Final Justice Part 76

"I put the shotgun on the roof of my car," Matt said.

"Mickey, get the h.e.l.l out of here!" McGuire ordered.

O'Hara ignored him.

"Around here, Matt?" he asked.

"Just around the corner," Matt said. "Two angry females. The victim's wife, who wanted to know where I was when I was needed, and my girlfriend-perhaps ex-girlfriend would be more accurate-who just described me as a cold-blooded sonofab.i.t.c.h for shooting these two."

"O'Hara, I told you to get the h.e.l.l out of here!" McGuire shouted after him.

"I presume the firemen are on their way?" Matt said to McGuire. "In addition to the other damage, they apparently shot out a fuel line. There's gas all over the ground. Or maybe they got the tank."

McGuire approached him warily.

"Why don't you let me have your weapon, Payne?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, of course. I forgot."

He handed the Colt to McGuire b.u.t.t-first as three uniforms and two men who were dressed much like those they hoped to arrest for illegal trafficking in controlled substances ran up to them, pistols in hand.

McGuire removed the clip, counted the rounds it held, then worked the action and ejected the round in the chamber.

Matt reached into the breast pocket of the dinner jacket, came out with another magazine, and handed it to McGuire.

"This is the magazine, now empty, that was in my weapon," he said. "And somewhere over there is a live round I inadvertently ejected when this started."

"The crime scene people will find it," McGuire said.

Holding Matt's pistol carefully by the checkering on the wooden grips, he started to put it in the pocket of his suit coat.

"I think you're supposed to give that back to me," Matt said.

"What?"

"Regulations state that the first supervisor to reach the scene of an incident like this is to take the weapon used from the officer who used it, remove the magazine, count the remaining rounds, take possession of that magazine, then return the weapon to the officer, who will then load a fresh magazine into his weapon and return it to his holster."

"Sergeant, this is evidence," McGuire said.

"With all respect, sir, that is not what the regulations say."

"Shut up, Sergeant," McGuire said.

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Payne said.

A Fire Rescue ambulance began backing into the parking lot.

A Sixth District lieutenant, a very large man, came running up.

"My name is McGuire," McGuire said. "Dignitary Protection Unit. I'm the first supervisor on the scene."

"I've seen you around," the Sixth District lieutenant said.

"I have relieved Sergeant Payne of his weapon, and am now going to transport him to Internal Affairs."

"You're the shooter, Sergeant?" the lieutenant asked.

"I think all the questions to him are supposed to be asked by Internal Affairs," McGuire said. "Nevins will tell you what we know. Will you come with me, please, Sergeant Payne?"

"Yes, sir."

Lieutenant McGuire put his hand on Sergeant Payne's arm and walked with him through the parking lot to where the unmarked Dignitary Protection Crown Victoria sat, its engine running and its headlights and concealed blue flashers still on.

He put Matt in the backseat but didn't close the door.

Nevins came to the car a moment later.

"You drive, Al," McGuire said. "I'll ride in the back with Payne."

They exchanged questioning glances, then shrugged, and then Nevins got behind the wheel, and McGuire got in the backseat with Matt.

TWENTY-ONE.

[ONE].

In Philadelphia, any discharge-even accidental- of a police officer's weapon is investigated by the Internal Affairs Unit. Even if the discharge of the police officer's weapon results in a death, Internal Affairs still retains the weapon results in a death, Internal Affairs still retains the responsibility for, and authority to, conduct the investigation. The Homicide Division "a.s.sists."

This policy came into being when various civil rights organizations charged that police shootings-fatal and nonfatal-were being covered up when investigated by Homicide or Detective Divisions, and that only Internal Affairs, an elite unit already charged with the investigation of police malfeasance, could be trusted to investigate shootings fully and fairly.

When the first "a.s.sist officer, shots fired" call was broadcast to every police vehicle in Philadelphia, it was received in the Crown Victoria a.s.signed to Inspector Michael Weisbach, of the Internal Affairs Division, who was at the time returning to his home from a social event at Temple Beth Emmanuel.

