Final Justice boh-8 Read online

  Denny Coughlin had called her back within the hour to tell her she could put her mind at rest about Miss Peebles. He’d called the Fourteenth District commander, as she’d asked him to do, and Captain Jessup had told him he was a little late. It seems Miss Peebles’s lawyer, Brewster Payne, had talked with his partner, Colonel Mawson, who’d telephoned Police Commissioner Czernich about Miss Peebles’s problem.

  The commissioner had called Jessup and told him not to worry about Miss Peebles anymore. He had given the problem to Special Operations, and Highway Patrol would now be rolling by 606 Glengarry on a regular-at least hourly-basis. Special Operations had been told the commissioner didn’t want to hear of any more problems at 606 Glengarry Lane.

  The next morning, just after Judge Solomon had walked into her chambers at nine, Martha Peebles had called.

  “Eileen, it happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “My knight in shining armor. He finally came.”

  “Martha, are you all right?”

  “His name is David Pekach, and he’s the captain commanding Highway Patrol. And we did it, Eileen!”

  Martha reported that Captain Pekach had called to inform her that her property would now be patrolled by Highway Patrol on a regular, frequent basis, and that she could put her mind at rest.

  “My God, Eileen. He’s so much like Daddy. All man. You just feel safe when you’re with him.”

  “What do you mean you did it, Martha?”

  “You know what I mean,” Martha said, not even very shyly.

  “You’re not telling me this cop just walked in the door, and you took him to bed?”

  “No, of course not. Not then. What happened was that he said he would swing by at midnight himself, and I said I never went to bed that early, and if he had the time-didn’t have to get home to his wife-why didn’t he stop in and I’d give him a cup of coffee. And he said he wasn’t married, and thank you, he’d like a cup of coffee. And he came back at midnight, and that’s when we did it.”

  “I think you’re out of your mind.”

  “I know. I’m out of my mind with love. His first name is David. And I thought it was going to hurt the first time, and it didn’t. God, Eileen, it was wonderful!”

  “Denny, tell me about Captain David Pekach of Highway Patrol,” was the call that came next.

  “What would you like to know, Eileen? And why?”

  “The why’s my business. Tell me about him.”

  “What about him? He’s a good cop.”

  “Is he married?”

  “No. He’s never been married. Before he made captain, and they gave him Highway Patrol, he was a lieutenant in Narcotics. He grew a pigtail, and the dealers thought he was one of them. He’s got one hell of an arrest record.”

  “That’s all?”

  “When he was a rookie detective in Homicide, just a kid, when the rest of the department didn’t think the sainted Fort Festung could possibly do anything like hurt his girlfriend, Dave Pekach finally got a judge to give him a search warrant-”

  “I know who he is,” Eileen interrupted, remembering him from the trial.

  “Like I said, Eileen, he’s a very good cop.”

  “Tell me about him and women. I understand he’s quite a swordsman.”

  “Who told you that?” Coughlin asked. “Eileen, you’ve seen him. He’s a little guy. Looks like a weasel. Women do the opposite of swoon when they see him. I’ve never even seen him with a woman. What’s this all about?”

  “Thanks, Denny.”

  Brewster Courtland Payne, Esq., gave Miss Martha Peebles in marriage to Captain David Pekach three weeks later. The Hon. Eileen McNamara Solomon was the matron of honor.

  “Eileen, I realize this is short notice, but I’d really like you and Ben to come for supper tonight,” Martha Peebles Pekach said now.

  “What’s up?”

  “Brewster Payne’s son-Matt? — just made sergeant, and Precious and I are having a little party for him.”

  “That kid made sergeant?” Eileen asked, surprised. Very privately, she thought of Detective Matt Payne as the Wyatt Earp-or maybe the Stan Colt-of the Main Line. Most cops never draw their weapons in twenty years of service. Brewster Payne’s kid had already shot two critters and been involved in an O.K. Corral shoot-out in Bucks County and he hadn’t been on the job much over five years.

  And now he’s a sergeant?

  “He was number one on The List. The mayor promoted him this morning.”

