“Yes, sir,” Matt said, and got up and started to leave.
“Matt!” Wohl called after him.
“Yes, sir?”
“Don’t you think it would be a good idea to take this stuff with you?” Wohl asked innocently, pointing at the stack of copies of the Jerome Nelson job.
“Yes, sir,” Matt said. His face flushed. He took the documents from Wohl’s desk and walked out.
As he closed the door, he heard Wohl say, “If I didn’t know better, I might suspect Young Matt’s in love.”
“How about ‘in rut’?” Sabara said.
Matt closed the door on their laughter.
“May I help you, sir?” Miss Lenore Gray, who was twenty-six, tall, slim, auburn-haired, and the receptionist at the FBI office, asked, smiling a bit more brightly than was her custom at what she judged to be a very well-dressed, nice-looking young man.
“My name is Payne,” Matt said. “I’m a police officer. I have some documents for Mr. Davis.”
Lenore had been told to be on the lookout for a Philadelphia cop named Payne, and to call SAC Davis (or, if he was out of the office, A-SAC [Criminal Affairs] Frank F. Young, or if he was out too, one of the other A-SACs) when he showed up.
She had expected a cop in uniform, not a good-looking young man like this in a very nice blue blazer.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Davis is not in the office,” she said. “Just a moment, please.”
She pushed buttons on her new, state-of-the-art telephone system that caused one of the telephones on the desk of A-SAC (Criminal Affairs) Frank F. Young to ring. She did not want to go through the hassle of telling A-SAC Young’s secretary why she wanted to talk to him.
“Frank Young.”
“This is Miss Gray at reception, Mr. Young. Officer Payne of the police is here.”
“Tell him I’ll be right out,” Young said.
“Mr. Young will be out in a moment,” Lenore said with a smile. “Mr. Young is our A-SAC, Criminal Affairs.”
“As opposed to romantic?” Matt asked.
He was obviously making a joke, but it took Lenore a moment to search for and find the point.
“Oh, aren’t you terrible!” she said.
“You do have an A-SAC, Romantic Affairs?”
“No,” Lenore said. “But it sounds like a marvelous idea.”
“I’m Frank Young,” Young announced, coming into the reception area with his hand out. “The chief had to leave, I’m afraid, and you’re stuck with me. Come on in.”
Matt was surprised. He had considered himself an errand boy, delivering a package, and errand boys are not normally greeted with a smile and a handshake.
“Thank you,” Matt said.
Young led him into the brightly lit, spacious interior, and then into his own well-furnished office, through the windows of which he could see Billy Penn atop City Hall. He could not help but make the comparison between this and Inspector Wohl’s crowded office, and then between it and the new home of Special Operations at Frankford and Castor.
In the icy cold, dark recesses of which, I will now spend the next three or four hours, with my little tape measure.
“I’m sure this is just what we asked for,” Young said, “but I think it would be a good idea if I took a quick look at it. Can I have my girl get you a cup of coffee?”
“Thank you,” Matt said. “Black, please.”