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, 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.
“Well, I don’t know if that was the rest Aaron Stein prescribed for you, but I don’t see how it could have been avoided, and in the long run, I think it was good for you,” Brewster C. Payne said.
“I’m all right, Dad.”
“What are you going to do for thirty days? Given it any thought?”
“Aside from getting the Porsche fixed… It’s in the impound lot, Peter told me-”
“You’re going to have it repaired?”
“I don’t know. There was a lot of damage.”
“You have time to decide.”
“I may get another car, something less ostentatious, suitable for a starving law student.”
Brewster Payne looked at him for a long moment without saying anything.
“When did you decide that?” he asked finally.
“In the hospital,” Matt said.
“May I comment?”
“I sort of expected ‘Finally, thank God, he’s come to his senses!’ ”
Brewster C. Payne chuckled, then said, “I would be delighted if that’s what you finally decide to do, Matt, but I suggest to you that that’s a very important decision to make, and important decisions should not he made impulsively.”
“Okay.”
“Why don’t you go to the Cape May house and take Final Tort out of sight of shore and watch the waves go up and down for a couple of days? That always helps me to think when I really need to.”