Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin had been at Dutch Moffitt's wake at the Marshutz amp; Sons Funeral Home for about an hour when he saw Matt Payne, standing alone, and called him over. He shook his hand, and then put his arm around his shoulders.

"I'd like you to meet these fellows, Matt," he said. "Gentlemen, this is Matt Payne, Dutch's nephew."

Matt was introduced to two chief inspectors, three inspectors, two captains, and a corporal who had gone through the academy with Dutch Moffitt and was being tolerated by the brass for being a little drunk, and just a shade too friendly.

"When you get a moment, Uncle Denny, could I talk to you?"

"You bet you can," Denny Coughlin said. "Excuse us, fellows." He took Matt's arm and led him far down a wide corridor in the funeral home. Finally, they found an empty corner.

"I joined the police department," Matt announced.

"How's that again?"

"I said I'm going to be a policeman," Matt repeated.

"And when did this happen?"

"Today."

"I'll be damned," Dennis V. Coughlin said. "Let me get adjusted to that, Matt."

"So far only my dad knows," Matt said.

"Your dad is dead," Coughlin said, and was immediately contrite. "Ah, Christ, why did I say that? I'm proud to claim Brewster Payne as a friend, and you couldn't have had a better father."

"I understand," Matt said. "I have trouble with my real father, too. Keeping them separate, I mean."

"Matt, I'm going to say something to you and I don't want you to take offense, son, but I have to say it-"

"I flunked the marine corps physical," Matt said. "I was thinking about becoming a cop before Uncle Dick was killed."

"If you flunked the marine corps physical, what makes you think you can pass the police department physical?"

"I passed it," Matt said. "And I even had a talk with the shrink. Today."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! What's your mother going to say?"

"Why am I getting the feeling that you're a long way from yelling' Whoopee, good for you!'?"

"Because I'm not entirely sure it's a good idea, for you, or the department," Coughlin said, evenly.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Coughlin said. "Gut feeling, maybe. Or maybe because I buried your father, and we're about to bury your uncle. Or maybe I'm afraid your mother will think I talked you into it."

"My father, myadoptive father, understands," Matt said.

"Then he's one up on me," Coughlin said. "Matt, you're not doing this because of what you think the police are like, from watching them on TV, are you?"

"No, I'm not," Matt said, simply.

"But you will admit that you have no idea what you're getting into?"

"I was going into the marines, and I had no idea what I was getting into there, either."

Sergeant Tom Lenihan and Staff Inspector George Kegley appeared in the corridor, waiting for Coughlin's attention. Coughlin saw them, and motioned them over.

"You met Sergeant Lenihan yesterday," Coughlin said. "And this is Staff Inspector Kegley. George, this is Matt Payne. He's Dutch's nephew."

They all shook hands.

"What have you got, George?" Coughlin asked.

Kegley seemed momentarily surprised that Coughlin was asking for a report to be delivered before what he thought of as a "civilian relative," but he delivered a concise, but thorough report of what had transpired at the Bridge amp; Pratt Streets Terminal, including the details of Gerald Vincent Gallagher's death and dismemberment.

"Did they get in touch with Peter Wohl?" Coughlin asked. "Matt Lowenstein said they wanted him to get an identification of Gallagher as the man in the diner from that TV woman."

"Nobody seems to know where either of them are, Chief," Kegley said.

Coughlin snorted, and then his face stiffened in thought.

"Thank you, George," Coughlin said. "I appreciate this. Tom, get the car, we're going for a ride."

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Lenihan said.

"You're coming," Dennis Coughlin said to Matt Payne.

"Are you all right, Matthew?" Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin asked when Sergeant Tom Lenihan had eased the Oldsmobile up on the curb before the row house on Fitzgerald Street in South Philadelphia.

Matt had thrown up at the medical examiner's, not when Coughlin expected him to, when they pulled the sheet off the remains of Gerald Vincent Gallagher, but several minutes later, outside, just before they got back into the Oldsmobile. Tom Lenihan had disappeared at that point for a couple of minutes, and Coughlin wasn't sure if he had done that to spare Matt embarrassment, or whether Lenihan had gone behind a row of cars to throw up himself.

"I'm all right," Matt said.

His face was white.

"Sure?"

"I'm fine, thank you," Matt said, firmly.

"You want me to come along, Chief?" Lenihan asked.

"I think maybe you better," Coughlin said, and opened the door.

The door to the McFadden house had a doorbell, an old-fashioned, cast-iron device mounted in the center of the door. You twisted it, and it rang. Coughlin remembered one just like it on the door of the row house where he had grown up. Somebody, he thought, had probably made a million making those bells; there was one on just about every row house in Philly.

Agnes McFadden opened the door, and looked at them in surprise as Coughlin whipped off his snap-brimmed straw hat.

" 'Evening, ma'am," he said. "I'm Chief Inspector Coughlin. I'd like to see Officer McFadden, if that would be convenient."

"What?" Agnes McFadden said.

"We'd like to see Charley, if we can," Lenihan said. "I'm Sergeant Lenihan and this is Chief Inspector Coughlin."

"He's in the kitchen, with his lieutenant," she said. "Lieutenant Pekach. And Mr. McFadden."

"Could we see him, do you think?" Coughlin asked.

"Sure, of course, I don't know what I was thinking of, please come in."

They followed her down a dark corridor to the kitchen, where the three men sat at the kitchen table. There was a bottle of Seagram's 7Crown and quart bottles of Coke and beer on the table.

Pekach's eyes widened when he saw them. He started to get up.

"Keep your seat, David," Coughlin said. Officer Charley McFadden, who was sitting slumped straight out in the chair, supporting a Kraft cheese glass of liquor on his stomach, finally realized that something was happening. He looked at the three strangers in his kitchen without recognition.

Coughlin crossed the small room to him with his hand extended.

"McFadden, I apologize for barging into your home like this, but I wanted to congratulate you personally on a job well done. I'm sure your parents are very proud of you. The police department is."

Matt saw that McFadden had no idea who was shaking his hand.

Charley's father put that in words. "Who're you?" he asked.

"Mr. McFadden," Lieutenant Pekach said, "this is Chief Inspector Coughlin. And that's Sergeant Lenihan. I'm afraid I don't know the other gentleman."

"My name is Matthew Payne," Matt said, putting out his hand.

"Matt is… Captain Moffitt was Matt's uncle," Coughlin said.

"I'm sorry about your uncle," Charley McFadden said. Then he realized that he should be standing, and got up. He looked at Coughlin. "You're Chief Inspector Coughlin," he said, but there was a question, or disbelief, in his voice.

"That's right," Coughlin said.

"Could I offer you gentlemen a little something to drink?" Mrs. McFadden asked.

"All I got, I'm afraid, is the Seagram's Seven," Mr. McFadden said.

"Well, we're all off duty," Coughlin said. "I think a little Seagram' s Seven would go down very nicely."

More cheese glasses were produced, and filled three-quarters full of whiskey..

"I'm afraid the house is a terrible mess," Agnes McFadden said.