The investigators

TWENTY

Officer Timothy J. Calhoun was sitting with his wife on the couch in the living room watching the Today show on the tube when he heard the siren.

Police sirens were a part of life in Philadelphia. Out here in the sticks, you seldom heard one.

And this was more than one siren. Two. Maybe even three.

He took his sock-clad feet off the coffee table, then put his coffee cup on the table and stood up, slipping his feet into loafers.

"What is it?" Monica Calhoun asked.

"Probably a fire," Tim said. "Right around here someplace. Them sirens is getting closer."

He walked to the front door and opened it and looked up and down the street. He could see neither a fire nor police nor fire vehicles, and pulled the door closed.

Just as he did, he heard one siren abruptly die. He knew that meant that whoever was running the siren had gotten where he was going.

There was still the sound of two sirens.

Monica joined him at the door.

"You didn't see anything?"

He shook his head, "no."

The sound of the sirens grew very loud, and then, one at a time, died suddenly.

Monica opened the door.

"Jesus, they're right here!" she said.

There was a Harrisburg black-and-white in the driveway, and what looked like an unmarked car with two guys in it at the curb, and as Tim watched two uniforms jump out of the car in the driveway, a second Harrisburg black-and — white came screeching around the corner and pulled its nose in behind the black-and-white in the driveway.

"What the fuck?"

The first uniform reached the door.

"Timothy J. Calhoun?"

"What the hell is going on?"

"Timothy J. Calhoun?"

"Yeah, I'm Calhoun."

"Timothy J. Calhoun, I have a warrant for your arrest for misprision in office," the first cop said. "You are under arrest!"

"Timmy!" Monica wailed. "What's going on?"

"Turn around, please, and put your hands behind your back," the first uniform said, as the second uniform put his hands on his shoulders and spun him around.

"Timmy!" Monica wailed again.

"You have the right to remain silent…" The first cop began very rapidly to give him his rights under the Miranda decision.

"It's some kind of mistake, baby," Tim said.

What did the uniform say? Misprision? What the fuck is misprision?

"Do you understand your rights as I have outlined them to you?" The first cop asked.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Timmy said. "Look, I'm a cop, I don't know what the hell is going on here."

"You're being arrested for being a dirty cop, Calhoun," a voice-somehow familiar-said.

The uniform who had spun him around to cuff him now spun him around again.

Jesus Martinez, onetime plainclothes narc, was standing there looking at him with contempt.

"What the hell is going on here, Jesus?"

"You're on your way to the slam, big time," Martinez said. "I'll need your badge and your gun."

"Timmy, for Christ's sake," Monica wailed. "Why are they doing this to you?"

One more uniform and two guys in civilian clothing came around the side of the house. Tim recognized the big guy first. Charley McFadden, who had also been a plainclothes narc-the other half of Mutt amp; Jeff, which is what everybody had called the two of them.

The other wasn't nearly as familiar, and it took a moment for Tim to recognize him.

It's that hotshot from Special Operations, Payne. The guy who shot the serial rapist. The last time I saw him was in the Roundhouse parking lot.

"I'm really sorry about this, Timmy," McFadden said. "Jesus, how could you be so stupid?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Tim said.

"He didn't do anything!" Monica wailed. "Charley, he's a good cop! You know that!"

"I know he's not a good cop, Monica," Charley said. "He's dirty, and he got caught."

"Charley, what are they talking about?" Monica asked.

"Call the FOP in Philly and tell them I was just arrested, " Tim said.

"Where are they taking you?"

"He'll be in the detention cell in Harrisburg police headquarters for a while, Mrs. Calhoun," Matt Payne said. "They can contact him there."

"Who the hell are you?" Monica snapped.

"My name is Payne. I'm a detective assigned to the Special Operations Division. I'm sorry about this, Mrs. Calhoun."

"Yeah, you look like you're sorry!"

"I'm going to be at the bank," Matt said to Charley McFadden. "As soon as I have the safe-deposit box, I'll meet you at police headquarters."

"Right," McFadden said.

"Have you got his gun and his badge?"

"Not yet," Martinez said.

"If you would give me the key to the safe-deposit box, Calhoun, you'd save everybody a lot of time and inconvenience. "

"I don't know nothing about no safe-deposit box."

"Why am I not surprised?" Matt said.

He looked at the Harrisburg uniforms.

"Take him away, please," he said.

Mrs. Timothy J. Calhoun, holding her balled fists to her mouth, watched with horror and disbelief as her husband was led down the path and loaded into the backseat of the Harrisburg black-and-white.

Then she watched until it drove out of sight.

"I'll need the gun and the badge, Mrs. Calhoun," Detective Martinez said.

"And if you know where the key to the box is, Monica, " Charley McFadden added.

"You're supposed to be his friend, Charley!" Monica said. "How could you do this to him?"

"He done it to himself, Monica," Charley said. "Let's go get his gun and badge."

"You stay here! I'll go get it."

