Page 221

“But it is reasonable to assume that Mr. Savarese heard—probably from his daughter—that his granddaughter was involved with a man named Ketcham.”

“Yeah,” Wohl said.

“Mr. Savarese naturally wondered, I theorize,” Washington went on, “if perhaps Mr. Ketcham had knowledge of the cause of Miss Longwood’s mental stress. Even, perhaps, if Mr. Ketcham forced himself on his granddaughter. Dr. Payne told Peter that Mr. Ketcham had not been to see Miss Longwood. It seems reasonable that Mr. Savarese would have learned this, too, from the girl’s mother.”

“And had Joey Fiorello,” Coughlin interjected, “hire Phil Chason to make discreet inquiries regarding Mr. Ketcham . . .”

“Which discreet inquiries,” Peter Wohl chimed in, “re vealed exactly what kind of an upstanding citizen Ketcham is. And Chason told Fiorello.”

“Precisely,” Washington said. “What I don’t understand, since we may presume it did come to Mr. Savarese’s attention that his granddaughter was keeping company with someone who uses controlled substances—and probably introduced her to the use of them—is why Mr. Ketcham is not, to use that lovely euphemism, ‘swimming with the fishes.’ ”

Wohl grunted in agreement.

“Once Mr. Savarese had learned that—what shall I say?—Mr. Ketcham was not a really nice fellow,” Washington continued, “I think it is reasonable to presume that he ordered his minions to find Mr. Ketcham and to transport him to a place where he could be interrogated—the NIKE site—both at length and, should it turn out that Mr. Ketcham had no knowledge of what had transpired, in such a manner that there would be no connection Mr. Ketcham could make with him. I mean, in the sense that he is Miss Longwood’s loving grandfather, the Mafia don.”

“That constitutes kidnapping,” Mr. Walter Davis interjected, “and makes it a federal offense.”

Washington ignored him.

“I further postulate,” he went on, “that the interrogation revealed the exact circumstances—‘that were themselves traumatic’—of Miss Longwood’s rape.”

“The drug bust at the Howard Johnson motel,” Coughlin said.

“Yes. Mr. Ketcham—who, incidentally, I don’t think has any idea of the relationship between the girl and her grandfather—almost certainly told—”

“Told who, Sergeant?” Walter Davis interrupted.

“Excuse me?” Washington said in strained courtesy, making it again clear he did not like being interrupted, even by the Special Agent in Charge of the Philadelphia office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

“This interrogation you’re talking about. Who conducted it?”

“I have no idea,” Washington said.

“You think Vincenzo Savarese was there?” Davis pursued.

“Interesting question,” Washington said. “Given Mr. Savarese’s demonstrated ability to distance himself from criminal activity conducted for him by others, I am tempted to say no, of course not. But this is a different circumstance. And we know of his deep concern. So my answer is, I just don’t have an opinion.”

“Dennis, I’d really like to get Savarese on unlawful abduction,” Davis said.

“May I continue?” Washington asked.

“Go on, Jason,” Coughlin said.

“At the very least, I think we can reasonably presume that Mr. Ketcham told his interrogators that Narcotics officers were present at the Howard Johnson motel. Since Mr. Ketcham didn’t have any names to give him . . .”

“Back to Joey Fiorello and Phil Chason,” Wohl said.

“So goes my theory,” Washington said. “The reason that Mr. Fiorello knew about the drug bust at the motel was that Savarese had learned about it from Ketcham.”

“And to go by the message he left for Amy,” Wohl said, “Ketcham must have convinced Savarese that one of the Five Squad raped the girl; in other words, that he didn’t.”

“Yes,” Washington said. “And now Mr. Savarese wishes to discuss the incident with the officers involved. Hence, he needs their names.”

“That doesn’t explain why Ketcham is still alive,” Danny the Judge said. “It seems to me that just getting his granddaughter in a situation like that would be enough for Savarese to—what did Jason say?—send Ketcham ‘swimming with the fishes.’ ”

“After first cutting him in small pieces with a dull saw,” Coughlin agreed.

“I read somewhere,” Wohl said softly, “that death by starvation is one of the more painful ways to die.”