Final Justice (Badge of Honor 8)

“And the second thought is that I’d like to show these pictures to my sister.”

“Did you just say what I thought I heard you say?” Slayberg asked. “The sister at Dave Pekach’s party?”

D’Amata laughed.

“One and the same,” he said. “She’s a shrink, Harry, a very good one.”

“I didn’t know,” Slayberg said. “That’s a thought, but the book says a department shrink and/or Special Victims, not a civilian.”

“Maybe that rule could be bent,” D’Amata said, smiling. “I heard Dr. Payne call Commissioner Coughlin ‘Uncle Denny,’ and Inspector Wohl ‘Honey.’ ”

“That was at the party,” Matt said, chuckling. “And subject to change. But she’s worked with us before, Harry. I don’t think there would be a problem.”

“What I think we should do now,” D’Amata said, “is seek the wise guidance of the Black Buddha. He’s a white shirt- they get paid to make decisions.”

Matt caused the screen of his laptop to go blank, then took out his cell phone and held down the number that caused the phone to automatically dial the cell phone of Lieutenant Jason Washington.

“Washington.”

“Payne, sir.”

“I was just about to call you, Sergeant Payne.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Where are you, Matthew?”

“At the scene, sir.”

“Stay there, and make sure D’Amata and Slayberg stay there. Commissioner Coughlin, Chief Lowenstein, Captain Quaire, and I will be there shortly, to exhort you vis-a-vis the rapid solution of that case.”

“Yes, sir.”

Washington turned off his cell phone.

NINE

Matt pushed the End button on his cellular. "Washington’s on his way here,” he announced. "And so are Coughlin, Lowenstein, and Quaire.”

"What’s that all about?” D’Amata asked.

Matt shrugged. “He wants the three of us here.”

“Was he in the office?” D’Amata asked.

“He didn’t say.”

“Then we have to go on the premise that he-they-may be two minutes away,” D’Amata said. “ ‘Jesus is coming, look busy.’ How can we best do that?”

“I don’t know about you two, but I’m going back to doing the scene,” Slayberg said, and walked out of the kitchen.

“Emperors and people like that like to be welcomed when they go someplace,” D’Amata said. “Matt, why don’t you and I go outside and wait?”

They left the apartment by the rear door. There was a uniform standing at the foot of the stairway, and other uniforms were standing just inside the POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape. On the other side of the tape there were not only more spectators than Matt expected-Cheryl Williamson’s body had been taken away; the show was over-but more than a dozen representatives of the print, radio, and television press.

He didn’t see Mickey O’Hara, and wondered where he was. Mickey was usually the first press guy at the scene of a murder.

The answer to that came when-ignoring questions several of the journalists called out-they walked around the end of the building to the front. There, behind the yellow-and — black POLICE LINE tape were even more spectators and representatives of the press, and Mickey O’Hara was among them. To make sure they didn’t cross the tape, two uniforms stood directly in front of the press, one male, one female, both looking as if they had left the Academy as long as two weeks ago.