The Assassin

PRESIDENT TO VISIT.

The meeting in the commissioner's conference room on the third floor of the Police Administration Building, commonly called the Roundhouse, was convened, and presided over, by Arthur C. Marshall, deputy commissioner (Operations) of the Police Department of the City of Philadelphia.

The police commissioner of the City of Philadelphia is a political appointee who serves at the pleasure of the mayor. There are three deputy commissioners in the Philadelphia Police Department. They are the first deputy commissioner, who is the highest ranking member of the Department under Civil Service regulations, and the two deputy commissioners, Operations and Administration.

Under the deputy commissioner (Operations) are four Bureaus, each commanded by a chief inspector: the Patrol Bureau, the Special Patrol Bureau, the Detective Bureau, and the Command Inspections Bureau.

Present for the Roundhouse meeting were Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein, of the Detective Bureau, and Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin, of the Command Inspections Bureau, both of whom were subordinate to Deputy Commissioner Marshall. Also present were Chief Inspector Mario C. Delachessi, of the Internal Investigations Bureau; Chief Inspector Paul T. Easterbrook, of the Special Investigations Bureau; Staff Inspector Peter Wohl, commanding officer of the Special Operations Division; and Captain John M. "Jack" Duffy, special assistant to the commissioner for inter-agency liaison.

Internal Investigations, Special Investigations, and Special Operations in theory took their orders from the first deputy commissioner directly. In practice, however, First Deputy Commissioner Marshall and Chiefs Lowenstein and Coughlin exercised more than a little influence in their operations. There was no question in anyone' s mind that Lowenstein and Coughlin were the most influential of all the eleven chief inspectors in the Department, and that both were considered ripe candidates for the next opening as a deputy commissioner.

Part of this was because they were first-class police executives and part was because they had long-running close relations with the Honorable Jerry Carlucci, mayor of the City of Philadelphia.

Prior to running for mayor, in his first bid for elective office, Jerry Carlucci had been the police commissioner. And prior to that, the story went, he had held every rank in the Police Department except policewoman. As a result of this, Mayor Carlucci felt that he knew as much, probably more, about the Police Department than anyone else, and consequently was not at all bashful about offering helpful suggestions concerning police operations.

"Okay," Commissioner Marshall said, "let's get this started."

He was a tall, very thin, sharp-featured man with bright, intelligent eyes.

There was a moment's silence broken only by the scratching of a wooden match on the underside of the long, oblong conference table by Chief Lowenstein. The commissioner watched as Lowenstein, a large, stocky, balding man, applied the flame carefully to a long, thin, black cigar.

"Is that all right with you, Matt?" the commissioner asked, gently sarcastic. "Is your rope on fire? We can begin?"

"A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke. Remember that, Art," Lowenstein said, unabashed. He and Commissioner Marshall went back a long way too. Lowenstein had been one of Captain Marshall' s lieutenants when Marshall had commanded the 19^th District.

There were chuckles. Marshall shook his head, and began:

"We have a problem with the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs…"

"So what else is new?" Chief Lowenstein said. He was a large, nearly handsome man, with a full head of curly silver hair, wearing a gray pin-striped suit.

"Let me talk, for Christ's sake, Matt," Marshall said.

"Sorry."

"They've come to Duffy. Officially. They say they have information that drugs, specifically heroin, are getting past the Airport Unit."

"Did they give us the information?" Lowenstein asked.

Marshall shook his head, no.

"You said, 'getting past the Airport Unit,'" Chief Lowenstein said. "Was that an accusation?"

"Jack?" Marshall said.

"They stayed a hairbreadth away from making that an accusation, Chief," Captain Duffy, a florid-faced, nervous-appearing forty-fiveyear-old, said.

"Paul?" Marshall asked Chief Inspector Easterbrook, under whose Special Investigations Bureau were the Narcotics Unit, the Narcotics Strike Force, and Vice.

Easterbrook was just the near side of being fat. His collar looked too tight.

"Is heroin coming through the airport?" he asked rhetorically. " Sure it is. I haven't heard a word, though, that anybody in the Airport Unit is dirty."

Everyone looked at Chief Inspector Delachessi, a plump, short, natty forty-year-old, among whose Internal Investigations Bureau responsibilities were Internal Affairs, the Organized Crime Intelligence Unit, and the Staff Investigation Unit. Eighteen months before, he had been Staff Inspector Peter Wohl's boss.

"Neither have I," Delachessi said. "Not a whisper. And what is it now-two months ago?-when that Airport Unit corporal got himself killed coming home from the shore, the corporal who was his temporary replacement was one of my guys. He didn't come up with a thing. Having said that, is somebody out there dirty? Could be. I'll have another look."

