Part 80 (1/2)
”Can you get some time off?” Patricia Payne asked.
”I'm sure I can,” Matt said.
”Well, go tell your father. He's pacing back and forth on the patio, waiting to know what's up.”
Matt walked toward the patio, and Patricia Payne led her daughter into the house, where she sought-and got- confirmation that all that was wrong with her son was that he had been pushed, or had pushed himself, beyond his limits, and that all he needed was rest.
Matt had just finished telling his father this, and was about to tell him that Amy had another medical theory that he thought had a lot of merit, despite what Drs. Stein and Michaels said, when Deputy Commissioner Dennis V. Coughlin, trailed by Captain Frank Hollaran, came onto the patio.
Coughlin was carrying in his hand what looked like a briefcase but was the size of a woman's purse. Matt wondered what it was.
”I just had a talk with Dr. Keyes Michaels, the department psychiatrist, Brewster,” Coughlin said. ”Good man. Comes from a family of cops. Knows cops. Says the only thing wrong with Matty is exhaustion, and all he needs is some rest.”
He turned to Matt.
”By order of the commissioner, you are now on vacation. Thirty days.”
”Great,” Matt said.
Coughlin handed him the purse-size leather briefcase. ”This is yours,” he said.
”What is it?”
”Your pistol. You forgot it at IAD.”
”Oh, yeah,” Matt said. ”Thank you.”
He laid the purselike thing on the fieldstone wall of the patio.
”Matt,” Brewster Payne said, ”why don't you go inside and get us something to drink?”
As soon as Matt was out of earshot, Brewster C. Payne sought-and got-confirmation from Dennis V. Coughlin that all that was wrong was that Matt was emotionally and physically exhausted, and all that he needed was rest.
As Matt rolled the bar cart across the fieldstones of the patio, Armando C. Giacomo, Esq., arrived.
He was now his normal, sartorially elegant self.
”Brewster, I realize I'm barging in-”
”Nonsense, Manny, you don't need an invitation here.”
”Actually, I came to see my client,” Giacomo said. ”How are you doing, Matt?”
”I'm fine.”
”I have been informed, unofficially, of course, but reliably, by both the cops and the D.A.'s office that nothing you did in the La Famiglia parking lot in any way violated any law of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. In legal terminology, it was a righteous shooting, Matt, and you're off the hook.”
”Manny, we appreciate how quickly-” Brewster C. Payne began.
Giacomo waved his hand to signal thanks were unnecessary.
”But you will have a taste, Manny, right?”
”I thought you would never ask.”
Next to arrive were Lieutenant Jason Was.h.i.+ngton and Detective Joe D'Amata. As Matt was pouring their drinks, the telephone in the niche in the fieldstone wall rang and Brewster C. Payne answered it.
It was Mr. Stan Colt, calling from the Coast. The monsignor had called him, Mr. Colt said, and said he'd heard that Matt was a little under the weather, and ”could I talk to him, if he's up to it?”
Sergeant Payne a.s.sured Mr. Colt that he was fine, that he had just been a little exhausted, and that he would make a real effort to go out to the Coast, and soon.
Inspector Peter Wohl appeared next. He was intercepted by Mrs. Patricia Payne and Dr. Amelia Payne as he walked up the now car-clogged drive toward the house.
”Amy told me what you did for Matt the night . . . it happened, ” Patricia Payne said, ”and I just wanted to say, 'Thank you.' ”
”Absolutely unnecessary,” Wohl replied. ”I was just glad I was there. I think of Matt-I think of all of you-as family.”
”And we do, too, Peter,” Patricia Payne said, emotionally. ”Don't we, Amy?”
”Yeah,” Amy said, looking intently at him. ”I guess we all really do.”
Her tone was strange, and Peter looked at her with a raised eyebrow, and as if he was about to say something. But then he saw something else, and smiled instead.
”Look who's here,” he said. ”Mutt and Jeff.”
Detectives Charles McFadden and Jesus Martinez got out of their unmarked Special Operations Crown Victoria and started up the drive.
They stopped, and looked uncomfortable when they saw Wohl.
”Sir,” McFadden said, biting the bullet, ”Captain Sabara said it would be all right if we took the rest of the day off- we just took the truck to the impound lot-and came out here and saw how Sergeant Payne was doing.”
Wohl nodded.
”How's he doing?” McFadden asked.
”He was exhausted, really exhausted,” Amy said. ”But he's fine, and he'll be glad to see you.”
Detective Martinez unrolled the newspaper he had in his hand and extended it to Dr. Payne.
”My mother saved this for me-Charley and me was driving up from Alabama when this happened,” he said. ”I didn't know if Pa . . . Sergeant Payne had seen them or not.”
It was the Philadelphia Bulletin, Philadelphia Bulletin, with a three-column picture of Sergeant Matthew M. Payne in a dinner jacket, standing, pistol in hand, over a man on the ground. with a three-column picture of Sergeant Matthew M. Payne in a dinner jacket, standing, pistol in hand, over a man on the ground.
With an effort, Mrs. Payne smiled and said, ”No, I don't think he has. It was very kind of you, Detective, to think of bringing this.”
An hour-and several bottles of spirits-later, everybody had gone, and Matt and Brewster Payne found themselves again alone on the patio.