Final Justice Part 51

Mariani read the records of previous encounters with the law of the two suspects, shrugged, and then looked at Eileen Solomon.

"Okay, Eileen. What do you think we should do?"

"I don't think we should rush to arrest these two until we have a better case."

"Matt told me he was concerned that these two, having gotten away so far with the Roy Rogers job, and knowing you can only be executed once, might do the same sort of thing again, just as soon as they spend what they took from the Roy Rogers," Mariani said, but it was a question.

"That's a valid concern, and I share it," Eileen said.

"So you're suggesting we just sit on these two until we can make a really tight case?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Now that we know who they are, maybe we can get something from snitches," Lowenstein said. "For example, whether or not they still have the .38."

Mariani nodded.

"And we could run their mug shots before some of the witnesses and see if it jogs their memory," Coughlin said.

"Taking great care with that, so the defense can't claim we suggested whom the witnesses should pick out," Eileen said.

"How soon could you start surveillance of these two?" Mariani asked.

"I can have detectives from Southwest outside their door in however long it takes them to get there. I'd rather use undercover cars, which means I would have to have your permission to take a couple-five or six would be better-undercover cars away from the Impact Unit or Internal Affairs. With a little luck, I could have them in place in probably under an hour," Lowenstein said.

"You've got my permission, of course," Mariani said, then had a second thought. "No, you don't. Because you don't need it. Peter Wohl's already got the authority. The mayor ordered the formation of a Special Operations task force for this job, remember?"

"I remember," Lowenstein said.

"That's right," Coughlin said.

"He's already got authority to request support from everybody, right?" Mariani asked.

Coughlin and Lowenstein nodded.

"The mayor gave Wohl the job," Mariani said. "Let him do it. You better put the arm out for him."

"He's downstairs in Homicide with Quaire and Was.h.i.+ngton, " Lowenstein said.

"You already called him?" Mariani asked.

"I didn't have to. We were all having dinner at Augie Wohl's house when Quaire called me," Coughlin said.

"Okay, then, Denny," Mariani said, and then his voice changed as he added, formally, "Under your supervision, Commissioner Coughlin, the Special Operations task force, paying cognizance to the suggestions of the district attorney, will proceed with the investigation. So inform Inspector Wohl."

"Yes, sir," Coughlin said.

"Then that's it," Mariani said. "Eileen, we all appreciate your support."

"Let's do this right," Eileen said. "We need to get those two off the street permanently."

[THREE].

When the district attorney of Philadelphia started to get off the Roundhouse elevator at the first floor, where the Homicide Division had its headquarters, she saw the surprise on the faces of Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Chief Inspector Lowenstein.

"Why not?" she asked. "I'm here. And the last I heard, I was welcome in Homicide."

"The last I heard, there was no place in the department where you are not more than welcome at any time," Coughlin said, and waved her off the elevator. "But I thought I detected a tone of annoyance in Ben's voice."

"We have a deal," she said. "I keep my mouth shut when the hospital calls Ben, and he keeps his shut when I have to work." She chuckled.

"What?" Lowenstein asked.

"One time when the hospital called, I said, 'Oh, h.e.l.l, Ben, not now,' and he replied, 'You knew what you were getting into when you married a doctor.' "

Coughlin looked confused.

"Isn't that what you cops tell your wives when they complain about the odd hours you have to keep?" the D.A. asked.

Lowenstein chuckled.

"I don't have a wife. I wouldn't know," Coughlin said.

They got off the elevator and walked down the corridor to Homicide.

Coughlin was not surprised that a lot of people would be in Homicide, but he was surprised at how many were actually there. The suite of offices was crowded with a number of non-Homicide white s.h.i.+rts, detectives, and uniforms.

In, or standing around the doorway of, Captain Quaire's office were Quaire, Inspector Peter Wohl; Lieutenant Jason Was.h.i.+ngton; Detective Tony Harris; Captains Frank Hollaran and Mike Sabara-Wohl's deputy-both in plainclothes; Captain Stuart Jenkins, the commanding officer of the Twelfth District, which covered the Paschall Homes Housing Project, where, according to the addresses on their last arrest sheets, both Lawrence John Porter and Ralph David Williams lived; and Captain Dave Pekach, the Highway Patrol commander. Jenkins and Pekach were in uniform.

In, or standing around the doorway of, the lieutenant's office-the three Homicide lieutenants, who were rarely on duty at the same time, shared an office-were Lieutenant Robert Natali, who was the tour lieutenant, and Sergeants Zachary Hobbs and Ed McCarthy.

Scattered around-in some cases, sitting on-the desks in the main area were Detective Al Unger; Sergeant Harry McElroy, Chief Lowenstein's driver; Sergeant Jerry O'Dowd, Pekach's driver; Sergeant Charley Lomax, Sabara's driver; and Sergeant Paul Kittinger, Captain Jenkins's driver.

Kittinger and O'Dowd were in uniform.

The term "driver" is somewhat misleading. Although all of these people did actually drive the cars a.s.signed to their superiors, they were far more than chauffeurs. Their official job was to relieve their bosses of what administrative details they could, in addition to driving them around.

But it was actually more than that. They had all been recognized as having both the ambition and the ability to rise higher in the police hierarchy, and their a.s.signment as drivers gave them a chance to see how their supervisors recognized and dealt with the problems that came their way. In many ways-except they never pa.s.sed canapes-drivers were the police version of military aides-de-camp.

Coughlin marched across the outer office to Quaire's office and stood for a moment in the doorway.

"It looks," he said, smiling, "as if everybody's here but Homicide's newest sergeant. Where's Payne?"