"Hold off on that, Mario," Commissioner Marshall said.

"What, exactly, is the problem with Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs?" Chief Lowenstein asked. "You said there was a problem."

"They want to send somebody out there, undercover," Marshall said.

"Inthe Airport Unit?" Lowenstein asked incredulously. "As acop?"

Marshall nodded.

"They've made it an official request," Captain Duffy said. "By letter."

"Tell them to go fuck themselves, by official letter," Lowenstein said.

"It's not that easy, Matt," Marshall said. "The commissioner says we'll have to come up with a good reason to turn them down."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Lowenstein replied. "There's no way some nice young agent of the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs can pass himself off to anyone in the Airport Unit as a cop. And if there's dirty cops out there, we should catch them, not the feds. Do you think you could explain that to the commissioner?"

"Art and I had an idea, talking this over," Chief Coughlin said.

Ah ha! thought Staff Inspector Peter Wohl, a lithe, well-built, just under six feet tall thirty-five-year-old. The mystery is about to be explained. This is not a conference. Whatever is going to be done has already been decided upon by Marshall and Coughlin. The rest of us are here to be told what the problem is, and what we are expected to do. I wonder what the hell I'm here for? None of this is any of my business.

"I'll bet you did," Lowenstein said.

Shame on you. Commissioner Marshall, Wohl thought. You broke the rules. You are not supposed to present Chief Lowenstein with a fait accompli. You are supposed to involve him in the decision-making process. Otherwise, he is very liable to piss on your sparkling idea.

"Matt, of course, is right," Chief Coughlin went on. "There is no way a fed could go out to the Airport Unit and pass himself off as a cop. And, no offense, Mario, I personally would be very surprised if the people out there weren't very suspicious of the corporal you sent out there when their corporal got killed."

"He feels very strongly that no one suspected he worked for me," Chief Delachessi said.

"What did you expect him to say?" Lowenstein said, somewhat unpleasantly. "'Boy, Chief, sending me out there was really dumb. They made me right away'?"

"So what we need out there is a real cop…" Coughlin said.

"Are you inferring, Denny, there's something wrong with the guy I sent out there?" Chief Delachessi interrupted.

"Come on, Mario, you know I didn't mean anything like that," Coughlin said placatingly.

"That's what it sounded like!"

"Then I apologize," Coughlin said, sounding genuinely contrite.

"What Chief Coughlin meant to say, I think," Commissioner Marshall said, "was that if we're to uncover anything dirty going on out thereand I'mnot saying anything is-we need somebody out there who will (a) not make people suspicious and (b) who will be there for the long haul, not just a temporary assignment, like Mario's corporal."

The rest of you guys might as well surrender, Peter Wohl thought. If Marshall and Coughlin have come up with this brilliant idea, whatever it is, there's only one guy who can shoot it down, and he's got a sign on his desk reading Mayor Jerry Carlucci.

"Where are you going to get this guy?" Lowenstein asked.

"We think we have him," Coughlin said. "We wanted to get your input."

Yeah, you did. As long as the input is "Jesus, what a great idea, why didn't I think of that? "

"We need an officer out there," Commissioner Marshall said, "whose assignment will not make anybody suspicious, and an officer who is experienced in working undercover."

"You remember the two undercover officers, from Narcotics, who bagged the guy who shot Dutch Moffitt?" Chief Coughlin asked.

"Mutt and Jeff," Lowenstein said.

Now I know why I was invited, Peter Wohl thought.

The officers in question were Police Officers Charles McFadden and Jesus Martinez, who had been assigned to Narcotics right out of the Police Academy. McFadden was a very large Irish lad from South Philadelphia, in whom, Wohl was sure, Chief Coughlin saw a clone of himself. Martinez was very small, barely over departmental minimum height and weight requirements, of Puerto Rican ancestry. They were called "Mutt and Jeff" because of their size.

Staff Inspector Peter Wohl knew a good deal about both officers. They had been assigned to Special Operations after they had run to earth an Irish junkie from Northeast Philadelphia who had shot Captain Dutch Moffitt, then the Highway Patrol commander, to death, and thus blown their cover. Assigned, he now reminded himself, through the influence of Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin.

"They now work for Peter," Coughlin said.

"Doing what, Peter?" Captain Delachessi asked.

"They're Highway Patrolmen," Wohl replied.

'They won't be for long," Coughlin said.

"Sir?" Wohl asked, surprised.

"We got the results of the detective exam today." Commissioner Marshall said. "Both of them passed in the top twenty."

"So, incidentally, Peter, did Matt Payne," Chief Coughlin added, " He was third."

