“If it hadn’t been that, it would have been something else. They find an excuse.”

“Addicts, you mean?”

Wohl nodded.

“Has Amy been notified?” Matt asked. “This is going to wipe out Mrs. Detweiler.”

His reaction is not what I expected. But what did I expect?

“I don’t know,” Wohl said, and then had a thought. He reached under the dash for a microphone.

“Isaac Three, William One.”

“Isaac Three.” It was the voice of Sergeant Francis Holloran, Chief Inspector Coughlin’s driver.

“Tom, check with the Chief and see if Dr. Payne has been notified.”

“She’s here, Inspector.”

“Thank you,” Wohl said, and replaced the microphone. He looked over at Matt.

“I guess I’d better go out there,” Matt said.

“Take the car and as much time as you need,” Wohl said. “I’ll take Martinez with me. Or why don’t you give me the keys to your car, and I’ll have Martinez or somebody bring it out there and swap.”

“I’ll go to the schoolhouse and get my car,” Matt said. “I’m a coward, Peter. I don’t want to go out there at all. With a little bit of luck, maybe I can get myself run over by a bus on my way.”

“Matt, this isn’t your fault.”

Matt shrugged.

“I think I will take the car out there,” he said. “Get it over with. I’ll have it back at the schoolhouse in an hour or so.”

“Take what time you need,” Wohl said. “Is there anything else I can do, Matt?”

“No. But thank you.”

“See me when you come to the schoolhouse.”

Matt nodded.

“I’m really sorry, Matt.”

“Yeah. Thank you.”

They got out of the car and walked to Martinez.

“Are the keys in that?” Matt asked.

“Yeah, why?”

Without replying, Matt walked to the car, got behind the wheel, and started the engine.

Martinez looked at Wohl.

Matt bounced off the curb and, tires chirping, entered the stream of traffic.

“I should have sent you with him,” Wohl thought aloud.

“Sir?”

“Penelope Detweiler overdosed about an hour ago.”

“ Madre de Dios! ” Martinez said, and crossed himself.

“Yeah,” Wohl said bitterly, then walked back to his car.

Martinez walked to the car but didn’t get in.

“Get in, for Christ’s sake,” Wohl snapped, and was immediately sorry. “Sorry, Jesus. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Martinez shrugged, signaling that he understood.

“That poor sonofabitch,” he said.

“Yeah,” Wohl agreed.

“Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Inspector Peter Wohl said to Staff Inspector Michael Weisbach as he walked in his office. “Something came up.”

“The Detweiler girl?” Weisbach asked, and when Wohl nodded, added: “Sabara told me. Awful. For her-what was she, twenty-three, her whole life ahead of her-and for Payne. He was really up when you put out the call for him.”

“Up? What for, for having put the cuffs on a crooked cop? He liked that?”

“No. I think he felt sorry for Captain Cazerra. I think he felt vindicated. He told me that you, and Washington and Denny Coughlin, had really eaten his ass out for going out on that ledge.”

“I wasn’t going to let it drop, either-it was damned stupid-until this…this goddamned overdose came along.”

“I imagine he’s pretty broken up?”

“I don’t know. No outward emotion, which may mean he really has one of those well-bred stiff upper lips we hear about, or that he’s in shock.”

“Where is he?”

“Out at the estate. He’s coming here. I’m going to see that he’s not alone.”

“There was a kid in here, McFadden, from Northwest Detectives, looking for him.”

“Good. I was going to put the arm out for him. They’re pals. You think he knows what happened?”

“I’m sure he does. When O’Mara told him Payne wasn’t here, he said something about him probably being in Chestnut Hill, and that he would go there.”

Wohl picked up his telephone and was eventually connected with O’Connor.

“Captain O’Connor. Inspector Wohl calling,” he said, and then: “Peter Wohl, Tom. Need a favor.”

Weisbach faintly heard O’Connor say, “Name it.”

“If you could see your way clear to give your Detective McFadden a little time off, I’d appreciate it. He and my Detective Payne are friends, and for the next couple of days, Payne, I’m sure you know why, is going to need all the friends he has.”

Weisbach heard O’Connor say, “I already told him to take whatever time he needed, Inspector.”

“I owe you one, Tom.”

“I owe you a lot more than one, Inspector. Glad to help. Christ, what a terrible waste!”

“Isn’t it?” Wohl said, added, “Thanks, Tom,” and hung up.

He had a second thought, and pushed a button on the telephone that connected him with Officer O’Mara, his administrative assistant.

“Yes, sir?”

“Two things, Paul. Inspector Weisbach and I need some coffee, and while that’s brewing, I want you to call Special Agent Jack Matthews at the FBI. Tell him I asked you to tell him what happened in Chestnut Hill this morning, and politely suggest that Detective Payne would probably be grateful for some company. That latter applies to you, too. Why don’t you stop by Payne’s apartment on your way home?”

Weisbach heard O’Mara say, “Yes, sir.”

Wohl looked at Weisbach as he hung up.

“Busy morning. I feel like it’s two in the afternoon, and it’s only ten to eleven.”

“Busier even than I think you know. Did you hear about Lowenstein turning in his papers?”

“Jesus, no! Are you sure?”

The door opened and Paul O’Mara walked in with a tray holding two somewhat battered mugs of coffee, a can of condensed milk, and a saucer holding a dozen paper packets of sugar bearing advertisements suggesting they were souvenirs from McDonald’s and Roy Rogers and other fast-food emporiums.

“That was quick,” Wohl said. “Thank you, Paul.” He waited until O’Mara had left, and then said, “Tell me about Lowenstein.”

“The first thing this morning, Harry McElroy delivered Lowenstein’s badge and a memorandum announcing his intention to retire to the Commissioner. I got that from McElroy, so that much I know for sure.”

“God knows I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m not surprised that he’s going out-”

Weisbach held up his hand, interrupting him.

“Just before I came out here,” he said, “Lowenstein put out the arm for me. I met him at the Philadelphia Athletic Club on Broad Street. And not only did he not mention going out, but he didn’t act like it, either.”

“Interesting,” Wohl said. “What did he want?”

“I got sort of a pep talk. He told me this Ethical Affairs Unit was a good thing for me, could help my career, and that all I had to do to get anything I wanted from the Detective Division was to ask.”

“Lowenstein and the Mayor got into it at David Pekach’s engagement party. Got into it bad. Did you hear about that?”

“The Mayor had just seen that Charley Whaley story in the Ledger. The ‘more unsolved murders, no arrests, no comment’ story. You see that?”

“Yeah.”

“For some reason, it displeased our mayor,” Wohl said, dryly. “The Mayor then announced he wouldn’t be surprised if Wally Milham was involved in the Kellog murder, primarily because he thinks that Milham’s morals are questionable. You’ve heard that gossip, I suppose?”

“Milham and Kellog’s wife? Yeah, sure.”

“The Mayor asked Lowenstein why he hadn’t spoken to him about his love life. Lowenstein told the Mayor he didn’t think it was any of his business. Then, warming to the subject, defended Milham. And then, really getting sore, Lowenstein made impolitic remarks about, quote, the Mayor’s own private detective squad, unquote.”

“Ouch!”

“Whereupon the Mayor told him if he didn’t like the way things were being run, he should talk it over with the Commissioner. And then-he was really in a lousy mood-to make the point to the Chief who was running the Department, he told him ‘the Commissioner’ was going to send Matt Payne, who knows zilch about Homicide, over to Homicide to (a) help with the double murder at that gin mill on Market Street-”