Martinez walked to the car but didn’t get in.
“Get in, for Christ’s sake,” Wohl snapped, and was immediately sorry. “Sorry, Jesus. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Martinez shrugged, signaling that he understood.
“That poor sonofabitch,” he said.
“Yeah,” Wohl agreed.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Inspector Peter Wohl said to Staff Inspector Michael Weisbach as he walked in his office. “Something came up.”“The Detweiler girl?” Weisbach asked, and when Wohl nodded, added: “Sabara told me. Awful. For her—what was she, twenty-three, her whole life ahead of her—and for Payne. He was really up when you put out the call for him.”
“Up? What for, for having put the cuffs on a crooked cop? He liked that?”
“No. I think he felt sorry for Captain Cazerra. I think he felt vindicated. He told me that you, and Washington and Denny Coughlin, had really eaten his ass out for going out on that ledge.”
“I wasn’t going to let it drop, either—it was damned stupid—until this…this goddamned overdose came along.”
“I imagine he’s pretty broken up?”
“I don’t know. No outward emotion, which may mean he really has one of those well-bred stiff upper lips we hear about, or that he’s in shock.”
“Where is he?”
“Out at the estate. He’s coming here. I’m going to see that he’s not alone.”
“There was a kid in here, McFadden, from Northwest Detectives, looking for him.”
“Good. I was going to put the arm out for him. They’re pals. You think he knows what happened?”
“I’m sure he does. When O’Mara told him Payne wasn’t here, he said something about him probably being in Chestnut Hill, and that he would go there.”
Wohl picked up his telephone and was eventually connected with O’Connor.
“Captain O’Connor. Inspector Wohl calling,” he said, and then: “Peter Wohl, Tom. Need a favor.”
Weisbach faintly heard O’Connor say, “Name it.”
“If you could see your way clear to give your Detective McFadden a little time off, I’d appreciate it. He and my Detective Payne are friends, and for the next couple of days, Payne, I’m sure you know why, is going to need all the friends he has.”
Weisbach heard O’Connor say, “I already told him to take whatever time he needed, Inspector.”
“I owe you one, Tom.”
“I owe you a lot more than one, Inspector. Glad to help. Christ, what a terrible waste!”
“Isn’t it?” Wohl said, added, “Thanks, Tom,” and hung up.
He had a second thought, and pushed a button on the telephone that connected him with Officer O’Mara, his administrative assistant.
“Yes, sir?”
“Two things, Paul. Inspector Weisbach and I need some coffee, and while that’s brewing, I want you to call Special Agent Jack Matthews at the FBI. Tell him I asked you to tell him what happened in Chestnut Hill this morning, and politely suggest that Detective Payne would probably be grateful for some company. That latter applies to you, too. Why don’t you stop by Payne’s apartment on your way home?”
Weisbach heard O’Mara say, “Yes, sir.”
Wohl looked at Weisbach as he hung up.
“Busy morning. I feel like it’s two in the afternoon, and it’s only ten to eleven.”