The Investigators Part 69

"I think I know what he's looking for-a connection between Adelaide Worner and Timothy J. Calhoun-but I have no idea if he'll find one. Or what else he might come up with."

"Best possible world, Matt. Your Lieutenant Deitrich comes up with a strong enough connection so that you-I mean you, there you, there-can go to a judge and get a search warrant for the box. You serve the search warrant and find something-drugs would be best, but a large amount of cash would also work-in the box . . . Wait a second . . ."

Matt heard what he presumed was the sound of a hand covering the microphone.

He looked down at Susan again. His hand reached out and he touched, almost reverently, her right nipple with the b.a.l.l.s of his fingers. She looked down to see what he was doing, and then looked into his eyes. Her hand covered his and pressed it against her breast.

"Walter Davis just said . . ."

Christ, the FBI guy. What's going on down there?

". . . that if you have anything at all, he'll call Chief Mueller, who probably knows the right judge to go to for the search warrant."

"Okay."

"Hold it again," Wohl said and went off the line for almost a minute.

Susan moved close to Matt and kissed him tenderly, then touched his face with her hand.

Wohl came back on the line: "Chief Coughlin just decided it would be better if you didn't go to Deitrich tonight. But Mr. Davis will call Chief Mueller, as soon as I get off the phone, and call in a favor about the warrant."

"Okay."

"So. Leave it this way. At eight o'clock, you will learn from Deitrich if he's come up with a connection. Or something else. Either way, you call . . . wait a second. . . . Okay. You call Was.h.i.+ngton Was.h.i.+ngton as soon as possible after eight, and tell him what's happened to that point. He'll tell you either to go get the warrant and serve it, or something else. Do you happen to know if Calhoun is still out there?" as soon as possible after eight, and tell him what's happened to that point. He'll tell you either to go get the warrant and serve it, or something else. Do you happen to know if Calhoun is still out there?"

"I have no idea."

"Maybe Walter can ask Chief Mueller to have an RPC discreetly check if his car is parked at one of his relatives' houses. If that happens, Was.h.i.+ngton will let you know when you speak with him. If you learn, for sure, that he's in Harrisburg, or has left, you call Was.h.i.+ngton."

"You mean in the morning?"

"I mean whenever you find out. We're going to arrest Calhoun in any event. The question is when, and whether you will do it up there, based on what you find in the safe-deposit box, or we do it here in Philadelphia."

"Are you going to tell me what these 'new developments' are?"

"There's no time for that now. If there's time in the morning, Was.h.i.+ngton will fill you in then."

"Okay."

"Hold on once more," Wohl said, went off the line for another forty seconds, and came back on. "Mr. Davis wants to know how you're doing with the Reynolds woman."

"Tell him she's naked in my bed right now."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, that's not funny! Do you have anything or don't you?"

"No, sir."

"You going to see her anytime soon?"

"Tomorrow, probably."

"Calhoun is your priority, but the other remains in place. If you think she's going to meet with Chenowith, call Jack Matthews."

"Yes, sir."

"Was.h.i.+ngton will be waiting to hear from you around eight."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll be talking," Wohl said. "Good night, Matt." The line went dead.

" 'She's naked in my bed right now'?" Susan quoted when he had hung up the phone.

"I don't think he believed me."

"I really think you have a screw loose," she said.

"Well, now that we're wide awake, whatever whatever shall we do?" shall we do?"

"I should get dressed and go home," Susan said.

"It's only . . ."

"Quarter past three," Susan furnished. "My G.o.d!"

"That late? I had no idea! Say, I just had a late? I had no idea! Say, I just had a marvelous marvelous idea! Why don't you just lie back down, we'll leave a call for, say, half past five, have a good breakfast . . ." idea! Why don't you just lie back down, we'll leave a call for, say, half past five, have a good breakfast . . ."

"Matt, I had to sneak out of the house to come here. The last thing I need now is for my mother to catch me sneaking back in. Sometimes she gets up early. . . . I have to go."

"Spoken like a true member of the next generation of a Bennington mommy."

"We have enough trouble without her finding out that I've been with you all night."

"You think Mommy doesn't already have deep suspicions-with more than a little reason-that you and I have been playing Hide the Salami?"

"Of course she doesn't! Why should she? And I really hate you when you're vulgar!"

"Princess, that model of the Bennington mommy-and G.o.d knows, I know them well; your mommy, Chad's mommy, Daffy's mommy, and Penny's mommy were all stamped out of the same mold-is not really as airheaded and naive as they would have their children believe."

"Meaning what?"

"They've figured it out that if the children think they're stupid, the children won't try so hard to put something over on them, and thus they get to know what's going on."

"You really think my mother knows about us?"

"Knows? No. Not unless she's climbed the fire escape to look in the window-which I suppose is possible. But does she have deep, and justifiable, suspicions? h.e.l.l, yes, she does."

"I don't believe that!"

"Susan, you told your mother you were out with me listening to jazz in Philadelphia until six in the morning. You don't really think she believes that, do you? That all we were doing was holding hands, snapping our fingers to the music, and having good clean fun?"

Susan's face showed that she had never considered this before.

"Do you really believe this, or are you just saying it to get me to stay?"

"I really believe it; and and I'm saying it because I don't want you to go. And what the h.e.l.l difference does it make? In three days, maybe-probably-much sooner, the fact that we've been playing Hide the Salami won't seem at all important to your mother-or, for that matter, your father. When the problem has become how to keep their Presbyterian princess out of the slam, the fact that she has been-" I'm saying it because I don't want you to go. And what the h.e.l.l difference does it make? In three days, maybe-probably-much sooner, the fact that we've been playing Hide the Salami won't seem at all important to your mother-or, for that matter, your father. When the problem has become how to keep their Presbyterian princess out of the slam, the fact that she has been-"

"Oh, G.o.d!" Susan said. "G.o.d, you can be cruel! Sometimes I hate you!"