"He was here, Commissioner," Captain Quaire said. "With Stan Colt."

"Oh, G.o.d!" Coughlin said.

"So I ran him off with the girl from Northwest. She is-I told her to do it thoroughly and slowly-bringing him up to speed on the Williamson job."

"Clever," Coughlin said, approvingly. "Give us a minute alone with Inspector Wohl, will you, please?"

Everybody filed out of Quaire's office. When only Coughlin, Lowenstein, Solomon, and Wohl were left, Coughlin closed the door.

"I've got a suggestion, Eileen," he said.

"Shoot."

"You tell Peter what your concerns are, I'll tell him what his orders from the commissioner are, and then the three of us leave."

She didn't reply, and waited for him to go on.

"The point will be made to everybody out there that there's a lot of interest in what's going on from us. That's all that's really necessary, and if we hang around it will look like we're all going to be looking over his shoulder. I don't want any question in anybody's mind about who has the responsibility and the authority in this."

The district attorney considered that for a full thirty seconds, which seemed longer.

"Peter," she said, finally, "I don't want these two to walk because we get enthusiastic or careless and do something stupid. Before we arrest them, I want a d.a.m.ned tight case against them. I don't think we can safely rely on their fingerprints-or, for that matter, a confession. Now that defense attorneys have got their foot in the door with the successful challenges to fingerprints and confessions, we need to add to what we have now. Tying them positively to the murder weapon, for example, would be nice."

Wohl nodded his understanding.

"I'll pa.s.s the word that you get what you want, when you want it," Chief Lowenstein said.

"Yes, sir," Wohl said. "Thank you."

"I've got an idea about that, too," Coughlin said. "Everybody out there is wondering what the h.e.l.l we're talking about in here. So let's give them a little show. Matt, you open the door, and tell Sergeant McElroy to call Southwest Detectives, and get Captain Calmon down here, now, to report to Inspector Wohl."

"You're serious about that, aren't you, Denny?" Eileen asked.

"Yes, I'm serious. I want to make sure everybody knows who's in charge."

Lowenstein left the office, called his driver over, and told him what Coughlin had told him to tell him. Then he went back into the office.

Eileen started for the door.

"Where are you going, Eileen?"

"I'm going out there and tell Al Unger to call Steve Cohen and tell him to get right down here to advise Peter," she said. She turned to Wohl. "Steve's pretty bright, and I think he'll be useful. If he gets in your way, call me."

"I know Steve. We get along. But thanks, Eileen."

Steven J. Cohen was one of the best of the more than two hundred a.s.sistant district attorneys of Philadelphia.

Eileen McNamara Solomon left Quaire's office, spoke with Detective Al Unger, and then came back in.

Deputy Commissioner Coughlin then left the office, called Captain Hollaran over, and told him to call the Internal Affairs Division and the Impact Unit in his name, ordering them to get a senior officer to Homicide immediately to report to Inspector Wohl. Then he went back into the office.

"Can we go now, Denny?" Eileen asked.

"One more thing," Coughlin said. "Inspector Wohl, your orders from the commissioner are, 'The Special Operations task force, paying cognizance to the suggestions of the District Attorney, will proceed with the investigation.' "

"Yes, sir."

"Did I get that right, Eileen?"

"Verbatim," Eileen said. "And paying cognizance to my suggestions, Inspector, means before you arrest either of these two critters, you check with me."

"Steve Cohen won't do?"

"With me, Inspector."

"Yes, ma'am," Wohl said.

"Don't ma'am me, Peter. I'm not old enough to be your mother," the district attorney said, and left Quaire's office. A moment later, Coughlin and Lowenstein followed her.

[FOUR].

Even as he was pulling the unmarked Crown Victoria into one of the s.p.a.ces reserved for the hotel limousine and other important cars-over the indignant, both arms waving, objections of the Ritz-Carlton doorman-Matt saw eight, ten, maybe more members of the press start to rush toward it, brandis.h.i.+ng cameras and microphones.

"Do they always follow you around like this?" Matt asked.

"It is the price of celebrity," Stan Colt said, solemnly, resignedly, and then added, in a normal voice, "And let me tell you, buddy, it gets to be a real pain in the a.s.s."

The car's arrival, Stan Colt in the front seat, and the movement of the press had also been seen by Sergeant Al Nevins of Dignitary Protection, who had apparently stationed himself and two uniforms just inside the hotel's door. The three of them walked quickly to the car. Nevins opened the door, and when Colt got out, the three of them made a wedge and escorted Colt into the hotel. Once he was through the door, the uniforms barred the press from following him.

Matt and Olivia got out of the car and went into the hotel.

Nevins was standing by an open elevator door.

Matt made the introductions. "Sergeant Nevins, Detective La.s.siter."

"How are you?" Nevins said, but his surprise that Olivia was a cop was evident on his face.

Stan Colt was in a rear corner of the elevator, hiding himself as best he could. Matt and Olivia got on the elevator and the door closed.

Detective Jesus Martinez was sitting on a chair outside the double doors of the Benjamin Franklin Suite, reading the Philadelphia Daily News. Daily News. When he saw them, he stood up and knocked on the door. When he saw them, he stood up and knocked on the door.

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing out here?" Matt asked.

"This is where the guy inside told me to wait," Jesus said.

"You had your dinner?"

Martinez shook his head, "no."

The suite door opened a crack, and Alex peered out, then saw Colt and opened the door all the way.

Matt signaled for Jesus to follow him into the room.

"Detective Martinez is not a rent-a-cop," Matt announced. "He doesn't sit in the corridor. Clear?"