Officer Matthew M. Payne was Peter Wohl's administrative assistant, another gift from Chief Dennis V. Coughlin.

"I thought he might squeeze past," Wohl replied. Matt Payne had graduated from the University of Pennsylvania cum laude. Wohl didn't think he would have trouble with the detective's examination.

"Well, hold off on congratulating him," Coughlin said. "Any of them. The results of the examination are confidential until Civil Service people make the announcement. No word of who passed is to leave this room, if I have to say that."

"Let's try this scenario on for size," Commissioner Marshall said. "And see if it binds in the crotch. Martinez's name does not appear on the examination list as having passed. He is disappointed, maybe even a little bitter. And he asks for a transfer. They've been riding his ass in Highway, Denny tells me, because of his size. He doesn't seem to fit in. But he's still the guy who got the guy who killed Dutch Moffitt, and he deserves a little better than getting sent to some district to work school crossings or in a sector car. So Denny sends him out to the Airport Unit."

Both Commissioner Marshall and Chief Inspector Coughlin looked very pleased with themselves.

If there's going to be an objection to this, it will have to come from Lowenstein. He's the only one who would be willing to stand up against these two.

Chief Lowenstein leaned forward and tapped a three-quarter-inch ash into an ashtray.

"That'd work," he said. "Martinez is a mean little fucker. Not too dumb, either."

From you, Chief Lowenstein, that is indeed praise of the highest order.

"Do you think he would be willing, Chief?" Wohl asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Coughlin said. "I already had a little talk with him. No specifics. Just would he take an interesting undercover assignment?"

You sonofabitch, Denny Coughlin! You did that, went directly to one of my men, with something like this, without saying a word to me?

"What we would like from you gentlemen," Commissioner Marshall said, "is to play devil's advocate."

"Will the commissioner hold still for this?" Lowenstein said.

"No problem," Commissioner Marshall said.

The translation of that is that there was a third party, by the name of Carlucci, involved in this brainstorm. The commissioner either knows that, or will shortly be told, and will then devoutly believe the idea was divinely inspired.

"What we thought," Coughlin went on, "is that Peter can serve as the connection. We don't want anyone to connect Martinez with Internal Affairs, or Organized Crime, or Narcotics. If Martinez comes up with something for them, or vice versa, they'll pass it through Peter. You see any problems with that, Peter?"

"No, sir."

"Anyone else got anything?" Commissioner Marshall asked.

There was nothing.

"Then all that remains to be done," Coughlin said, "is to get with Martinez and drop the other shoe. What I suggest, Peter, is that you have Martinez meet us here."

"Yes, sir. When?"

"Now's as good a time as any, wouldn't you say?"

Officer Matthew M. Payne, a pleasant-looking young man of twentytwo, who looked far more like a University of Pennsylvania student, which eighteen months before he had been, than what comes to mind when the words "cop" or "police officer" are used, was waiting near the elevators, with the other "drivers" of those attending the first deputy commissioner's meeting. They were all in civilian clothing.

Technically, Officer Payne was not a "driver," for drivers are a privilege accorded only to chief inspectors or better, and his boss was only a staff inspector. His official title was administrative assistant.

There is a military analogy. There is a military rank structure within the Police Department. On the very rare occasions when Peter Wohl wore a uniform, it carried on its epaulets gold oak leaves, essentially identical to those worn by majors in the armed forces. Inspectors wore silver oak leaves, like those of lieutenant colonels, and chief inspectors, an eagle, like those worn by colonels.

Drivers functioned very much like aides-de-camp to general officers in the armed forces. They relieved the man they worked for of annoying details, served as chauffeurs, and performed other services. And, like their counterparts in the armed forces, they were chosen as much for their potential use to the Department down the line as they were for their ability to perform their current duties. It was presumed that they were learning how the Department worked at the upper echelons by observing their bosses in action.

Most of the other drivers waiting for the meeting to end were sergeants. One, Chief Lowenstein's driver, was a police officer. Matt Payne was both the youngest of the drivers and, as a police officer, held the lowest rank in the Department.

There was a hissing sound, and one of the drivers gestured to the corridor toward what was in effect the executive suite of the Police Administration Building. The meeting was over, the bosses were coming out.

Chief Delachessi came first, gestured to his driver, and got on the elevator. Next came Chief Coughlin, who walked up to his driver, a young Irish sergeant named Tom Mahon.

"Meet me outside Shank amp; Evelyn's in an hour and a half," he ordered. "I'll catch a ride with Inspector Wohl."

Shank amp; Evelyn's was a restaurant in the Italian section of South Philadelphia.

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Mahon said.

