The Murderers (Badge of Honor 6)

The hot water of the shower exacerbated whatever the hell he had been rolling around in on the Chester pier had done to his face and hands. When he wiped the condensation off the mirror to shave, he looked like a lobster. A lobster with a three-square-inch albino white spot on the right cheek, which served to make the rest of his face look even redder.

And shaving hurt, even with an electric razor.

He had just about finished dressing when the telephone rang.

That’s obviously Inspector Wohl, calling to apologize for having spoken harshly to me, and to express the gratitude and admiration of the entire Police Department for my brilliant detecting.

Or the President of the United States, (b) being quite as likely as (a).

Jesus, maybe it’s Amanda!

“Hello.”

“You’re a hard man to find, Matt,” the familiar voice of Mrs. Irene Craig, his father’s secretary, said. “Hold on.” Faintly, he could hear her add, presumably over the intercom to his father, “Triumph! Perseverance pays!”

“Matt? Good morning.”

“Good morning, Dad.”

“I’ve been concerned about you, and not only because we rather expected to see you at home last night and no one seems to know where you are.”

“Sorry, I was working.”

“Are you working now?”

“No. I just got out of the shower.”

“I don’t suppose you would have time to come by the office for a few minutes?”

“Yes, sir, I could.”

“Fine, I’ll see you shortly,” his father said, and hung up.

He did that, Matt hypothesized, correctly, so that I wouldn’t have time to come up with an excuse not to go to his office. I wonder what he wants.

“What in the world happened to your face?” Brewster Cortland Payne II greeted him twenty minutes later.“I don’t suppose you would believe I fell asleep under a sunlamp?”

“I wouldn’t,” said Irene Craig. “You’ll have to do better than that. Would you like some coffee, Matt?”

“Very much, thank you. Black, please.”

His father waved him into one of two green leather-upholstered chairs facing his desk.

“Two, Irene, please, and then hold my calls,” his father said.

He waited until Mrs. Craig had served the coffee, left, and closed the door behind her.

“What did happen to your face?”

“I fell into something that, according to Amy, was some kind of caustic.”

“Amy’s had a look at you?”

Matt nodded.

“How did it happen?”

“I was working.”