"I can't let you do that, Monica," Charley said. "I'll have to go with you."

When Harrison J. Hormel, Esq., first among equals of the assistant district attorneys of Philadelphia, arrived at work, he heard the sound of an electric razor coming from the office of the Hon. Thomas J. "Tony" Callis, the district attorney of Philadelphia.

He looked at his watch. It was 8:35, a good hour or hour and a half earlier than Callis's usual appearance.

He turned and knocked at the unmarked private door to Callis's office. When there was no answer, he tried the knob, and it turned, and he was able to push the door slightly open.

Callis, in a sleeveless undershirt, his suspenders hanging loose, was standing at the washbasin in his small private bath.

Hormel walked to the door. Callis saw his reflection in the mirror and took the electric razor from his face.

"What's up, Harry?" he asked.

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

"It's a long story," Callis said. "One I'm not really ready to pass on right at this moment."

"What's the big secret?"

"I'll give you a thumbnail, but no questions, okay?"

"You're the boss."

"Dirty cops. Lots of them."

"Doing what?"

"I said no questions. The arrests are not finished yet. There's an incredible amount of ifs in this one, Harry. If this happens, then that will. If that doesn't happen, then this will. You follow?"

Hormel shook his head, "no."

"I've been up since half past three," Callis said. "Coughlin sent a Highway Patrol car for me. What I need now is to finish my shave, put on a clean shirt, have a couple of cups of coffee and thirty minutes to settle my thoughts."

"Since when is Denny Coughlin investigating dirty cops?"

"Since Carlucci-who they got out of bed at six thirty, by the way-told him to."

"And he's found some, I gather?"

"There's going to be a meeting in Carlucci's office at half past nine. There's a couple of things supposed to happen before then."

"What kind of things?"

"Jesus, Harry, don't you understand 'no questions'?"

"Sorry, I'm just trying to be useful. You say Coughlin sent a Highway car after you?"

"Nice try," Callis said. "Yeah, Coughlin sent a Highway car for me. Period, that's all I can give you now. When the meeting is over, I'll probably be able to tell you what's going on."

"Okay."

"Now let me finish my shave and get a fresh shirt."

"Nothing I can do right now?"

"Not a thing," Callis said.

Harry had almost made it to the door when Callis had another thought, tangentially connected with the Five Squad.

"Harry?" he called.

"Yes, sir?"

"Tell Phebus I'll want to see him sometime this morning. I don't give a damn what else he's got on his plate, I want him around here this morning where I can lay my hands on him in ten seconds. Capisce?"

"Yes, sir."

"If he asks why, tell him I want to know what's going on with the Leslie case."

"Yes, sir."

Assistant District Attorney Hormel went immediately to the office of Assistant District Attorney Anton C. Phebus. He had not yet come to work.

He walked back down the corridor thirty minutes later and found that Mr. Phebus had come to work, and to judge by the briefcase in his hand was about to leave it.

"Where are you headed?"

"For a conference with the Goddamned Nun."

"What does she want?"

"Haven't the faintest. Some deal, certainly. She's determined to see that Leslie gets no more than a slap on the wrist."

"Well, you're going to have to postpone it."

"Why?"

"Because Tony said he wants you around here all morning where he can lay his hands on you in ten seconds."

"Did he say why?"

"He said he wants to talk to you about the Leslie case. He's in his Mr. Super-DA-Man role. Coughlin, he announced like a happy child, had sent a Highway car for him in the middle of the night, and he's on his way to a meeting in the mayor's office."

"What's that all about?"

"He said something about dirty cops, but what I think it is, is that he thinks Carlucci is liable to ask him about the Leslie case."

Anton C. Phebus, who was not a stupid man, felt a sudden pain in the pit of his stomach.

"Okay," he said. "I hear and obey."

As soon as Hormel had left his office, he called the Goddamned Nun's office and left a message for her to the effect that an emergency situation had arisen that would preclude his meeting with her as scheduled. He would call her later in the day and attempt to schedule another meeting at a mutually convenient time.

Then he dialed the home telephone number of Officer Joe Grider. Mrs. Grider informed him that Joe hadn't come home yet.

He dialed the home number of Officer Herbert Prasko, and there was no answer. He remembered that Prasko's wife had a job, which would explain why nobody answered the phone, particularly if Prasko, like Grider, had worked until the wee hours and then had a couple of belts afterward. There wasn't much sense-unless all you wanted to do was sleep-in going home if the old lady was out working.

There was one way of finding out for sure, of course. Call the Narcotics Unit and talk to somebody and find out what had happened the previous night. He dialed the number of the Narcotics Unit, but changed his mind and hung up before it was answered.

He was letting his imagination run away with him. He had thought this whole thing through very carefully. Nothing had gone wrong because nothing could go wrong.

"Well, good morning!" Vice President James C. Chase of the First Harrisburg Bank amp; Trust Company cried cheerfully when he saw Lieutenant Paul Deitrich and Detective Matt Payne walk into his outer office. "You wanted to see me?"

