Final Justice Part 18

"Indeed. Sergeant 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." 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 alb.u.m 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," Was.h.i.+ngton 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," Was.h.i.+ngton furnished.

"Gladys and Henry will be there," Pekach said. and Henry will be there," Pekach said.

"Why am I not surprised?" Was.h.i.+ngton 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.

[FOUR].

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 b.u.t.ton 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 s.h.i.+rts' 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 s.h.i.+rts 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 gra.s.s 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 c.o.ke 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 Sergeant Payne?" Eileen asked. 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 sonofab.i.t.c.h," 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 gla.s.ses and took a healthy sip.

"To Sergeant Payne," she said.

"Thank you," Patricia Payne said.

"Denny, 'despicable sonofab.i.t.c.h' 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 I'm not about to forgive them." 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. 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 sonofab.i.t.c.h!" the 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 pa.s.sageway from inside one of the stalls.

"What the h.e.l.l 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 h.e.l.l to say, tell the truth.

"You remember the scene in The G.o.dfather, The G.o.dfather, the wedding, where everybody handed the bride an envelope? As a tribute to the G.o.dfather, not because they gave a d.a.m.n about the bride?" the wedding, where everybody handed the bride an envelope? As a tribute to the G.o.dfather, not because they gave a d.a.m.n 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."