Special Operations (Badge of Honor 2) - Page 137
“Philadelphia Police,” Washington said, showing his badge. “We’re expected.”
“Wait a minute,” the deputy said and walked to a State Trooper car. A very large Corporal in a straw Smokey the Bear hat swaggered over.
“Help you?”
“I hope so,” Washington said, smiling. “We’re from Homicide in Philadelphia. We think we can help you identify the victim.”
“The Lieutenant didn’t say anything to me,” the Corporal said, doubtfully.
“Well, then, maybe you better ask Major Fisher,” Washington said. “He’s the one that asked us to come up here.”
The Corporal looked even more doubtful.
“Look, can’t you get him on the radio?” Washington said. “He said if he wasn’t here before we got here, he’d be here soon. He ought to be in radio range.”
The Corporal waved them on.
When Matt had the window rolled back up, Washington said, “I guess they have a Major named Fisher. Or Smokey thought that he better not ask.”
Matt looked at Washington and laughed.
“You’re devious, Mr. Washington,” he said, approvingly.
“The first thing a good detective has to be is a bluffer,” Washington said. “A good bluffer.”
The road wound through a stand of evergreens and around a hill, and then they came to the cabin. It was unpretentious, a small frame structure with a screened-in porch sitting on a plot of land not much larger than the house itself cut into the side of a hill.
There was a yellow CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS tape strung around an area fifty yards or so from the house. There was an assortment of vehicles on the shoulders of the road, State Trooper and Sheriff’s Department cars; a large van painted in State Trooper colors and bearing the legend STATE POLICE MOBILE CRIME LAB; several unmarked law-enforcement cars, and a shining black funeral home hearse.
“Pull it over anywhere,” Washington ordered. “We have just found Major Fisher.”
Matt was confused but said nothing. He stopped the car and followed Washington to the Crime Scene tape and ducked under it when Washington did. Washington walked up to an enormous man in a State Police Lieutenant’s uniform.
The Lieutenant looked at Washington and broke out in a wide smile.
“Well, I’ll be damned, look who escaped from Philadelphia!” he said. “How the hell are you, Jason?”
He shook Washington’s hand enthusiastically.
“Lieutenant,” Washington said, “say hello to Matt Payne.”
“Christ, I thought they would send a bigger keeper than that with you,” the Lieutenant said. “I hope you know what kind of lousy company you’re in, young man.”
“How do you do, sir?” Matt said, politely.
“I’m surprised you got in,” the Lieutenant said. “When I got here, there was people all over. The goddamned press. Cops from every dinky little dorf in fifty miles. People who watch cop shows on television. Jesus! I finally ran them off, and then told the Corporal to let nobody up here.”
“I told him I was a personal friend of the legendary Lieutenant Ward,” Washington said.
“Well, I’m glad you did, but I don’t know why you’re here,” Ward said.
“If the victim is who we think it is, a Miss Elizabeth Woodham,” Washington said, “she was abducted from Philadelphia.”
“I heard they got a hit on the NCIC,” Lieutenant Ward said. “But I didn’t hear what. I was up in the coal regions on an arson job. Can you identify her?”
“From a picture,” Washington said, and handed a photograph to Lieutenant Ward.
“Could be,” Ward said. “You want to have a look?”
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