"We'd appreciate a few minutes of your time, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said.

"Anytime, Paul, you know that," Chase said. "Come on in."

They went into the inner office.

"Actually, Matt," Chase said, "I was hoping to catch you before you went across the floor. Our Mr. Hausmann is back from Boston, and we're going to have to find you another desk somewhere."

"I won't be needing a desk anymore, Mr. Chase," Matt said.

Chase picked up on something in Matt's voice, or perhaps his demeanor.

"That sounds, forgive me, a little ominous, Matt. Is something wrong?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," Matt said. "I'm afraid I was right when I thought I saw someone I recognized going into the safe-deposit area yesterday, Mr. Chase."

"But Adelaide, Mrs. Worner, had no record-"

"We just arrested him, Mr. Chase," Matt said. "On charges of misprision of office as a Philadelphia police officer. We have reason to believe that Mrs. Worner has been making a safe-deposit box available to him off the records."

"That's hard to accept," Chase said, somewhat coldly. "Paul?"

"We could, of course, be wrong, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said. "But I don't think so."

"To what end? You're not trying to tell me Adelaide could possibly have any involvement with a call girl ring in Philadelphia?"

"We believe the box is being used to hold money-and maybe drugs-acquired illegally by Philadelphia police officers," Matt said.

"And maybe drugs?" Chase quoted, horrified. "And you've come equipped with a search warrant, is that what you're telling me?"

"No, sir," Deitrich said. "We don't have a search warrant, Mr. Chase. We can get one, but we're hoping that won't be necessary."

"Well, certainly-as I'm sure you understand, Lieutenant-I can't permit you access to a safe-deposit box without one."

"We're hoping that we can get Mrs. Worner to show us which box it is, and give us the key to it, without our having to get a search warrant," Matt said.

"If she has been up to what you're suggesting, Matt, why would she do that? I must tell you, I find this entire-"

"I don't think Mrs. Worner really knew what she was doing, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said. "I don't know how familiar you are with her personal situation…"

"I know that she has had a very difficult time with her husband, if that's what you mean. And that he is a highly decorated, grievously wounded-"

"We think she has been used, Mr. Chase," Matt said. "I can't really believe there will be much interest in putting her in prison. Providing, of course, she comes to understand the mess she's in, and cooperates."

"Used by whom?" Chase asked coldly.

"Her across-the-backyard neighbor," Deitrich said. "Who is the uncle of the police officer now under arrest."

"You're suggesting that she's… that they're involved? Personally, I mean?"

"It looks that way, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said.

Chase considered that a moment.

"The poor woman," he said, and then shifted into his banker's role: "Exactly what is it you want from me? How is the bank involved in this?"

"We just learned-we left a car watching her house; they got on the radio-that she is in her car, and apparently on her way here, to work," Deitrich said.

"You mean she's not here now?"

"I suppose she's come in late today," Matt said.

Chase gave him a dirty look. This tragic situation was obviously not the place for levity.

"When she comes in, Mr. Chase," Matt said, "we'd like to talk to her here, in your office."

"To what end?" Chase demanded coldly.

"Detective Payne thinks," Deitrich picked up on Chase's annoyance with Matt and answered for him, "and I agree, that when she sees us here, and knows that we know, she'll give us what we want."

"I just can't believe this of Adelaide."

"Frankly, I feel sorry for her," Deitrich said. "I hope that she sees that the only thing for her to do is admit that she's done something really foolish, and tries to help us straighten it out."

"And the alternative?"

"We're prepared to arrest her on suspicion of receiving stolen property," Matt said. "Other charges are possible."

"You're going to arrest her, here, now, right in the bank?"

"If that becomes necessary, yes, sir," Matt said.

"And once you arrest her, then what?"

"We'll interview her. Ask for her cooperation. If she's unwilling to cooperate, then we'll get a search warrant for the safe-deposit box."

"No judge will give you-no judge should give you, it wouldn't be fair to our customers-a warrant to go into every safe-deposit box in the bank."

"No, sir," Matt said. "But I'm sure I can get a judge to give me one requiring the bank to give me access to every unrented safe-deposit box. I think that's what Mrs. Worner has done, permit Calhoun to use an unrented box. Or maybe she's got a box, and she's letting him use hers. But I think we'll find we're talking about an unrented box."

Chase looked at him coldly, then at Deitrich, and then back at Matt.

"And what you hope I'll do-this is it, isn't it? — is that I'll talk to her."

"That would be in everybody's best interests, Mr. Chase," Dietrich said.

"Yes, I suppose it would," Chase said thoughtfully, and sighed audibly. "We'll have to let her go, of course. The bank simply cannot tolerate-"

"There she is," Deitrich said softly, gesturing through the glass wall to the wide lobby.

