Lowenstein looked intently at him for a moment.

"And go back to where I belong," Peter added.

"Yeah, well, that's not going to happen," Lowenstein said. "I was going to give you a little talk, Peter, to make it clear thatall you' re authorized to do is keep the TV lady happy; that you're not to get involved in the investigation itself. But I don't think I have to do that, do I?"

"No, sir," Wohl said. "Of course you don't."

"And I don't think I have to ask you to make sure that I hear anything the Polack hears, do I?"

"No, sir."

"The trouble with you, Peter, you sonofabitch, is that I can't stay mad at you," Lowenstein said.

"I'm glad to hear that," Wohl said, smiling. "What do you think I should do now?"

"I suspect that just maybe the assigned detective would like to talk to the witness," Lowenstein said. "Why don't you find him and ask him? Where's the dame?"

"At her apartment," Peter said. "Who's got the job?"

"Jason Washington," Chief Inspector Lowenstein said. "I expect you'll find him outside, just a titter with excitement that he'll now be able to work real close to a real staff inspector."

"There's a rumor going around, Chief," Wohl said, "that some people think staff inspectors are real cops."

"Get your ass out of here, Peter," Lowenstein said, but he was smiling.

There were twenty-one active homicide investigations underway by the Homicide Division of the Philadelphia Police Department, including that of Captain Richard C. Moffitt. An active homicide investigation being defined unofficially as one where there was a reasonable chance to determine who had unlawfully caused the death of another human being, and to develop sufficient evidence to convince the Philadelphia district attorney that he would not be wasting his time and the taxpayers' money by seeking a grand jury indictment and ultimately bringing the accused to trial.

Very nearly at the bottom of the priority list to expend investigatory resources (the time and overtime of the homicide detectives, primarily, but also including certain forensic techniques, some of which were very expensive) were the cases, sometimes occurring once or twice a week, involving vagrants or junkies done to death by beating, or stabbing. The perpetrator of these types of murders often had no motive beyond taking possession of the victim's alcohol or narcotics, and if questioned about it eight hours later might really have no memory of what had taken place.

There were finite resources. Decisions have to be made as to where they can best be spent in protecting the public, generally, or sometimes an individual. Most murders involve people who know each other, and many involve close relatives, and most murders are not hard to solve. The perpetrator of a murder is often on the scene when the police arrive, or if he has fled the scene, is immediately identified by witnesses who also have a pretty good idea where he or she might be found.

What many homicide detectives privately (certainly not for public consumption) think of as agood case is a death illegally caused during the execution of a felony. A holdup man shoots a convenience-store cashier, for example, or a bank messenger is shot and killed while being held up.

That sort of a perpetrator is not going to be found sitting in the toilet, head between his hands, sick to his stomach with remorse, asking to see his parish priest. The sonofabitch is going to run, and if run to earth is going to deny ever having been near the scene of the crime in his life.

It is necessary to make the case against him. Find his gun, wherever he hid it or threw it, and have the crime lab make it as the murder weapon. Find witnesses who saw him at the scene of the crime, or with the loot. Break the stories of witnesses who at first are willing to swear on a stack of Bibles that the accused was twenty miles from the scene of the crime.

This is proper detective work, worthy of homicide detectives, who believe they are the best detectives in the department. It requires brains and skills in a dozen facets of the investigative profession.

And every once in a great while, there is a case just like cop stories on the TV, where some dame does in her husband, or some guy does in his business partner, on purpose, planning it carefully, so that it looks as if he fell down the cellar stairs, or that the partner got done in by a burglar, or a mugger, or a hit-and-run driver.

But something about it smells, and a good homicide detective starts nosing around, finding out if the done-in husband had a girl on the side, or a lot of insurance, or had a lot of insurance and thewife was running around.

Very near the top of the priority list are the homicides of children, and other sorts of specially protected individuals, such as nuns, or priests.

And at the absolute top of the priority list is the murder of a police officer. There are a number of reasons for this, some visceral (that could be me lying there with a hole in the back of my head) and some very practical:You can't enforce the law if the bad guys think they can shoot a cop and get away with it. If the bad guys can laugh at the cops, they win.

Technically, the investigation of the murder of Captain Richard C. Moffitt would be handled exactly like the murder of any other citizen. The case would be assigned to a homicide detective. It would be his case. He would conduct the investigation, asking for whatever assistance he needed. He would be supervised by his sergeant, who would keep himself advised on where the investigation was leading. And the sergeant's lieutenant would keep an eye on the investigation through the sergeant. Both would provide any assistance to the homicide detective who had the case that he asked for.

That was the procedure, and it would be followed in the case of Captain Richard C. Moffitt.

Captain Henry C. Quaire, commanding officer of the Homicide Division, had assigned the investigation of the murder of Captain Richard C. Moffitt to Detective Jason F. Washington, Sr., almost immediately upon learning that Captain Moffitt had been shot to death.

Detective Washington was thirty-nine years old, a large, heavyset Afro-American who had been a police officer for sixteen years, a detective for eleven, and assigned to Homicide for five. Washington had a reputation as a highly skilled interrogator, a self-taught master psychologist who seemed to know not only when someone being interviewed was lying, but how to get the person being interviewed to tell the truth. He was quite an actor, doing this, being able convincingly to portray any one of a number of characters, from the kindly understanding father figure who fully understood how something tragic like this could happen to the meanest sonofabitch east of the Mississippi River.

Washington had a fine mind, an eagle's eye when discovering minor discrepancies in a story, and a skill rare among his peers. He was a fine typist. He could type with great accuracy at about eighty words per minute. This skill, coupled with Detective Washington's flair for writing, made his official reports the standard to which his peers aspired. Detective Washington was never summoned to the captain's office to be asked, "What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

Detective Washington and Captain Moffitt had been friends, too. Washington had been (briefly, until he had been injured in a serious wreck, during a high-speed pursuit) then-Sergeant Moffitt's partner in the Highway Patrol.

None of this had anything to with the case of Captain Richard C. Moffitt being assigned to Detective Jason F. Washington, Sr. He was given the job because he was "up on the wheel." The wheel (which was actually a sheet of cardboard) was the device by which jobs were assigned to the detectives of the Homicide Division. Each shift had its own wheel. When a job came in, the detective whose name was at the head of list was given the assignment, whereupon his name went to the bottom of the wheel. He would not be given another job until every other homicide detective, in turn, had been given one.