raspy voice plead his innocence and wondered if it was a set-up. After all, a commissioned officer … it just didn’t seem possible. And the brassiere hanging from the buffalo’s horn … it did seem like overkill. He told Wigmore, who was begging for a chance to take the polygraph, that he would accommodate his request before the week was over.
It was 10:30 p.m. when Danny called Wigmore at home. Wigmore was furious but listened to Danny’s plea that he didn’t know anything about Jack framing him. Wigmore said that he was looking forward to seeing Danny in person. The Oceanside, in one hour!
It was 11:45 when Jack and Danny parked with Susan and Tiffany at a payphone near the office, about a forty-minute drive from the Oceanside Lounge. Susan used the payphone to place her call.
“Oceanside Lounge,” said the bartender.
“Yes,” purred Susan. “Is Marvin Wigmore in there? Big guy, brush-cut, drinks Scotch.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Tell him I left my bra in his office and I want it back.”
The bartended suppressed a snicker and said, “I think you better tell him that yourself. Hang on.” Susan heard the bartender shout, “Mr. Wigmore! Telephone!”
Susan passed the receiver to Danny.
“Yeah, this is Wigmore. Is that you, O’Reilly?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? I’ve been waiting!”
“You’re nothing but a jealous, pompous, vindictive little man with the brain a size of a rat’s and probably the balls to match!”
“What?” screamed Wigmore. “You think you can talk that way with me? You’re finished! Do you understand? Finished! When I see you I’ll rip your face off and —”
“Sir, sir, sir!” interjected Danny. “It’s not me that said that!”
“What? What are you talking about? You said I had the balls of —”
“Sir, no, you misunderstood. I was reading from my notes. That’s what Jack said about you tonight. I was just telling you.”
“Taggart? He said that?”
“Yes, sir. I made notes of it. Sorry, I should have explained that first.”
“Where are you? You could have told me that when you got here.”
“That’s why I’m calling. It’s Jack. He’s really freaked out tonight about you. I don’t know why. He’s been drinking and calling you all sorts of names. I think I should stick with him. He’s talking like he wants to shoot you.”
“Shoot me? That son of a bitch! Okay, listen O’Reilly! You stay close to him. Tomorrow morning we’ll meet at the office. I want you to tell Assistant Commissioner Isaac every detail.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be there. Good night, sir.”
At 11:58 Wigmore walked out of the lounge and went home. One minute later, the bartender looked up at a new customer.
“Do you have a phone I can borrow for a local call?”
“At the end of the bar. Help yourself.”
It was exactly midnight when Assistant Commissioner Isaac mumbled an apology to his wife while leaning across to answer the telephone on the bedside table. He recognized Wigmore’s raspy, angry voice immediately.
“It’s Superintendent Wigmore! W-I-G-M-O-R-E! Listen, you fuckin’ faggot! You don’t know who you’re messin’ with! You bother me anymore and so help me, I’ll take my gun and ram it up your ass and pull the trigger! That’s after I rip your face off and shove it up your ass too!”
The line went dead. Isaac was shocked, but he still thought like a policeman. He checked his call display and then called the Communications Office. He demanded to know where Jack Taggart was at this exact moment.
One hour later, a policeman interviewed the bartender. Yes, Mr. Wigmore had been in. He was certain. Left around midnight, right after he used the phone. Some woman called him. Said she left her bra in his office. It’s not the sort of thing you would forget. Wigmore might have made another call after. He was really angry. Yelling at someone on the phone.
Wigmore left for work earlier than usual and cautiously looked around as he walked down his apartment hallway and pushed the elevator button. He was wearing a bulletproof vest under his shirt and carried a pistol — something he hadn’t done since being commissioned.
The elevator door opened and Wigmore did an imitation of a freshly caught bass, blinking his eyes while opening and closing his mouth. Three members of the Tactical Team leapt from the elevator and ordered him to the floor. Four more officers appeared on each side of him in the hall, also dressed in black and also carrying automatic weapons. They too screamed for him to hit the floor.
“Go on in.”
Louie Grazia nodded to the secretary, then walked across the fresh-smelling carpet and sat down in front of Isaac’s desk.
“Good work on Project 13 so far, Louie,” said Isaac. “This new informant your section has cultivated is proving very valuable. I gather there is still no indication who is supplying the bikers with information?”
“No, sir, not at this time. We’re working on it.”
“Well, if you hear anything, let me know immediately!”
“Yes, sir.”
Isaac glanced at the picture of his wife and looked back at Grazia.
“You heard about Wigmore this morning?”
Grazia nodded.
“It’s a shame. I just heard from the hospital. Preliminary examination indicates he may be suffering from paranoid schizophrenia. The doctor thinks he truly doesn’t know reality from fiction. He was wearing a bulletproof vest and carrying his sidearm when they took him down. He’s afraid that policemen are trying to kill him. Also said that Taggart and O’Reilly framed him and that O’Reilly called him last night at some lounge and set him up.”
“Oh?”
“It was actually a woman friend of his who called him there. She spoke to the bartender first. Somehow it triggered Wigmore. He went berserk and called and threatened me right after. I haven’t told you this, but Wigmore made accusations yesterday saying that Taggart framed him for the … indiscretion in my office. After Wigmore threatened me at home, I immediately called Communications.”
“Do you think Taggart was involved?”
“Taggart was with O’Reilly. Communications proved that the both of them entered our building only minutes before Wigmore called to threaten me.”
“I’m glad my men weren’t involved, sir.”
“I know. I think Wigmore snapped under the pressure of being commissioned. He’s looking to point his
