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"She's coming, right away, to pick me up," Susan said.
The grossly obese young woman, in the act of counting change, looked at Susan curiously, and then even more curiously when she saw Matt.
Matt backed up and retraced his path through the restaurant.
Jack's car was nowhere in sight, but a row of garbage cans had been placed across the road to block it.
Matt could see curious faces on people wearing cook's whites looking out from the restaurant's kitchen; Jack Matthews had obviously shown them his badge and explained what he was doing with the garbage cans.
And, as obviously, he pla
Matt walked quickly down the front of the restaurant, looking for Matthews' Chevrolet. He found it and started to walk toward it, when he saw the battered Volkswagen turning into the parking lot.
He walked, as quickly as he could-without appearing to be ru
He got there just as the Volkswagen stopped.
Susan went to it and pulled the door open.
Matt ran to the Volkswagen and tried to pull the driver's door open. He had decided the best way to restrain Je
He had solved the problem of having no handcuffs by "forgetting" to return the pair he had borrowed from Lieutenant Deitrich when they had arrested Calhoun. He would put the borrowed set on Je
The Volkswagen driver's-side door was locked.
"You are under arrest!" he shouted.
Je
"Motherfucking pig!" she screamed.
The Volkswagen raced off.
Matt dropped to his knees to take his pistol from his ankle holster.
There was a burst of carbine fire, seven, eight, ten rounds. Matt looked down the lane.
Chenowith was standing in the center of it, trying to clear a jam.
"Drop the gun!" Jack Matthews shouted.
Chenowith turned to look at him.
Matthews, his issue. 357 revolver held in the position prescribed, shot him twice, calmly and deliberately.
Matt, his pistol now in hand, ran after Je
She had apparently decided to ram her way past the garbage cans Matthews had placed in the lane. The one she had hit had wound up under the nose of the Volkswagen. Unsteerable, the Volkswagen had crashed into another parked car. Je
Matt ran to the Volkswagen, smashed the window with the butt of his pistol, and then aimed it right at Je
She took her hands off the steering wheel, and the sound of the racing engine died.
Matt opened the door and then grabbed Je
She kicked and fought, and he hit her on the side of her head with the butt of his pistol. It didn't knock her out, but it made her groggy enough so that he could pin her left arm behind her and, with his knee in her back, start to put the handcuffs on.
He heard a female voice say, indignantly, "He didn't have to do that to her!"
And then he heard a baby start to howl.
He jerked Je
Susan can handle the baby.
"My baby!" Je
Matt turned to look at the growing crowd of spectators.
"Nobody go near that car!" he ordered. "I'm a police officer, and I'm going to get someone to take care of the baby!"
"Goddamn cops!" the same indignant female voice muttered.
Matt propelled Je
Jack Matthews saw him coming, and stepped into the lane. He held both hands up, as if stopping traffic, and there was a pained look on his face.
Matt saw the obese young woman sitting on the ground, screaming, and after a moment, saw that she was holding her bloody right leg.
"Matt, don't come down here!" Jack called.
Matt had just enough time to wonder what the hell was wrong with Matthews, when he understood.
Susan was on the ground, too. Matt put his foot in front of Je
He ran to Susan. Jack tried to stop him, but he wouldn't be stopped.
Susan was on her back, her mouth and her sightless eyes open. There was a small, neat hole just below her left eye. Her blond hair was in a spreading pool of blood.
"Oh, God!" Matt howled, and dropped to his knees and cradled her limp body in his arms.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Mayor?" Inspector Peter Wohl asked, standing in the open door to the mayor's private office in City Hall.
"You took your sweet goddamn time getting here, Peter, " Jerry Carlucci snapped.
"I didn't think you wanted me to turn on the lights and siren, sir."
"Don't smart-mouth me, Peter!"
"No, sir."
"Have you seen this?" Carlucci said, sliding the Philadelphia Bulletin across his massive desk toward Wohl.
Wohl glanced at it.
"I haven't had a chance to read it, sir. I heard about it."
"Read it. Improve your mind," Carlucci said.
"Yes, sir."
Wohl picked up the newspaper, and read the lead story:
"COLD-BLOODED TERRORIST" MURDERS
by Michael J. O'Hara
Bulletin Staff Writer
Doylestown, Bucks County-Bryan C. Chenowith, described by the FBI as a "cold-blooded terrorist," was shot to death shortly after 7:00 P.M. last night by FBI Agent John D. Matthews in the parking lot of the Crossroads Diner here moments after Chenowith machine-gu
Mrs. Deborah G. Da
Chenowith; his common-law wife, Je
Cole and Fitzgerald were arrested without incident at approximately 9:00 P.M. last evening at a remote Bucks County farmhouse to which Miss Reynolds, shortly before her death, had directed Detective Payne. Miss Reynolds, according to the FBI, had known the women at Be
According to Walter Davis, Special Agent in Charge of the Philadelphia Office of the FBI, the Chenowith Group had turned to bank robbery, and said "there is incontrovertible evidence" that Chenowith, masquerading as a woman, had in the past few weeks robbed banks in Riegelsville, Pa., Clinton, N.J., and elsewhere.