Mrs. Adelaide Worner was pulling at the knob of a door marked "Employees Only" to make sure that she had closed it well. Then she started to walk across the polished marble floor of the bank lobby toward the safe-deposit-box vault.

She was plain, gray-haired, and a little plump. But there were vestiges of what probably had been above-average youthful beauty.

She looks, Matt thought, like somebody who sings in a church choir.

Chase stepped to his door and opened it, and leaned over his secretary's desk to say something very quietly to her.

"I don't like this part of the job very much," Lieutenant Deitrich said softly.

Chase's secretary got up from her desk and walked across the lobby after Mrs. Worner. A moment later, they both came out of the safe-deposit-vault entrance and started across the lobby.

Chase stood in the door between his desk and his outer office and waited for them.

"Good morning, Adelaide," he said.

"Good morning, Mr. Chase."

"Would you step into my office, please? These gentlemen want to have a word with you."

"Mr. Chase," Mrs. Worner said. "I can't tell you how sorry, how ashamed, I am to have involved the bank in this."

Chase put his arm around her shoulders.

"Come in, and sit down, and we'll see if we can't try to straighten things out," he said.

He looked at Matt with what Matt recognized was more than distaste. It was closer to hate.

"Do you remember me, Adelaide?" Deitrich asked.

"Yes, sir," Mrs. Worner said. "Before we had to send Al to the hospital, we used to see you down at the VFW."

"That's right," Deitrich said. "Adelaide, this is Detective Payne of the Philadelphia Police Department."

Mrs. Worner looked at Matt with terror in her eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Worner," Matt said.

"Good morning," she said.

"I'd like you to tell me about the safe-deposit box you've been letting Timmy Calhoun use. Are you willing to talk to me about that?"

"I really don't have much choice, do I?" Mrs. Worner said.

"Are we all ready for this?" Matt asked, and looked around the safe-deposit vault. There were nods.

"Okay," Matt said. "Here we go. I am Detective Matthew M. Payne, Badge 701, of the Philadelphia Police Department. "

"A little slower, please, if you can, Detective," the stenographer said.

"I'll try," Matt said.

"This is an interview of Mrs. Adelaide Worner being conducted in the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust Building, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. In addition to myself and Mrs. Worner, present are Lieutenant Paul Deitrich of the Harrisburg Police Department and Mr. James C. Chase, Vice President of the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust. The interview is being recorded and transcribed by Mrs… I'm sorry, I forgot your name."

"Grace Placker, Mrs. Grace Placker," the stenographer furnished.

"Mrs. Grace Placker, of the Harrisburg Police Department, " Matt went on. He looked at Adelaide Worner.

"Mrs. Worner, you have already been advised of your rights under the Miranda decision…"

"Yes, I have."

"But to make sure that we have crossed all the t's and dotted all the i's, I'm going to go over your rights again. All right?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm going to ask you questions about Officer Timothy Calhoun of the Philadelphia Police Department having access to a safe-deposit box in the Harrisburg Bank and Trust vault."

"Yes, sir."

Matt took his leather credentials folder from his pocket, took out a small cardboard card, and read from it:

"I have a duty to explain to you and to warn you that you have the following legal rights: You have the right to remain silent and do not have to say anything at all. Anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have a right to talk to a lawyer of your own choice before I ask you any questions, and also to have a lawyer here with you while I ask questions. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, and you want one, I will see that you have a lawyer provided to you, free of charge, before I ask you any questions. If you are willing to give me a statement, you have a right to stop anytime you wish."

He stopped reading and looked at her.

"Do you understand your rights, Mrs. Worner?"

"Yes, sir, I do. Lieutenant Deitrich went over all that with me before in Mr. Chase's office."

"And, Adelaide, I told you then that I'll get you a lawyer if you want one," Chase said.

"If I'm going to tell the truth, why do I need a lawyer? I've caused you enough trouble as it is."

"We just want to be sure you understand your rights, Mrs. Worner," Matt said.

"I do."

"Then you are," Matt dropped his eyes to his Miranda card and read, "willing to answer questions of your own free will, without force or fear, and without any threats and promises having been made to you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Mrs. Worner, are you acquainted with Officer Timothy J. Calhoun of the Philadelphia Police Department?"

"Yes, I am."

"How did you come to meet Officer Calhoun?"

"He's the nephew of my neighbor."

"Is your neighbor's name Vincent T. Holmes?"

"Yes, it is."

"At any time, did you make available to Officer Calhoun a safe-deposit box in the vault of the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust Company?"

"Yes, I did. I told you that."

"Did Officer Calhoun follow the usual procedures to get a safe-deposit box? I mean, did he identify himself, fill out an application, and pay a rental fee?"

"No, he didn't."

"In other words, you let him have the use of a safe-deposit box for free, and without making any records for the bank?"

"That's right."

"Why did you do this?"

"Because he asked me to."

"Did he tell you why he didn't want to give his name, fill out the application, and pay rent?"

