there, the better. Maybe we can find this sonofabitch before he does it again."

"Where are we going?"

"The State Troopers found Miss Woodham," Washington said. "Mutilated. Dead, of course. In the sticks."

Matt edged into the intersection, saw that it was clear, and went through the stop sign.

My God, I'm actually driving a police car with the siren going, on my way to a murder!

"Are you sure you'd rather not drive, Mr. Washington?" Matt asked.

"You have to start somewhere, Payne. The first time I was driving and my supervisor turned on the light and siren, I was sort of thrilled. I felt like a regular Dick Tracy."

"Yeah," Matt Payne said, almost to himself, as he pulled the LTD to the left and, swerving into and out of the opposing lane, went around a UPS truck and two civilian cars.

Sergeant Ed Frizell stood in Inspector Wohl's doorway and waited until he got off the telephone.

"Sir, am I going to get Payne back? Detective Washington just took him off somewhere, and I have all those-"

"You'll get him back when Washington's through with him. You better find Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson and tell them Payne might not be back by the time he's supposed to be at the Peebles residence."

"Yes, sir," Frizell said, disappointed, and started to leave.

"Wait a minute," Wohl said. "There's something else." He had just that moment thought of it.

"Yes, sir."

"Get somebody on the Highway Band and ask them to get me a location on Mickey O'Hara. I mean me, say 'W-William One wants a location on Mickey O'Hara.' "

"He might be hard to find, sir. Wouldn't it be better to put it out on the J-Band? And have everybody looking for him?"

"I think Mickey monitors Highway," Wohl said.

"Can I ask what that's all about, Inspector?"

"Put it down to simple curiosity," Wohl said. "Thank you. Sergeant."

And then, as Frizell closed the door, Wohl thought of something else, and dug out the telephone book.

"Dr. Payne," Amelia Alice Payne's voice came over the line.