  “I’ll have to check with Ben,” Eileen said.

  “With or without him, Eileen, please? Sixish.”

  Lieutenant Jason Washington, who was sitting in his glass-walled office, his feet resting on the open lower drawer of his desk, deep in thought, became aware that Detective Kenneth J. Summers, a portly forty-year-old, who was on the desk, was waving at him.

  He raised his eyebrows to suggest that Summers now had his attention. Summers pointed to the telephone. Washington nodded and reached for it.

  “Homicide, Lieutenant Washington.”

  “Dave Pekach, Jason.”

  “Dare I to hope that you are calling to tell me two critters have flagged down a Highway car and, overwhelmed by remorse, are asking how they can go about confessing to the Roy Rogers job?”

  “You don’t have them yet?” Pekach asked, surprised.

  “You know where we are, David?” Washington said. “In the absence of a better idea, I have four people running down a somewhat esoteric idea proposed by the newest member of our happy little family.”

  “Matt?”

  “Indeed. Sergeant Matthew Payne. He wondered-causing Tony Harris some chagrins-and between thee and me, me too-for not having had the same thought first-why Doer Number One took the trouble to put his weapon under Kenny Charlton’s bulletproof vest instead of simply shooting him in the head.”

  “Yeah. I wonder why.”

  “There may be no reason, but for the moment, we are considering the possibility that he knew Kenny, felt some personal animosity toward him, and wanted to make sure the wound was fatal.”

  “That’s possible. That sounds like a deliberate act, not like something that just happened.”

  “So we are now compiling a photo album of every young African-American critter Kenny ever arrested. And since Kenny spent many years on the street, there is a large number of such critters.”

  “It may work, Jason,” Pekach said, thoughtfully.

  “And I have Tony starting all over again from Step One,” Washington said.

  “Actually, I was calling about Matt,” Pekach said. “My Martha wants to wash down his sergeant’s badge…”

  “Somehow I don’t think Your Martha used that phrase.”

  “She’s having a few people in, is the way she put it. You and Your Martha, of course, and Tony. And My Martha asked me to ask you if it would be a good idea to ask the other guys in Homicide.”

  “What and where are the festivities?”

  “Tonight, here. Six, six-thirty. If it stays nice, outside. Like the last one. Which, come to think of it, Lieutenant, was to wash down your new badge.”

  “I was about to say, David, that tonight is not the best of times. But then I remembered the profound philosophical observation that all work, et cetera, et cetera. Tony will be there, I’ll see to that, and so will My Martha and I. And I will put a card on the bulletin board advising everyone that edibles and intoxicants will be available at 606 Glengarry Lane for anyone interested in celebrating Sergeant Payne’s promotion.”

  “You think anyone will come?”

  “Edibles and intoxicants may entice one or two. And simple curiosity about Castle Pekach will entice some of the others. I don’t want to make it a command performance. Is Henry going to grace the premises?”

  Captain Henry C. Quaire was commanding officer of the Homicide unit.

  “My Martha called Whatshername.”

  “Gladys,” Washington furnished.

  “Gladys and He
nry will be there,” Pekach said.

  “Why am I not surprised?” Washington said.

  Gladys Quaire regarded an invitation to 606 Glengarry Lane as the Philadelphia equivalent of an invitation to watch the races at Ascot from the Royal Enclosure.

  Pekach chuckled, then said goodbye.

  When Dr. and Mrs. Benjamin Solomon drove through the gate at Glengarry Lane, the macadam road to the house was lined with various models of Ford Crown Victoria automobiles. They were in Ben’s Cadillac, as Eileen was wearing what she thought of as her Doctor’s Wife hat.

  But she could not leave her D.A.’s hat very far behind. In the new Ford Crown Victoria that followed the Cadillac into what was still known as the Peebles Estate, Detective Albert Unger of the District Attorney’s Squad pushed his microphone button as he rolled past the gate.

  “Radio, D-One.”

  “Go, D-One.”

  “At 606 Glengarry Lane in Chestnut Hill until further notice.”