He did not respond to the call, primarily because he was a considerable distance from South Front Street, and realized that by the time he could get there, at least twenty, and probably more, other units would be on the scene.

But he did turn to his wife and say, "I really hope no one was. .h.i.t. I'm really beat."

By the time he got to his home, however, other radio traffic had made it clear that he wasn't going to be able to go to bed anytime soon. And after he'd dropped his wife off and headed for the Internal Affairs office on Dungan Road in northeast Philadelphia, there came, several times, official confirmation.

"I-2, Radio."

"I-2, go."

"We have two suspects down, one dead, at the a.s.sist officer, shots fired, unit block South Front Street."

"Okay. I'm on my way to IAD."

Then his cellular telephone chirped the first bars of "Rule Britannia."

"Weisbach."

"Inspector, this is Captain Fein, Sixth District."

"h.e.l.lo, Jake."

"Two suspects down, one dead, at the a.s.sist officer, shots fired on South Front."

"I'm on my way to IAD. Thanks for the heads up."

"Out of school, Mike, it looks righteous."

"I sure hope so. Thanks again, Jake."

He had just laid the telephone down on the seat when it played "Rule Britannia" again.

"Weisbach."

"Kimberly, boss. I just got a call from Lieutenant McGuire of Dignitary Protection. He was the first supervisor on the scene in the shots fired on South Front, and he's transporting the shooter here."

"I'm en route."

"You're not going to like this, boss. The shooter's Sergeant Matt Payne."

"Oh, h.e.l.l."

"You want me to call the FOP?"

"Yes, please. And put Payne in an interview room and don't do anything else until I get there."

"Yes, sir. There's more, boss."

"Let me have it."

"Stan Colt and his entourage were there. The press has hold of it and they're all over the scene. I'm watching it on the television here in the office. They broke into the prime-time shows to cover it live. It's a real cl.u.s.ter f.u.c.k out there."

[TWO].

Under the contract between the City of Philadelphia and Lodge #5 of the Fraternal Order of Police, it is agreed that whenever any police officer, regardless of rank, is detained for any reason that might result in criminal prosecution, the detaining unit will, at the same time it notifies senior police officials, notify the Fraternal Order of Police.

The Fraternal Order of Police will then dispatch an attorney to ensure that the rights of the police officer being detained are not violated in any way, and to a.s.sist him in any way deemed necessary.

There are lawyers under contract to Lodge #5 to provide counsel on call. There are other lawyers in Philadelphia who provide their professional services, pro bono publico, pro bono publico, to Lodge #5. to Lodge #5.

Perhaps the most distinguished of this latter group is Armando C. Giacomo, Esq., a slight, lithe, dapper Italian who once served his country as a Marine Corps fighter pilot, then came home to become either the best and most successful criminal defense attorney in Philadelphia, or the second best. The other contender for that unofficial t.i.tle being Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson, Esq., of Mawson, Payne, Stockton, McAdoo & Lester.

The difference between the two was essentially in their clientele. Colonel Mawson, who often defended individuals accused of stealing, misappropriating, embezzling, taking by fraud or deception, or otherwise illegally acquiring huge sums of money-and was compensated accordingly-declined to offer his professional services to anyone with any connection, however remote, to organized crime, or the illegal trade in controlled substances.

Arguing that even the most despicable scoundrels were ent.i.tled under the United States Const.i.tution to the best defense possible, Armando C. Giacomo defended, very often successfully, the most despicable scoundrels alleged to be connected with organized crime and/or the illegal traffic in controlled substances, and was compensated accordingly.

Mr. Giacomo's understanding with Lodge #5, Fraternal Order of Police, was that he wished to offer his services only in cases worthy of his talent. As the ordinary thug could not afford to avail himself of his services, neither should the cop charged with, say, drunken driving, or slapping the wife around, have his professional services made available to him, pro bono publico. pro bono publico. He preferred to defend officers charged with violating the civil rights of citizens, and-above all- officers alleged to have illegally taken life in the execution of their official duties. He preferred to defend officers charged with violating the civil rights of citizens, and-above all- officers alleged to have illegally taken life in the execution of their official duties.

