Part 15 (1/2)

”What's going on?” Matt asked, slipping into a chair at the table beside Harris.

”I am interrogating a witness to the Roy Rogers job,” Harris said, nodding at O'Hara. ”And getting nothing out of him.”

”Jesus, Tony,” Mickey said. ”The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds took a shot at me!”

Matt poured scotch into a gla.s.s.

”It would behoove you to go easy on that tonight, Detective Payne,” Wohl said. ”Which is the reason we put the arm out for you. We didn't want you to go off somewhere and get smashed by yourself.”

”Yes, sir,” Matt said, and picked up the drink and took a sip. Then he took his father's badge from his apartment and slipped it to Denny Coughlin.

”Mom found that, and said to give it to you,” he said.

Coughlin looked at the badge, then laid it on the table.

”What's that?” Lowenstein asked.

”Jack Moffitt's sergeant's badge,” Coughlin replied. ”I remember the day he got it.” He looked at Matt and said, ”I don't want to hand this to your mother a second time. You understand me?”

Matt's mouth ran away with him.

”Color me careful.”

”Watch your lip, Matty!” Coughlin said.

”That would make a good yarn,” Mickey O'Hara said. ” 'New Sergeant Gets Hero Father's Badge.' ”

”Which you won't write, right?” Lowenstein said.

”Okay,” Mickey said, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for the bottle of Old Bushmills.

”I loved Jack like a brother,” Coughlin said. ”And he had a lot of b.a.l.l.s. But he wasn't a hero. His big b.a.l.l.s got him killed. He answered a silent alarm without backup. . . .”

”I remember,” Lowenstein said. ”I had North Detectives when it happened.”

”Jack knew better,” Coughlin said. ”He could still be walking around if he'd done what he was trained-ordered-to do.”

”Dennis, how would you judge Dutch Moffitt's behavior?” Jason Was.h.i.+ngton's sonorous voice asked.

Coughlin looked at him, obviously annoyed at the question.

”Was that an excess of male ego-'I'm Dutch Moffitt of Highway Patrol. I can handle this punk by myself'?” Was.h.i.+ngton pursued. ”Or a professional a.s.sessment of the situation in which he found himself, with the same result?”

Coughlin looked at him for a long moment before deciding if and what to answer.

”Dutch said, 'Lay the gun on the counter, son. I don't want to have to kill you. I'm a police officer.' Was that the right thing to do? I think so. I would like to think that's what I would have done. I would also like to think I would have looked around for a second doer. Dutch didn't, and the junkie girlfriend shot him.”

”I worked with Dutch,” Peter Wohl said. ”I can't believe he didn't look for a second doer. He had trouble keeping his p.e.c.k.e.r in his pocket, but he was a very good street cop.”

”Your mother never told you, 'Don't speak ill of the dead,' Peter?” Coughlin said. ”Especially in front of the deceased's nephew?”

Wohl shrugged, unrepentant. Coughlin had another thought.

”Your grandmother's going to be in the mayor's office tomorrow, Matty. I thought she had a right to be.”

”Oh, s.h.i.+t!” Matt blurted.

Coughlin glared angrily at him.

”I was going to tell her later,” Matt said, somewhat lamely. ”Maybe even go by.”

”She's your grandmother, Matt,” Coughlin said, on the edge of anger.

”I don't like the way she treats my mother,” Matt said.

”Don't tell me she's still p.i.s.sed that Jack's widow married Payne?” Lowenstein asked.

”It's a religious thing, Matt,” Coughlin said. ”Patricia raised Matt as an Episcopal after Payne adopted him.”

”You Christians do have your problems, don't you?” Lowenstein asked. ”How many angels can can fit on the head of a pin?” fit on the head of a pin?”

Coughlin gave him the finger.

”I don't agree with her, Matty,” Coughlin said. ”You know that. But she's still your grandmother.”

”Does my mother know she's coming?”

”If your mother knew, she would, being the lady she is, not go.”

”Jesus-”

”Before you two continue with what is sure to be an indeterminable discussion of Mother Moffitt,” Was.h.i.+ngton interrupted, ”may I finish with my profound observation?”

Matt realized-wondering why it had taken him so long-that while no one at the table was drunk, it was also obvious that no one was on their first-or third-drink, either. He looked at the bottles. The Chivas Regal was half empty; the Jack Daniel's and the Old Bushmills were almost dry.

And Was.h.i.+ngton had even called Coughlin by his first name.

What the h.e.l.l is this all about? Why are all these people sitting around here getting smashed?

”How could we stop you?” Mickey O'Hara asked.

Was.h.i.+ngton continued, ”With the given that Sergeant Jack Moffitt was a good street cop, that Captain Dutch Moffitt was a good street cop, and that Officer Charlton had survived almost to retirement as a street cop, what mistake-indeed, what fatal fatal mistake-did all three of them make?” mistake-did all three of them make?”

”They weren't as good as they thought they were?” Mickey asked.

”Close, Michael,” Was.h.i.+ngton said.