Part 22 (1/2)
”Hypothetically, Matt, how could someone gain access to her hotel room?” Wohl asked.
”Hypothetically, with a master key.”
”Apropos of nothing whatever,” Wohl said, ”Detective Payne recently partic.i.p.ated in a surveillance operation at the Hotel Bellvue-Stratford.”
Leibowitz and Jernigan exchanged glances suggesting they fully understood the usefulness to a surveillance crew of a master key that might not have been acquired under innocent circ.u.mstances.
”The Reynolds girl's bed had not been slept in?” Leibowitz asked.
Matt shook his head, ”no.”
”You find out anything else that might be useful?”
”The rent-a-cop in the hotel garage said he remembered a red Porsche with a good-looking blonde in it leaving the garage about half past five the previous afternoon. Where-presuming this was in fact, Susan Reynolds; there really aren't that many good-looking blondes in red Porsches-she was from five-thirty until she went to the Nesbitts' at half past seven or so is anyone's guess. I don't know, know, but I'll bet she did not put the car into the hotel garage again until a couple of hours after I was there.” but I'll bet she did not put the car into the hotel garage again until a couple of hours after I was there.”
”Why did Mrs. Nesbitt tell the suspect's mother the suspect had left with you?” Jernigan asked.
”I think she thought at the time that she had.”
”You were friendly with her at the party?”
”I tried to be. She was not interested.”
”Pity,” Jernigan said.
”Do you think you could change that situation?” Davis asked.
”What do you mean by that?” Matt asked.
”I mean get close to her,” Davis said.
”What's the opposite of her being 'overwhelmed' by my charms?” Matt asked.
”What are you driving at, Walter?” Chief Coughlin asked.
”Off the top of my head,” Davis said. ”And I'm hearing a lot of this for the first time myself, which sometimes cuts through the fog. What I'm hearing is that the Reynolds girl is not all that close to the Nesbitts. But she goes to the Nesbitts' party. And disappears overnight. That suggests she may have had a rendezvous with the fugitives. That suggests they may be here, or near here. Since it worked this time, they may try it again. If Detective Payne could get close . . .”
”You're suggesting that he work with you on this?” Coughlin asked.
”You would have problems with that?”
”Frankly, Walter, I have a lot of problems with it,” Coughlin said. ”For one thing, he's up to his neck right now in an important investigation.”
”These people have been indicted by the Allegheny County Grand Jury for murder, Chief Coughlin,” Leibowitz said. ”They're fugitives from a Pennsylvania jurisdiction. They're not just a federal problem.”
”Still,” Coughlin said, somewhat lamely.
”I see a lot of practical problems,” Wohl said, coming to Coughlin's aid. ”Presuming Chief Coughlin would go along with this. For one thing, Payne says the Reynolds girl was not . . . at all receptive to his charms. Even if she was, this is a long way from Harrisburg. Does she know you're a cop, Matt?”
”Yes, sir. Her eyes just sort of glazed over when she heard that.”
”You didn't think that was a little odd?” Jernigan asked.
”Unfortunately, it happens to me all the time,” Matt said.
”On the other hand,” Davis said. ”She might decide what better cover could she have when making frequent trips to Philadelphia than a cop boyfriend?”
Wohl thought: He's right. Why am I surprised? You don't get to be the FBI Philadelphia SAC if you're stupid. He's right. Why am I surprised? You don't get to be the FBI Philadelphia SAC if you're stupid.
Then he saw something on Matt's face.
”What, Matt?” he asked.
”You know why I went to the Roundhouse last night?” Matt asked.
Wohl had to think a moment before recalling that Matt had been sent to Personnel by Staff Inspector Weisbach.
”There was some sort of a Harrisburg connection?” Wohl asked.
Coughlin's face indicated that he was having a hard time holding his questions about that until later.
Matt nodded.
”Something that would justify you being in Harrisburg on police business?” Davis asked.
”What Matt is working on is sensitive,” Coughlin said. ”There are people we don't want to know he'll be going to Harrisburg.”
Walter Davis confirmed Wohl's realization that stupid people do not get to be senior FBI officers: ”An internal matter, eh?” Davis said. ”Well, I can probably help you there a little, if you like. The chief of police there is not only an old friend, but he owes me a couple of favors. You tell me what sort of a cover story you'd like for Payne to have, and I'll see that it's leaked from the chief's office.”
”That could be very useful,” Wohl said, thinking out loud.
”There is something else,” Davis said. ”Payne can move easily in the same social circles as the Reynolds woman; that could be very useful, I would suspect.”
”I'd have to clear Matt working with you on this with the commissioner,” Coughlin said. It was his last line of defense.
”I don't think that will pose a problem, Denny,” Davis said. ”The last time I had lunch with the mayor-here, as a matter of fact-he gave me quite a speech about these people who blow up medical-research facilities because they use animals. He called them something I wouldn't repeat in mixed company. He said they were more dangerous to the country than most people realized. I have the feeling that if he knew about this, he would 'suggest' to Commissioner Czernich that it was a splendid idea.”
You may be an a.s.s, Walter Davis, Peter Wohl thought, Peter Wohl thought, but you are not a stupid a.s.s. but you are not a stupid a.s.s.
TEN.
When the telephone rang in the elegantly furnished study of his South Philadelphia residence, Mr. Vincenzo Savarese, his jacket removed, his stiffly starched cuffs turned up, his eyes closed, was playing along from memory with a tape recording of the Philharmonica Sla vonica's recording of Max Bruch's Violin Concerto in G Minor, Opus 26, on a circa 1790 G. Strenelli violin for which he had paid nearly fifty thousand dollars.
Mr. Pietro Ca.s.sandro, a very large, well-tailored forty-year-old who faithfully paid federal and state taxes on his income as vice president of Cla.s.sic Livery, Inc., where his duties were primarily driving the Lincolns and Cadillacs in which Mr. Savarese moved about town, frowned when the telephone rang. Mr. S. did not like to be disturbed when he was playing the violin.
Ca.s.sandro looked at Mr. Savarese to see his reaction to the ringing telephone. Only a very few people had the number of Mr. Savarese's study.