"Oh, I didn't understand what you were asking," Adelaide Worner said. "He said, or maybe it was Vincent who said… One or the other of them, anyway, said that Monica had gotten in an automobile accident in Philadelphia, and that they were going to be sued, and were probably going to lose, and if they lost, they were going to take everything they owned, because they hadn't been able to afford insurance, you see, unless they could put a little bit away somewhere where the lawyers couldn't find it."

"Money, you mean?"

"Money and some jewelry Monica inherited from her grandmother."

"Let me see if I have that straight, Mrs. Worner. You were told that Mrs. Calhoun was about to be sued because she had been involved in an automobile accident; that the Calhouns did not have insurance; and that if they lost the lawsuit, the lawyers were going to take everything they owned?"

"That's what they told me. Vincent first, and then Timmy and Monica, later."

"So you helped them hide money, and jewelry, by making a safe-deposit box available to Officer Calhoun?"

"Yes, sir."

"Just Officer Calhoun? Did Mrs. Calhoun ever use the box?"

"Yes, she did."

"And Mr. Holmes? Did he ever go into the box?"

"Yes, he did. Both of them did."

"Did you ever see what Officer Calhoun, Mrs. Calhoun, or Mr. Holmes put into the safe-deposit box, or took out of it? Did you ever see any of the money, or the jewelry Mrs. Calhoun inherited from her grandmother?"

"No, sir."

"Can you explain that to me, please? Why not?"

"Because, except for not making a record that they had rented a box, I treated them like any other customer. They came to my desk, I went with them to the box with my-the bank's-key and unlocked the bank's lock. They unlocked their lock-you understand there's two locks on every box?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And then they took the box into one of the little rooms, closed the door for privacy, and then either put things into it, or took things out of it."

"So you have no personal knowledge of what went into the box we're talking about?"

"No, sir."

"Did it occur to you, Mrs. Worner, that what you were doing might be illegal?"

"Yes, sir, it did. I realized I was cheating the bank."

"Out of the box rent, you mean."

"Yes, sir, that's what I mean. That bothered me."

"Mrs. Worner, did you have any idea that Officer Calhoun might be engaged in an illegal activity besides concealing his assets?"

"I knew he was a policeman. I didn't even think of anything like that. I knew his wife had stubbed her toe."

"Excuse me?"

"That she'd had a couple of drinks in her when she'd had the accident. That was why-even though the accident wasn't really her fault-they were going to lose in court."

"But aside from Mrs. Calhoun's drunken driving, and the Calhouns' desire to conceal their assets from the court, you had no knowledge or suspicion of any other criminal activity on the part of Officer Calhoun?"

"Not until this morning," Adelaide said.

"What happened this morning?"

"After the police went to Vincent's house and arrested Timmy, Vincent went over there-"

"Excuse me. Vincent-Mr. Holmes-'went over there'? By over there, you mean to his house?"

Mrs. Worner lowered her head and blushed.

"He… Vincent had spent the night at my house," she said.

"Okay. And after the police arrested Officer Calhoun, he went to his house to see what was going on?"

"Yes. And Monica told him what had happened, and Vincent came back and told me he didn't know what, but Timmy was in some kind of trouble with the police, and that if I didn't want bad trouble myself, I should never tell anybody, ever, about the safe-deposit box."

"But you're talking to me now?"

"I am not a criminal-type person, Mr. Detective. As soon as I could work up the courage, I was going to see Mr. Chase and tell him what I had done."

"Mrs. Worner, let's talk about the safe-deposit box," Matt said.

"Yes, sir. Four twenty-one. It's a C-size box," she said, and pointed.

"A 'C-size box'?"

"There are six sizes, A through F, A being the largest, F the smallest."

"I see. Now, I want to be very careful about this. Do you know who the last person to go into that box was?"

"Yes, sir. Timmy."

"By Timmy, you mean Officer Timothy J. Calhoun?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is there any possibility at all that anyone else has had access to that box since Officer Calhoun went into it?"

"Absolutely not."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I am in charge of the safe-deposit boxes. No one gets into one of them unless they come by my desk and sign themselves in."

Matt turned to Chase.

"Mr. Chase, as an officer of this bank, do you have the authority to grant Lieutenant Deitrich and myself access to safe-deposit box number 421?"

"Yes, I do."

"I ask you now, Mr. Chase, for permission to examine box 421, which has been identified to me as the box to which Mrs. Worner arranged… irregular access. Do I have your permission?"

Chase nodded.

"Would you verbalize your answer, please, sir?"

"You have my permission to go into the box," Chase said.

"You're going to need Timmy's key," Mrs. Worner said. "It takes two keys to get into a box."

"The bank doesn't have a master key?" Matt asked, surprised.

Chase shook his head.

"We'll have to call a locksmith," Matt said. "Or break into it."

"Now, wait a minute," Chase said. "Who will pay for repairing that damage?"

"I will," Adelaide Worner said. "This is my fault."