When the official of Lodge #5, Fraternal Order of Police, was informed by Captain Daniel Kimberly of Internal Affairs that a sergeant was being detained for investigation of a shooting of two suspects, one of them fatal, he immediately began searching for Mr. Giacomo's unlisted home number in his Rolodex. And he was not at all surprised, despite the hour, that Mr. Giacomo said he would go directly to IAD, and that the FOP representative should meet him there.

[THREE].

The city editor of the Philadelphia Bulletin, Philadelphia Bulletin, Roscoe G. Kennedy, responded to a computer message from Michael J. O'Hara- Roscoe G. Kennedy, responded to a computer message from Michael J. O'Hara-

Kennedy- Hold s.p.a.ce page one section one for three column pic, plus jump for 350-400 words, + 3, 4 more pics Ohara -in several ways, the first being annoyance. O'Hara's message was very much in the form of an order, rather than a request or suggestion.

No matter how much money and perquisites O'Hara's pal Casimir Bolinski, the football-jock-turned-sports-attorney, had beat the people upstairs out of in exchange for the services of Michael O'Hara, Roscoe G. Kennedy felt that this in no way changed the fact that Michael J. O'Hara was a staff writer, no more, and Roscoe G. Kennedy was the city editor, and thus ent.i.tled to tell the staff writer what to do, and when, not the reverse.

The second cause of annoyance was that in order to see what immortal prose Michael J. O'Hara believed was worthy of a three-column photograph on page one of section one-plus a jump with more pictures-before O'Hara saw fit in his own sweet time to send it to him, he would have to go to O'Hara's office.

This was actually a double irritant. Mr. Kennedy did not think a lowly staff writer was ent.i.tled to an expensively furnished private office-O'Hara's $2,100 exotic wood and calfskin-upholstered Charles Eames chair was more salt in the wound here-in the first place, and to get to it, he was going to have to get up from his desk and walk across the city room, which meant past a large number of other staff writers, all of whom would see that he was calling on O'Hara rather than the other way around.

The third irritant was that Roscoe G. Kennedy knew that if O'Hara thought he had something worthy of s.p.a.ce on page one of section one, and with a large jump to be placed elsewhere, the sonofab.i.t.c.h probably did.

Roscoe G. Kennedy was honest enough to admit-if sometimes through clenched teeth-that Mickey O'Hara was really a h.e.l.l of a good writer, and had earned his Pulitzer Prize.

So Mr. Kennedy resisted the urge to summon Mr. O'Hara to his presence to discuss his latest contribution to the Bulletin, Bulletin, and instead got up and walked across the city room and knocked politely at the door. and instead got up and walked across the city room and knocked politely at the door.

He saw that Mr. O'Hara had guests in his office, Casimir "The Bull" Bolinski and presumably Mrs. Bolinski, and he smiled at them.

"What have you got for me, Mickey?" Mr. Kennedy asked.

O'Hara raised one hand from the keyboard of his computer terminal, on which he was typing with great rapidity, and pointed to the screen of his personal (as opposed to the Bulletin Bulletin's) computer.

There was a very clear photograph of a well-known Philadelphia police officer on it, this one showing him in a dinner jacket, with a cellular phone in one hand and a .45 Colt in the other, standing just a little triumphantly over a man lying on the ground.

"There's more," O'Hara said.

The city editor looked at the other images from the parking lot, then read Mickey's story on the computer screen. He didn't speak until O'Hara had finished and pushed the Transmit key. Then he said, "Great stuff, Mickey! Really great! The Wyatt Earp of the Main Line Does It Again."

Mickey stood up.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"For a head, how about 'Main Line Wyatt Earp 2, Bad Guys 0 in Shootout at the La Famiglia Corral'?"

"You sonofab.i.t.c.h," Mickey said. "That's a cop doing his job."