  “Got it.”

  Philadelphia provides an unmarked detective-driven police car to its district attorney. The detective, of course, also serves as bodyguard to the D.A. Usually, this made sense, and it was nice to be picked up at the house and dropped off by a car. But sometimes-now, for example-it didn’t.

  There were going to be at least thirty-knowing Martha, probably more-police officers at 606 Glengarry Lane, all of them armed, and many senior enough to be accompanied by their own armed drivers. The person of the district attorney was going to be about as safe as it could be. And if something happened that required the immediate presence of the district attorney, any of the white shirts’ unmarked cars would be available to take her there with siren howling.

  But, because he went where she went, poor Al Unger would just have to hang around the car waiting for the radio to go off while the D.A. was at the party. He wouldn’t be alone. Deputy Commissioner Coughlin’s driver and the drivers of the other senior white shirts would also have to hang around waiting for their radios to go off. Martha Peebles Pekach would ensure, of course, that the caterer’s waiters would make sure they were fed.

  Eileen was not surprised-the weather was wonderful- that the party was being held outside the stables. Alexander Peebles’s polo ponies were long gone, and the grass field where they had once played was ideal for an outside party.

  Tables had been set up, and waiters moved among them serving drinks and steaks and Italian sausage from charcoal stoves.

  Their hostess and her husband greeted them as they walked on the field.

  “Sorry to be late, Ben had to work,” Eileen said, hugging Martha Peebles.

  “You’re here, that’s all that matters,” Martha Peebles said. She kissed Dr. Solomon. “I put you with the Paynes,” Martha went on, gesturing toward one of the tables.

  “Guess who I got a postcard from?” Captain Pekach said.

  “When you get a minute, I’ve got something to tell you about that,” Eileen said.

  “In a couple of minutes,” Pekach said.

  Eileen saw Ben smiling, and she saw why. Amelia A. Payne, M.D., was sitting with her parents. Ben not only would have someone to talk to-he really had little in common with the cops, or for that matter with Brewster C. Payne-and he and Amy Payne both liked each other and shared a disdain for some of their fellow healers at the University of Pennsylvania Medical School and many of UP’s bureaucratic procedures, about which they could-and almost certainly would-talk at length.

  Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Brewster C. Payne got to their feet as the Solomons approached the table.

  The men wordlessly shook hands. Eileen sat down beside Patricia Payne, and Ben sat down across the table beside Amy.

  “Where’s the birthday boy?” Eileen asked-and before Patricia could answer, dealt with the waiter. “Irish rocks for me. Diet Coke over there.” She pointed at her husband, then added: “Make it a double. I’ve been a good girl all day.”

  “One for me, too, please,” Patricia Payne said. “Not a double.”

  “Where is Sergeant Payne?” Eileen asked.

  Amelia A. Payne snorted.

  “I guess you’re thrilled, huh?” Eileen asked.

  “Not really,” Amy said, “truth to tell.”

  “Matt went into the house for something. He’ll be back,” Patricia said.

  “Is it safe to say you’re thrilled?” Eileen asked Patricia.

  “Mixed emotions,” Patricia replied. “Proud? Sure. Happy for Matt. Sure. But the badge the mayor pinned on him was his father’s.”

  “Ouch,” Eileen said. “They kept it all these years?”

  “I had it. I thought it was the right-”

  “It was,” Eileen said, firmly.

  “Mother Moffitt showed up at the ceremony,” Amy said. “To cast her usual pall on things.”

  “Amy!” Patricia Payne said.

  “Dave got another postcard from our fugitive,” Coughlin said, obviously to get off the subject of Mother Moffitt.

  “He told me,” Eileen said. “There was something today… I’ll tell you later, when I tell Dave.”

  “Am I permitted to ask? ‘Our fugitive’?” Brewster Payne said.

  “Isaac ‘Fort’ Festung,” Eileen said.

  “Oh, that chap.”

  “That despicable sonofabitch,” Coughlin said, and added, immediately, “Forgive the French.”

