Page 80

But that wasn’t Tony Harris’s real problem, as Jason Washington saw it. Harris’s real problem was his sergeant, Bill Chedister, who spent most of his time with his nose up Lieutenant Ed DelRaye’s ass, and,

more important, DelRaye himself. So far as Washington was concerned, DelRaye was an ignorant loudmouth, who was going to take the credit for whatever Tony Harris did right, and see that Harris got the blame for the investigation not going as fast as the brass thought it should go.

Washington thought that what happened between DelRaye and the TV woman was dumb, for a number of reasons, starting with the basic one that you learn more from witnesses if you don’t piss them off. Threatening to break down her door and calling for a wagon to haul her to the Roundhouse was even dumber.

In a way, Washington was sorry that Peter Wohl had shown up and calmed things down. DelRaye thus escaped the wrath that would have been dumped on him by everybody from the commissioner down for getting the TV station justifiably pissed off at the cops.

Washington also thought that it was interesting that DelRaye had let it get around that Wohl had been “half-drunk” when he had shown up. Jason Washington had known Wohl ten, fifteen years, and he had never seen him drunk in all that time. But accusing Wohl of having been drunk was just the sort of thing a prick like DelRaye would do, especially if he himself had been. And if DelRaye had been drunk, that would explain his pissing off the TV woman.

Washington admired Wohl, for a number of reasons. He liked the way he dressed, for one thing, but, far more important, he thought Wohl was smart. Jason Washington habitually studied the promotion lists, not only to see who was on them, but to see who had done well. Peter Wohl had been second on his sergeant’s list, first on his lieutenant’s list, third on his captain’s list, and first again on the staff inspector’s list. That was proof enough that Wohl was about as smart a cop as they came, but also that he had kept his party politics in order, which sometimes wasn’t easy for someone who was an absolutely straight arrow, as Washington believed Wohl to be.

Peter Wohl was Jason Washington’s idea of what a good senior police officer should be; there was no question that Wohl (and quickly, because the senior ranks of the Department would soon be thinned out by retirement) would rise to chief inspector, and probably even higher.

As Wohl put his coffee cup to his lips, Captain Quaire’s office door opened. Detective Mitell, a slight, wiry young man, came out, and Quaire, a stocky, muscular man of about forty, appeared in it. He spotted Wohl.

“Good morning, Inspector,” he said. “I expect you want to see me?”

“When you get a free minute, Henry,” Wohl said.

“Let me get a cup of coffee,” Captain Quaire said, “and I’ll be right with you.”

Wohl waited until Quaire had carried his coffee mug into his office and then followed him in. Quaire put his mug on his desk, and then went to the door and closed it.

“I was told you would be around, Peter,” he said, waving toward a battered chair. “But before we start that, let me thank you for last night.”

“Thank me for what last night?” Wohl asked.

“I understand a situation developed on the Nelson job that could have been awkward.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Quaire didn’t reply directly.

“My cousin Paul’s with the Crime Lab. He was there,” he said. “I had a word with Lieutenant DelRaye. I tried to make the point that knocking down witnesses’ doors and hauling them away in a wagon is not what we of the modern enlightened law-enforcement community think of as good public relations.”

Wohl chuckled, relieved that Quaire had heard about the incident from his own sources; after telling the commissioner what he had told him was off the record, he would have been disappointed if the commissioner had gone right to DelRaye’s commanding officer with it.

“The lady was a little upset, but nothing got out of control.”

“Was he drunk, Peter?”

I wonder if he got that, too, from his cousin Paul? And is Cousin Paul a snitch, or did Quaire tell him to keep his eye on DelRaye?

“No, I don’t think so,” Wohl replied, and added a moment later, “No, I’m sure he wasn’t.”

But I was. How hypocritical I am, in that circumstance. I wonder if anybody saw it, and turned me in?

“Okay,” Quaire said. “That’s good enough for me, Peter. Now what can I do for you to keep the commissioner off your back and Chief Lowenstein off mine?”

“Lowenstein said something to you about me? You said you expected me?” Wohl asked.

“Lowenstein said, quote, by order of the commissioner, you would be keeping an eye on things,” Quaire said.

“Only as a spectator,” Wohl said. “I’m to finesse both Miss Dutton and Mr. Nelson. I’m to keep Nelson up to date on how that job is going, and to make sure Miss Dutton is treated with all the courtesy an ordinary citizen of Philadelphia, who also happens to be on TV twice a day, can expect.”

Quaire smiled. “That, the girl, might be very interesting,” he said. “She’s a looker, Peter. Nelson may be difficult. He’s supposed to be a real sonofabitch.”

“Do you think the Commissioner would rather have him mad at Peter Wohl than at Ted Czernick?” Wohl said. “I fell into this, Henry. I responded to the call at the Waikiki. My bad luck, I was on Roosevelt Boulevard.”