Then Chief Coughlin walked to Officer Payne and shook his hand.

"Nice suit, Matty," he said.

"Thank you."

For all of his life, Officer Payne had called Chief Coughlin " Uncle Denny," and still did when they were alone.

Staff Inspector Wohl walked up to them.

"Officer Martinez is on his way to meet me in the parking lot," he said to Officer Payne. "You meet him, give him the keys to my car, and tell him that Chief Coughlin and I will be down in a couple of minutes. You catch a ride in the Highway car back to the Schoolhouse. I'll be there in a couple of hours. I'll be, if someone really has to get to me, at Shank amp; Evelyn's."

"Yes, sir," Officer Payne said.

Chief Coughlin and Inspector Wohl went back down the corridor toward the office of the police commissioner and his deputies. Sergeant Mahon and Officer Payne got on the elevator and rode to the lobby.

"What the hell is that all about?" Mahon asked.

"I think Coughlin and Wohl are being nice guys," Matt Payne said. "The results of the detective exam are back. Martinez didn't pass it."

"Oh, shit. He wanted it bad?"

"Real bad."

"You saw the list?"

"I respectfully decline to answer on the grounds that it may tend to incriminate me," Matt Payne said.

Mahon chuckled.

"How'd you do?"

"Third."

"Hey, congratulations!"

"If you quote me, I'll deny it. But thank you."

Matt Payne had to wait only a minute or two on the concrete ramp outside the rear door of the Roundhouse before a Highway Patrol RPC pulled up to the curb.

He went the rest of the way down the ramp to meet it. The driver, a lean, athletic-looking man in his early thirties, who he knew by sight, but not by name, rolled down the window as Highway Patrolman Jesus Martinez got out of the passenger side.

"How goes it, Hay-zus?" Payne called.

Martinez nodded, but did not reply. Or smile.

"We had a call to meet the inspector, Payne," the driver said. While the reverse was not true, just about everybody in Highway and Special Operations knew the inspector's "administrative assistant" by name and sight.

Payne squatted beside the car. "He'll be down in a minute," he said. "I'm to give Hay-zus the keys to his car; you're supposed to give me a ride to the Schoolhouse."

The driver nodded.

I wish to hell I was better about names.

Payne stood up, fished the car keys from his pocket, and tossed them to Martinez.

"Back row, Hay-zus," he said, and pointed. "I'd bring it over here. If anyone asks, tell them you're waiting for Chief Coughlin."

Martinez nodded, but didn't say anything.

I am not one of Officer Martinez's favorite people. And now that he busted the detective exam, and Charley and I passed it, that's going to get worse. Well, fuck it, there's nothing I can do about it.

He walked around the front of the car and got in the front seat. Martinez walked away, toward the rear of the parking lot. The driver put the car in gear and drove away.

"You have to get right out to the Schoolhouse?" Matt asked.

"No."

"You had lunch?"

"No. You want to stop someplace?"

"Good idea. Johnny's Hots okay with you?"

"Fine."

"You have an idea where McFadden's riding?"

"Thirteen, I think," the driver said.

Matt checked the controls of the radio to make sure the frequency was set to that of the Highway Patrol, then picked up the microphone.

"Highway Thirteen, Highway Nine."

"Thirteen," a voice immediately replied. Matt recognized it as Charley McFadden's.

"Thirteen, can you meet us at Johnny's Hots?"

"On the way," McFadden's voice said. "Highway Thirteen. Let me have lunch at Delaware and Penn Street."

"Okay, Thirteen," the J-band radio operator said. J-band, the city-wide band, is the frequency Highway units usually listen to. It gives them the opportunity to go in on any interesting call anywhere in the city.

"Highway Nine. Hold us out to lunch at the same location."

Matt dropped the microphone onto the seat.

"I guess you and McFadden are buying, huh?" the driver asked.

"Why should we do that?"

"You both passed the exam, didn't you?"

"You heard that, did you?"

"I also heard that Martinez didn't."

"I think that's what the business at the Roundhouse is all about. The inspector and Chief Coughlin are going to break it to him easy."

"I tried the corporal's exam three years ago and didn't make it," the driver said. "Then I figured, fuck it, I'd rather be doing this than working in an office anyhow."

Was that simply a conversational interchange, or have I just been zinged?

"I'm surprised Hay-zus didn't make it," Matt said.

"Yeah, I was too. But I guess some people can pass exams, and some people can't."

"You're right. You think McFadden knows we passed?"

"He told me this morning at roll call."

"So that means Martinez knows too, I guess?"

"Yeah, I'm sure he knows."

Was that why Hay-zus cut me cold, or was that on general principles?