Special Operations (Badge of Honor 2)

“From Washington?”

“That’s the detective’s name,” Wohl said.

“Oh.” She chuckled.

“There’s a flock of nice restaurants up there,” he said. “We can have dinner in the country, if you’d like.”

“Are they run by gangster men of honor, or would you actually have to pay for it?”

“Jesus, you’re something,” he said. “There goes my other phone. I’ll call you.”

His caller was an indignant Inspector from the Traffic Division who had wrecked his car, sent someone to get him another from the motor pool, and been informed that Peter Wohl’s Special Operations Division had, in the last three days, taken all the available new cars. Peter’s explanation that they had drawn what cars the motor pool had elected to give them did not mollify the Inspector from Traffic.

The next call, which came in while the Traffic Inspector was still complaining, was from Mickey O’Hara.

“I understand that you’re looking for me,” Mickey said. “What’s up, Peter?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, I heard the call.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Wohl said. “I thought you had called to demand to know what, if anything, has developed in the Woodham kidnapping.”

There was a pause.

“Okay,” Mickey said. “What if anything has developed in the Woodham case?”

“Well, since you put that to me as a specific question, which is not the same thing as me volunteering information to one favored representative of the press, I suppose I am obliged to answer it. The State Police have found a body near Durham, Bucks County, 4.4 miles west of US 611 on US 212, which they feel may be that of Miss Woodham.”

“When?”

“They reported the incident to the Philadelphia Police less than an hour ago,” Wohl said.

“Anybody else have this?”

“Since no one has come to me, as you did, Mr. O’Hara, with a specific question that I am obliged to answer, I have not mentioned this to anyone outside the Police Department.”

“Thanks, Peter,” Mickey O’Hara said, “I owe you one.”

The line went dead.

Wohl broke the connection with his finger and dialed first Chief Coughlin’s number and told him what had happened and what (minus Mickey O’Hara) he had done about it. And then he called Commissioner Czernick and told him the same thing.

Then he called Sergeant Frizell in and told him to have a Highway Patrolman take one of the new cars over to Inspector Paul McGhee in Traffic with the message that he could have the use of it until a car was available to him from the motor pool.

Then he settled down to deal with the mountain of paperwork on his desk until such time as Washington checked in.

A mile the far side of Willow Grove, Jason Washington switched off the siren.

“If this is Miss Woodham,” he said. “And we won’t know until we get a look at the body—maybe not even then, maybe not until we get her dental records, they didn’t say how badly she was mutilated, only that she had been—this may be the first break we’ve had in this job.”

“I don’t understand,” Matt said. He had been thinking that it was suddenly very quiet in the car, even though the speedometer was nudging eighty.

“Well, maybe somebody saw a van drive in. The site is supposed to be a summer cottage on a dirt road; in other words, not a busy street. People might have noticed. Maybe we can get an identification on the van, at least the color and make. If it’s a dirt road, or there’s a lawn, or some soft dirt, near the cottage, maybe we can get a cast and match it against the casts on Forbidden Drive—do you know what I’m talking about?”

“Yes, sir,” Matt said. “When I Xeroxed the reports, I read them.”

“If we get a match on tire casts, that would mean the same vehicle. If we can get a description of the van, that would help. If he brought her out here in a van, and if the body they have is Miss Woodham. And obviously, he has some connection with the summer cottage. I mean, I don’t think he just drove around looking for someplace to take her; he knew where he was taking her. So we start there. Who’s the owner? Our guy? If not, who did he rent it to? Does he know a large, hairy, well-spoken white male? Do the neighbors remember seeing anybody, or anything? Hell, we may even get lucky and come up with a name.”