“No, ma’am,” Pekach said. “Some officers work in civilian clothing.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “When it seems appropriate, that’s authorized.”
“It seems to me that the more police in uniform the better,” she said. “That that would tend to deter crime.”
“You have a point,” Pekach said. “I can’t argue with that. But may I explain the officers who were here yesterday?”
“We’re talking about the small Mexican or whatever, and the large, simple Irish boy?”
“Yes, ma’am. Miss Peebles, do you happen to recall hearing about the police officer, Captain Moffitt, who was shot to death recently.”
“Oh, yes, of course. On the television, it said that he was, unless I’m confused somehow, the commanding officer of the Highway Patrol.”
“Yes, ma’am, he was,” Pekach said.
“Oh, I see. And you’re his replacement, so to speak?”
“Yes, ma’am, but that’s not what I was driving at.”
“Oh?”
“We knew who had shot Captain Moffitt within minutes,” Pekach said. “Which meant that eight thousand police officers—the entire Philadelphia Police Department—were looking for him.”
“I can certainly understand that,” she said.
“Two undercover Narcotics Division officers found him—”
“They threw him under a subway train,” she said. “I read that in the Ledger. Good for them!”
“That story wasn’t true, Miss Peebles,” Pekach said, surprised at her reaction. “Actually, the officer involved went much further than he had to to capture him alive. He didn’t even fire his weapon, for fear that a bullet might hit an innocent bystander.”
“He should have shot him dead on the spot,” Miss Peebles said, firmly.
David looked at her with surprise showing on his face.
“I read in Time,” Martha Peebles said, “that for what it costs to keep one criminal in prison, we could send four people to Harvard.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Pekach said. “I’m sure that’s about right.”
“Now, that’s criminal,” she said. “Throwing good money after bad. Money that could be used to benefit society being thrown away keeping criminals in country clubs with bars.”
“Yes, ma’am, I have to agree with you.”
“I’m sure that people like yourself must find that sort of thing very frustrating,” Martha Peebles said.
“Yes, ma’am, sometimes,” Pekach agreed.
“I’m going to draw the blind,” Martha Peebles announced. “The sun bleaches the carpets.”
She went to the window and did so, and the sun silhouetted her body, for all practical purposes making her blouse transparent. David Pekach averted his eyes.
Just a bra, huh? I would have thought she’d have worn a slip. Oh, what the hell, it’s hot. But really nice boobs!
She walked back over to him.
“You were saying?” she said.