He looked up at her and was as astonished by the wave of fury that suddenly swept through him as he was by what he heard himself say.

"Well, f.u.c.k you, too, Susan!"

"What did you say?" she asked, horrified.

"I said 'f.u.c.k you.' G.o.dd.a.m.n you, go home and play the G.o.dd.a.m.n game with your G.o.dd.a.m.ned mommy!"

He jumped out of bed and marched angrily into the bathroom.

He half expected her to come knock at the bathroom door. Or throw something at it. Or scream at him.

There was no response from the bedroom at all.

He looked at the closed door and decided the gentlemanly thing to do would be to give her the time to get dressed and make a dignified withdrawal from the scene of battle.

That gentlemanly decision lasted approximately ninety seconds.

f.u.c.k it! Why should I wait in here? Screw her!

He pulled the door open.

Susan, still naked, was sitting on the bed, talking on the telephone.

"Be sure to give Mommy my best regards!" Matt said nastily.

"Thank you," Susan said into the telephone, and hung up.

She looked at Matt. He saw there were tears in her eyes.

"I was ordering our breakfast," she said.

Captain David Pekach was at the urinal mounted on the wall of the bathroom of the master suite of the Peebles mansion on Glengarry Lane when the telephone rang.

He had been examining his reflected image in the mirror that lined the upper half of the wall. He was wearing silk pajamas, because he had come to understand that Martha-although she had said nothing-thought that his pre-Martha sleeping attire-a T-s.h.i.+rt-was a little crude.

The pajamas bore the label of A. Sulka & Company, Rue de Castiglione, Paris. Pekach had never been to Paris, although Martha thought it would be a nice place to spend at least a few days of their upcoming honeymoon.

The pajamas had been purchased by Martha's late father in Paris, and then brought home and apparently forgotten. When Pekach found them in what was now his dresser (Martha called it a chest of drawers), they were still in their cellophane packaging.

The truth was, he had just concluded when the telephone began to buzz (not ring), that he really liked the pajamas, although the b.u.t.tons had been a little hard to get used to at first, and woke him up when he rolled over onto his belly. And he also liked taking a leak in the urinal, the first he had ever seen in a private home.

And he thought again that it was a shame he'd never gotten to meet Martha's father. He had apparently been one h.e.l.l of a man. A man's man, and not only because he had hunted and shot at least one each of the world's big game, but also because he did things like install a urinal in his bathroom, because that's what he wanted, and to h.e.l.l with what people thought.

Martha had told him she was positive her father would have loved him. Pekach wasn't so sure about that. He thought it more likely that if he were Alexander F. Peebles he would have wondered long and hard about whether Captain David Pekach was in love with his daughter or her money.

As far as Dave Pekach was concerned, if Martha didn't have a G.o.dd.a.m.ned dime, she would still be the best thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life. But right now, there were only two people who believed that: he and Martha. Well, maybe Matt Payne. And probably, too, Matt's father, the lawyer.

If Brewster Cortland Payne thought all he was after was Martha's money, he would have done something about it. He'd been Martha's father's lawyer-and friend-for a long time. He wasn't going to stand idly by and just watch her get screwed. Get taken advantage of. Get taken advantage of. If he believed that, or even suspected it, Brewster C. Payne would not be going to give the bride away when they got married. More than that, he wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to fix their getting married by both a Roman Catholic monsignor (to satisfy Dave's mother) If he believed that, or even suspected it, Brewster C. Payne would not be going to give the bride away when they got married. More than that, he wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to fix their getting married by both a Roman Catholic monsignor (to satisfy Dave's mother) and and an Episcopalian (to satisfy what Martha thought her father would want). an Episcopalian (to satisfy what Martha thought her father would want).

But everybody else else figured that he was going to marry her for her money. n.o.body was willing to believe that it had been love at first sight, any more than anyone would believe that he was the first man Martha had ever gone to bed with. And, of course, he couldn't say anything about that. figured that he was going to marry her for her money. n.o.body was willing to believe that it had been love at first sight, any more than anyone would believe that he was the first man Martha had ever gone to bed with. And, of course, he couldn't say anything about that.

When the telephone began to buzz, Dave Pekach was nowhere close to finis.h.i.+ng what he had risen from bed to accomplish.

He was, therefore, not surprised when he went back into the bedroom to find that the bedside lights were lit, and that Martha was sitting up against the ma.s.sive carved headboard (her father had bought the bed in Borneo; the most prominent of the bas-relief carvings was of a snarling tiger with ivory teeth) holding the telephone out to him.

"It's Peter Wohl, precious," she said.

Martha had long hair, which she braided at night, and which Dave thought was really beautiful. He could also see her nipples through her thin nightgown. Just the sight of Martha's nipples made his heart jump, and he sometimes wondered if that was dirty of him, or whether it was just one more proof that he loved her.

"I'm sorry you woke up," he said as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I always wake up whenever you get up," she said.

"Yes, sir," Dave said into the telephone.

"Sorry to do this to you, Dave," Wohl said. "But I want you in my office, in uniform, and in a Highway Patrol car as soon as you can get there."

"What's up?"

Wohl did not respond to the question.

"If I'm not there-I'm calling from South Detectives-wait for me," Wohl said, and hung up.

"What is it?" Martha asked.

"He wants me in his office right away," he said. "What time is it?"

Martha glanced at the clock on her bedside table.

"Twenty after three," she said and started to get out of bed.

"What are you doing?"

"You're not going out at this hour without at least a cup of coffee," she said.