Part 21 (1/2)
”Chief Inspector Coughlin for Mr. Davis, please,” he said to whoever answered, and then, a moment later: ”Dennis Coughlin, Walter. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I've had a chance to speak with Peter Wohl. The best I have been able to set up is half past four at the Rittenhouse Club. Would that be convenient?”
Davis's reply could not be heard.
”Look forward to seeing you, too, Walter,” Coughlin said, and hung up. He looked at Wohl and Payne. ”Pay attention, you two,” he said, smiling. ”Write this down. When dealing with the enemy, never meet him on his own turf-Davis wanted us to come to the FBI office-and, if possible, keep him waiting.”
Walter Davis, trailed by Special Agents Howard C. Jernigan and Raymond Leibowitz, walked up to the porter's desk in the Rittenhouse Club at 4:15 and announced, ”I'm Mr. Davis. I'm expecting a gentleman named Coughlin.”
The porter turned and examined the members.h.i.+p board.
I'll be d.a.m.ned. Coughlin is a member. Of course. He would have to be. He suggested this place to meet. Why didn't I think of that?
”Chief Coughlin is in the bar, sir,” the porter said, his tone suggesting that life would be much easier if stupid members took a look at the members.h.i.+p board themselves.
Coughlin, Peter Wohl, and Matt Payne were sitting at a large table-with room for six chairs-and had been there, Davis saw, at least long enough to get bar service.
The three of them stood up as Davis approached.
”You're looking well, Walter,” Coughlin said, offering his large hand.
”As you do, Dennis,” Davis said, and offered his hand first to Wohl-”Thank you for making time for me, Peter”-and then to Matt. ”How are you, Payne?”
”Very well, thank you, sir,” Payne said.
”You've met these fellows,” Davis said. ”But let me introduce them to Peter and Dennis. Raymond Leibowitz and Howard Jernigan.”
The men shook hands.
A waiter appeared. Davis ordered a Jack Daniel's on the rocks, Leibowitz the same, and Jernigan ginger ale.
”I'd really like to be somewhere where we won't be overheard,” Davis said. ”Is there somewhere . . .”
”Matty's father told me they spent a lot of money designing this room,” Coughlin said, gesturing at the high, paneled ceiling, ”as someplace where people could have discreet conversations. But if you're uncomfortable, Walter, there are private rooms.”
”No. I'm sure this will be fine,” Davis said.
”You're the commanding officer of Special Operations, I understand, Inspector,” Jernigan said, oozing charm.
”Yes, I am,” Peter said, and added mischievously, ”I understand you've seen our headquarters.”
Jernigan colored.
Coughlin laughed, and after a second, somewhat artificially, Davis joined in.
”Let's clear the air,” Coughlin said. ”Detective Payne should have told your people he was a police officer, and he should not have taken them on-what should we call it?-a tour tour of the scenic attractions of North Philadelphia, and he is prepared to apologize, isn't that so, Matty?” of the scenic attractions of North Philadelphia, and he is prepared to apologize, isn't that so, Matty?”
”Yes, sir. We just got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry.”
The waiter appeared with the drinks.
”I propose a toast to peace, friends.h.i.+p, and cooperation between the Philadelphia Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” Coughlin said, and raised his gla.s.s.
”A very appropriate toast, one I quickly agree to, under the circ.u.mstances,” Davis said.
”What circ.u.mstances would those be, Walter?” Coughlin asked.
”I think I'll let Raymond get into that,” Davis said. ”But first let me tell you that Raymond and Howard aren't in my office. They operate out of FBI Headquarters in Was.h.i.+ngton; they're members of the Anti-Terrorism Group.”
”Anti-Terrorism?” Matt blurted.
Coughlin and Wohl frowned at him.
”Before we came to see you, Detective Payne,” Leibowitz said, ”there just wasn't time to check in with the Philadelphia office. If there was, we would have known who you were. Are.”
”I thought you were investigating the kidnapping of Susan Reynolds,” Matt said. ”Actually, the nonkidnapping.”
” 'Kidnapping'?” Leibowitz said, visibly surprised. ”Where'd you get that?”
”Well, then, what the h.e.l.l were you investigating? She's rich; rich people get kidnapped; she was missing-the FBI knew she was missing. Her father is a very important man; I figured that was why the FBI was working on a weekend.”
”Jesus Christ!” Leibowitz said. ”You really thought we were investigating her kidnapping kidnapping?”
”I had the feeling you thought I had done it,” Matt said. ”Understandably, I was a little annoyed.”
”Well, I'll tell you what we were investigating, what we are investigating,” Leibowitz said. ”But it can't go any further than this room.”
”I'm sure, Leibowitz,” Davis said pointedly, ”that we can trust the discretion of Chief Coughlin, Inspector Wohl, and Detective Payne.”
Special Agent Leibowitz's face showed that he was more than a little uncomfortable trusting the discretion of Detective Payne.
”Does the name Bryan C. Chenowith mean anything to you, Detective Payne?”
Matt searched his memory, then shook his head, ”no.”
”Eloise Anne Fitzgerald?”
Matt shook his head again.
”Jennifer Ollwood?”
Matt shook his head.
”Edgar L. Cole?”
Matt held up both hands in a gesture of helplessness.
”Never heard of any of them,” he said.
”They're all wanted by both the federal government and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania on a number of charges-”