"Homicides," Mawson said. "Plural. Two cases of murder in the first degree."

"Homicides," Commissioner Czernick agreed.

"Okay, Ted," Mawson said. "We're friends. At half past three this morning, I had a telephone call. From London. From Stanford Fortner Wells III."

Commissioner Czernick shrugged. He didn't know the name.

"Wells Newspapers?" Mawson asked.

"Okay," Czernick said. "Sure."

"He told me he had just been on the telephone to Jack Tone, of McNeel, Tone, Schwartzenberger and Cohan, and that Jack had been kind enough to describe me as the… what he said was 'the dean of the Philadelphia criminal bar.' "

"That seems to be a fair description," Commissioner Czernick said, smiling. He was familiar with the Washington, D.C., law firm of McNeel, Tone, Schwartzenberger and Cohan. They were heavyweights, representing the largest of theFortune 500 companies, their staff larded with former cabinet-level government officials.

"Mr. Wells said that he had just learned his daughter was in some kind of trouble with the police, and that he wanted me to take care of whatever it was, and get back to him. And he told me his daughter's name was Louise Dutton."

"Well, that's interesting, isn't it?" Czernick said. "Dutton must be a TV name."

"We're friends, Ted," Mawson said. "That goes no farther than these office walls, right?"

"Positively," Commissioner Czernick said.

"Presuming your Inspector Wohl hasn't had her up at the House of Correction, working her over with a rubber hose, Ted," Mawson said, " asking him to look after her was probably a very good idea."

Commissioner Czernick laughed, heartily, and shook his head, and walked to Mawson and put his hand on his arm. "Can you find Homicide all right, Colonel? Or would you like me to have Sergeant Jankowitz show you the way?"

"I can find it all right," Mawson said. "Thank you for seeing me, Commissioner."

"Anytime, Colonel," Czernick said. "My door's always open to you. You know that."

The moment Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson was out the door, Commissioner Czernick went to the telephone, dialed the Homicide number, and asked for Inspector Wohl.

When Wohl came on the line, Commissioner Czernick asked, "Anything going on down there that you can't leave for five minutes?"

"No, sir."

"Then will you please come up here, Peter?"

There are four interview rooms in the first-floor Roundhouse offices of the Homicide Division of the Philadelphia Police Department. They are small windowless cubicles furnished with a table and several chairs. One of the chairs is constructed of steel and is firmly bolted to the floor. There is a hole in the seat through which handcuffs can be locked, when a suspect is judged likely to require this kind of restraint.

There is a one-way mirror on one wall, through which the interviewee and his interrogators can be observed without being seen. No real attempt is made to conceal its purpose. Very few people ever sit in an interview room who have not seen cop movies, or otherwise have acquired sometimes rather extensive knowledge of police interrogative techniques and equipment.

When Colonel J. Dunlop Mawson walked into Homicide, Miss Louise Dutton was in one of the interview rooms. Mawson recognized her from television. She was wearing a suit, with lace at the neck. She was better-looking than he remembered.

With her were three people, one of whom, Lieutenant DelRaye, Mawson had once had on the witness stand for a day and a half, enough time for them both to have acquired an enduring distaste for the other. There was a police stenographer, a gray-haired woman, and a young man in blue blazer and gray flannel slacks who looked like a successful automobile dealer, but who had to be, Mawson decided, Staff Inspector Wohl, "very bright; very young for his rank."

"Miss Dutton, I'm J. Dunlop Mawson," he said, and handed her his card. She glanced at it and handed it to Inspector Wohl, who looked at it, and handed it to Lieutenant DelRaye, who put it in his pocket.

"Lieutenant, I intended that for Miss Dutton," Mawson said.

"Sorry," DelRaye said, and retrieved the card and handed it to Louise.

"The station sent you, I suppose, Mr. Mawson?" Louise Dutton asked.

"Actually, it was your father," Mawson said.

"Okay," Louise Dutton said, obviously pleased. She looked at Inspector Wohl and smiled.

"Gentlemen, may I have a moment with my client?" Mawson asked.

"You're coming back?" Louise Dutton asked Inspector Wohl.

"Absolutely," Wohl said. "I'll just be a couple of minutes."

"Let's step out in the corridor a moment, Miss Dutton, shall we?" Mawson asked.

"What's wrong with here?"

"I meant alone," he said, gesturing at the one-way mirror. "And I wouldn't be at all surprised if there was a microphone in here that someone might inadvertently turn on."

She got up and followed him out of the room, and out of the Homicide office into the curved corridor. Mawson saw her eyes following Inspector Wohl as he walked down the corridor.

"How far did the interview get?" Mawson asked.

"Nowhere," she said. "The stenographer just got there."

"Good," he said. "I've been looking for you since four this morning, Miss Dutton. Where have they had you?"

"Since four?"

"Your father called from London at half past three," Mawson said.

"Okay," she said.

"I went to your apartment, and they said you had been taken here, and when I came here, no one seemed to know anything about you. Where did they have you?"

"What exactly are you going to do for me here and now, Mr. Mawson?" Louise replied.

"Well, I'll be present to advise you during their interview, of course. To protect your rights. You didn't answer my question, Miss Dutton?"

"You can't take the hint? That I didn't want to answer it?They didn't have me anywhere. Where I was, I don't think is any of your business."

"Your father is going to be curious, I'm sure of that."

"It's none of his business, either," Louise said.

"We seem to have somehow gotten off on the wrong foot, Miss Dutton," Mawson said. "I'm really sorry. Let's try to start again. I'm here to protect your interests, your rights. To defend you, in other words. I' m on your side."

"My side? The cops are the bad guys? You've got that wrong, Mr. Mawson. I'm on their side. I'll tell the cops anything they want to know. I want them to catch whoever butchered Jerome Nelson."

"You misunderstand me," Mawson said.

"I want to be as helpful and cooperative as I can," Louise said. "I just wasn't up to it last night… or early this morning, and that's what that flap was all about. But I've had some rest, and now I'm willing to do whatever they want me to."

"What 'flap'?"

"There was some disagreement last night about when I was to come here," she said. "But Inspector Wohl took care of that."

"All I want to do, Miss Dutton, is protect your rights," Mawson said. "I'd like to be there when they question you."

"I can take care of my own rights," she said.

"Your father asked me to come here, Miss Dutton," Mawson said.

"Yeah, you said that," Louise said. She looked at him thoughtfully, obviously making up her mind. "Okay. So long as you understand how I feel."

"I understand," Mawson said. "You were close to Mr. Nelson?"

She didn't respond immediately.

"He was a friend when I needed one," she said, finally.

Mawson nodded. "Well, why don't we go back in there and get it over with?"

The door from the curving third-floor corridor to the commissioner's office opens onto a small anteroom, crowded with desks. The commissioner's private office is to the right; directly ahead is the commissioner's conference room, equipped with a long, rather ornate table. Its windows overlooked the just-completed Metropolitan Hospital on Race Street.