"Give me the bank's key, Adelaide, please," Lieutenant Deitrich said.

"It's in my desk outside," she said. "I'll have to get it."

"Please," Deitrich said.

"Why don't we send for a locksmith?" Chase asked. "I'll pay for it."

"We may not have to, Mr. Chase," Deitrich said. "Let me see what I can do with that lock."

He took a leather case, about the size of Matt's credentials folder, from his jacket pocket. It contained an array of small stainless-steel picks.

Twenty seconds after Mrs. Worner had given him the bank's key to box 421, Deitrich pulled the stainless-steel door to it open.

"There it is," he said to Matt.

"Let's see what's in it," Matt said.

The box was nearly full of stacks of currency, neatly held together with rubber bands.

"My God! Look at all that money!" Mrs. Worner exclaimed.

There was something else. Matt took a ballpoint pen from his pocket and fished a large gold-cased wristwatch with a matching band out of the box. The bezel of the watch was diamond-studded, and there was a diamond chip on the dial where each of the hour numbers would normally be.

"Does anyone really think Mrs. Calhoun inherited this from her grandmother?"

"What is it?" Deitrich asked.

"It's a Rolex, of course. What else?"

Matt held it out for Deitrich to see, and then let the gold-cased watch slip back off the ballpoint pen into the box.

"I think we should have pictures of this," he said. "And I'd like to fingerprint the watch and the box. Maybe they can even get something off the currency. How much trouble would that cause you, Lieutenant?"

"No more than dialing a telephone," Deitrich said. "I can have a forensic-evidence team here in five minutes."

"There's a telephone on my desk," Adelaide Worner said. "You first dial nine, that gets you an outside line, and then you dial your number."

"Thank you, Adelaide," Deitrich said.

"When you come back-we don't want some shyster lawyer accusing us of breaking the chain of evidence-so one of us is going to have to stay here until we get pictures and fingerprints. I need to call Philadelphia."

"I'll be back in thirty seconds," Deitrich said, and walked out of the room.

"What happens to me now, Mr. Chase?" Adelaide Worner asked.

"We'll have to think about that, Adelaide," Chase said. "We'll try to work something out."

"Inspector Wohl," Wohl said.

"Matt, boss."

"What have you got?"

"A forensic-evidence team is on its way here-here being the safe-deposit vault of the First Harrisburg Bank and Trust-to see if they can lift some prints from, and in any case, photograph box 421 and its contents."

"In other words, you served the search warrant?"

"We didn't need to; it was an unauthorized box, still under the control of the bank. The defense can't claim that the accused had a right to privacy by keeping something in a box that wasn't under his control. The lady let us into it. And a Harrisburg police stenographer is about to type up her statement, which ties Calhoun to it with a big red bow."

"Good job!"

"The difficult takes a little time, the impossible a little longer."

"What's in the box?"

"What looks like thirty, forty thousand dollars. Maybe more. I'm going to wait until they take pictures and maybe lift some prints before I count it. But a whole great big bunch of money! And a wristwatch that looks like something a drug dealer, or a pimp, would have on his wrist."

"A Rolex, maybe?"

"Uh-huh."

"Have you got the serial number? It's on the back of the case."

"No, but I can get it in thirty seconds."

"Get it," Wohl ordered.

A minute later, Matt had read the serial number to him over the phone.

"Mr. Marcus Brownlee," Wohl said, "has given us a sworn statement that his Rolex watch was taken from him at the time of his arrest, but never made it from the place of his arrest to either the evidence room or personal property at Central Lockup. Tiny just got the serial number of said timepiece from Bailey, Banks and Biddle-"

"And it matches?"

"It matches."

"Who is Marcus Brownlee?" Matt asked.

"Didn't McFadden fill you in?"

"I didn't hear that name."

"One of the drug guys the Five Squad busted at the Howard Johnson motel," Wohl explained.

"Then we have them."

"It's not quite that simple," Wohl said. "I'll fill you in later. What I want you to do now, once you work the box, is get Calhoun and the watch-the money would be nice, too, but that can wait-back to Philadelphia."

"Yes, sir."

"Be damned careful with the chain of evidence on this one, Matt, if I have to tell you that. And make sure Mutt and Jeff do."

"Yes, sir."

"Where's Calhoun now?"

"McFadden and Martinez have him at Harrisburg Police Headquarters."

"Have them bring him to South Detectives at Twenty-fourth and Wolf," Wohl ordered. "We're using the First District detention cells downstairs as our own Central Lockup."

"I don't understand," Matt said.

"I'm not trying to shoot you down, Matt-right now you're at the head of my good-guy list for tying Calhoun to the box-but right now you don't have to understand. Just do what I told you. I'll fill you in later."

"Yes, sir, " Matt said. "One question: Do we let Calhoun know we got into the box? Or about the watch?"

Wohl thought that over for fifteen seconds, which seemed longer.