  A waiter handed the district attorney a drink. She waited until Patricia Payne had hers, then touched glasses and took a healthy sip.

  “To Sergeant Payne,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Patricia Payne said.

  “Denny, ‘despicable sonofabitch’ is an apt description of Fort Festung, so an apology for your language is not necessary, ” Eileen said. “But if you’re asking for a general pardon for our French brothers, I’m not about to forgive them.”

  There were chuckles and smiles.

  “She’s even stopped buying French perfume,” Dr. Solomon said.

  “See if you can enlist Patricia in your cause, Eileen,” Brewster Payne said.

  “What they should have done when he showed up in France-he entered France illegally, by the way, and was using a phony name, also illegal-was deport him on the next plane.”

  “Didn’t that have something to do with the death penalty?” Patricia asked.

  “That was their first excuse, but when that didn’t wash- we didn’t have the death penalty at the time of his trial; there was no way I could have sentenced him to death, as much as I might have liked to-they said they wouldn’t let us extradite because he’d been tried in absentia.”

  “I thought the legislature took care of that, and guaranteed him a new trial if he asked for one.” Brewster C. Payne said.

  “They did. And we so informed the French. Now they’re giving us some nonsense about the statute of limitations,” Eileen said. “We’re appealing that. We expect a decision on that tomorrow, and if it goes our way, we’re back to Step One. In other words, we start asking all over again for his extradition. ”

  She stopped, suddenly becoming aware that two men were seeking her attention.

  “And there’s Dave Pekach waiting for me to tell him what I just told you,” she said, nodding at Pekach, who was standing at the edge of the field. “Excuse me.”

  She got to her feet and turned to a waiter, “Medium rare,” she ordered. “One piece of Italian sausage, a sliced tomato. No potatoes. I’ll be back in five minutes, or less.” She pointed at her husband. “That handsome gentleman will have the same.”

  She stood up, and walked to Pekach, and followed him into the stable. They walked almost to the end of it.

  “Did I interrupt something important?” Pekach asked. “You and Denny Coughlin looked pretty serious.”

  “We were talking about Saint Isaac,” Eileen said. “What did the new postcard say?”

  “The usual. ‘Having fine time, wish you were here. Best regards, Isaac.’”

  “The arrogant sonofabitch!” t
he district attorney said, and then went on: “I had a call-Tony Casio did-from the State Department today.

  …”

  “I have the feeling I’m about to hear something I shouldn’t,” Matt Payne said, coming into the passageway from inside one of the stalls.

  “What the hell were you doing in there?” Pekach asked, curiously.

  “I’m gone,” Matt said. “Sorry.”

  “Stay,” Eileen said. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t hear this. Maybe you should.”

  “What were you doing in there?” Pekach pursued.

  Matt looked between them and decided that when you don’t know what the hell to say, tell the truth.

  “You remember the scene in The Godfather, the wedding, where everybody handed the bride an envelope? As a tribute to the Godfather, not because they gave a damn about the bride?”

  “Yeah,” Pekach said. “So?”

  “I felt like the bride,” Matt said. “Out of respect to you and Martha and/or my parents and/or Denny Coughlin, everybody was coming to the table and saying, ‘Congratulations, Sergeant.’ And then Amy would snort. So I came to hide in here.”

  “You should have waited until Ben and I finally got here,” Eileen said. “Our congratulations would have been absolutely sincere.”

  He looked at her for a moment.

  “Thank you,” he said, and then added: “Like I said, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop and I’m gone.”

  “You’re not interested in Fort Festung?” Eileen asked.

  “I’m becoming fascinated-”

  “Okay. Stay. Latest bulletin,” Eileen said. “Tony Casio…”

  “He’s Eileen’s fugitive guy,” Pekach explained.

  “… had a call from the State Department this afternoon. The French are going to rule on the statute of limitations tomorrow, and their ‘legal counsel,’ read FBI guy, heard that it’ll go our way.”

  “Which leaves us where?”

  “We start the extradition business all over again. If the decision comes down tomorrow in our favor, we start the extradition process again tomorrow.”