"Yeah, let him know. I'd rather he spend the time riding back here wondering what's going to happen to him knowing we have his ass than trying to convince himself he shouldn't be worried, we don't have anything."

"Yes, sir."

"You stay there and keep your eye on the Reynolds woman."

The phone went dead in Matt's ear when he was halfway through saying, "Yes, sir."

"Okay," the Hon. Jerome H. Carlucci said, looking around his conference table. "Where are we? Who wants to start?"

Present were Thomas J. Callis, Philadelphia's district attorney; Taddeus Czernich, police commissioner; Chief Inspector of Detectives Matthew Lowenstein; Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin; Inspector Peter Wohl; Staff Inspector Michael Weisbach; and Lieutenant J. K. Fellows.

In the wings, so to speak, in case they were needed, were Captain Michael Sabara and Detective Tony Harris (physically in the mayor's outer office); Captain David Pekach and Lieutenant John J. Malone of the Highway Patrol (sitting in their cars in the courtyard of City Hall); and Lieutenant Daniel Justice, Jr., and Sergeant Jason Washington (within two rings of a telephone at the 1st District/South Detectives).

Inspector Wohl motioned with his hand to indicate that he thought Staff Inspector Weisbach was the man to bring the mayor-and for that matter, everybody else-up-to-date. Mike Weisbach first shook his head, then inclined it toward the head of the table. Peter Wohl followed his eyes and saw that the mayor was looking at him impatiently.

He started to stand up. The mayor waved him back into his seat.

"Yes, sir," Wohl said. "The entire Five Squad has been arrested, and are presently being held in the detention cell of the First District."

"What are we charging them with?"

"Right now, with misprision in office, specifically the theft, under cover of office, of evidence," Wohl said. "Mr. Callis will, of course, add other charges later when we decide who's going to be charged with what."

"Does he mean the rape, Tony?" Carlucci asked.

"What Denny and Matt and I have been thinking, Jerry," Callis said, pointing vaguely at Coughlin and Lowenstein, "is that once Prasko understands we have them for the theft of evidence-and simple grand larceny-once, in other words, he understands that they're going down on that, we can let Prasko know we know about the rape, and get him to testify against the others, in exchange for his being allowed to plead guilty to violating the civil rights of Williams and Brownlee-and probably half a dozen others."

"He plea-bargains to a federal rap and gets what?" Carlucci said.

"I talked to the U.S. Attorney just before I came over here, Jerry. Nothing's set in cement, but he thinks he can find a judge willing to go along with five years on each charge, sentences to be served consecutively, so figure at least four charges, so twenty years."

"Which means he'd really do what?" Carlucci asked coldly.

"He'd probably be out in six, seven years," Callis said.

"You and Denny and Matt decided that between you?" Carlucci asked. "What about him?" He pointed at Police Commissioner Czernich. "Was he involved in your discussion? The last I heard was that he's the police commissioner. You didn't think you had to discuss that with him?"

The translation of that was that Jerry Carlucci did not like what he had heard, and because he did not like it, neither would Commissioner Czernich.

"I'm not sure," Czernich began, understanding his role and taking his cue, "that I could-"

"Well, Tony?" Carlucci interrupted him.

"Would I be wasting my breath to tell you why we think that's the way to go?" Callis asked.

"Try me. Find out."

"The priority here is to put the Five Squad away. Do we agree on at least that much?"

The mayor shrugged.

"Unless we can have somebody on the Five Squad turn state's witness, all we have on them is the testimony of drug dealers in the one case we really know about, what happened at the Howard Johnson motel last Thursday. Juries are funny, Jerry. If the defense brings in weeping cops' wives and scared-looking kids in the courtroom, what a lot of jurors might decide is that 'fuck the drug dealers, they got what was coming to them.' "

Carlucci's face tightened, but he didn't say anything.

"They're going to look like good cops to the jury, Jerry," Lowenstein said. "I went over their arrest records last night. Lots of good busts, lots of convictions. A couple of them got hurt. All that will have to be made available to the defense, and it can't help but impress a jury."

"On that subject," Mike Weisbach said. "The defense-"

"The goddamn FOP!" the mayor exploded. "I am unable to believe that one cop in five hundred wants his FOP dues used to defend scumbags like these!"

"They call that, Jerry, 'innocent until proven guilty,' " Callis said.

Carlucci glowered at him.

"In this case, it's moot," Weisbach said. " 'Armando C. Giacomo for the defense, your honor.' Manny does it pro bono; it won't cost the FOP a dime."

"Jesus!" the mayor said.

"When did you find that out?" Coughlin asked.

"About thirty minutes ago," Weisbach said. "He called Sabara-I guess he heard they were picked up by Special Operations-and Mike passed him on to me. He wants to know where he can speak with them at half past ten."

"How the hell did Giacomo get involved so quickly?"

"I think he calls the FOP and makes himself available when he has some free time," Callis said. "All that does is reinforce my argument that unless we can get at least one of the Five Squad to roll over, the testimony of a couple of drug guys like Williams and Brownlee probably isn't going to be enough."

"If Manny Giacomo talks to any of these guys at half past ten, at ten forty-five, Vincenzo Savarese will have their names," Lowenstein said.

"He'd get the names eventually anyway," Coughlin said. "But I'd much prefer later than sooner. Maybe I can talk to him."

"Don't hold your breath, Denny," the mayor said.

"I think it's worth the effort. When I spoke to Savarese this morning, he made it pretty clear he intends to whack the guy who raped his granddaughter."

"It would be nice, wouldn't it, if we caught him doing that?" Carlucci said. "This scumbag would get what he deserves, and we'd have Savarese on premeditated murder. "

"The philosophy of that aside, Jerry," Lowenstein said, "Savarese wouldn't whack Prasko. And he would be in church with the archbishop when one of his thugs did."

Wohl saw that Carlucci was going to angrily respond to that, and jumped into the conversation:

"There was some good news from Harrisburg," Wohl said. "Matt Payne got into the safe-deposit box they were using. Got a statement that Calhoun, Timothy J., was the only one with access to the box, in which there was probably forty thousand dollars-maybe more-and a gold Rolex that Baby Brownlee says was stolen from him last Thursday night."

"And?" the mayor asked.

"That may be enough to convince Calhoun that the thing for him to do is roll over," Wohl said. "I told Payne to get Calhoun back here as soon as he can, and to take him directly to Jason Washington."

"Who is where right now? Washington, I mean?" Carlucci asked.

"South Detectives," Coughlin said.

"Doing what?"

"Trying to pick the right moment to let Prasko know what he did to the girl, and what Savarese is going to do to him unless he can hide out in some nice safe federal prison."

"I thought we had the guy he locked up in the NIKE site? An eyewitness to the rape? What happened to him?"

"I told Washington to wait until we saw what happened in Harrisburg," Wohl said. "Then we let Prasko know we have the money, maybe a rolled-over Calhoun and Ronald R. Ketcham, who saw him rape the girl."

"You made that decision? By yourself, Inspector?"

"Yes, sir," Wohl said. "By myself."

"When I was a policeman, I respected the chain of command, " Carlucci said. "You should have discussed that with Coughlin and Lowenstein. And then they should have discussed it with the commissioner."

"Yes, sir," Peter said.

"Just for the record, Mr. Mayor," Coughlin said, "if Inspector Wohl had come to me-and I wouldn't have expected him to-I would have told him I thought it was the way to go."

Carlucci visibly debated whether to respond to Coughlin and then changed the subject.

"When is the Harrisburg scumbag due here?"

"An hour, I'd say," Wohl replied. "I told Matt to send him back with McFadden and Martinez, and to worry about sending the evidence later."

"Send the evidence? Or bring it?"

"Payne's still working on the terrorist thing for the FBI," Coughlin said. "I don't know when he's coming back to Philadelphia."

"But the bottom line here is that what we're hoping for is that you can get a couple of these scumbags to roll over, right?"

"That's right," Callis said. "In my judgment, that's the way to put these dirty cops away."

"And you're the district attorney, right?"

"Yes, I am, Mr. Mayor."

"And since all the decisions have already been made, what that boils down to is that the commissioner and I are about as useful as teats on a boar hog, right?"

"Let me think about that," Lowenstein said.

Carlucci glowered at him.

" 'Teats on a boar hog'? Is that what you said, Mr. Mayor? God, I wish I had your colorful command of the language, Mr. Mayor!"

Carlucci's scowl changed into a smile.

"Screw you, Matt," he said. "Get out of here. All of you get out of here."

They all started to get to their feet.

"It's a good thing we're all friends," the mayor said. "And that you know me well enough to know what I'm pissed at is not you. You've done a good job, all of you, and I'm grateful. The commissioner and I are grateful, isn't that so, Tad?"

"Absolutely, Mr. Mayor," Commissioner Czernich said.

"Peter, as soon as you hear something, let me know, will you?"

"Yes, sir. Of course."

"And pass my 'well done' down the line, will you?"

"Yes, sir."

They shuffled out of his office.

"I'm going to try to see Manny," Coughlin said. "Before he sees the Five Squad."

"And ask him what?" Lowenstein asked.

"To hold off on giving Savarese the names of the Five Squad."

"Good luck," Lowenstein said.

"At least hold off for a while. Until we get somebody to roll over. Or know nobody is," Coughlin said.

"You know, I got a guy in my office, Phebus," Tony Callis said. "He used to be a sergeant in Narcotics. Do you think he'd be useful? I mean, they see one of their own… They just might listen to him."

"I don't see how it could hurt," Wohl said. "But… could you send him out to South Detectives and tell him Washington's in charge?"

"Sure," Callis said. "I know he's in the office. I left word that I wanted to see him about the guy who shot Officer Kellog. That can wait. I'll have Phebus at South Detectives in thirty minutes."