"Only one newspaper's doing that, Dad," Peter replied, "and you know why."

"Idon't," Barbara said.

"Arthur J. Nelson, who owns theLedger, has got it in for the police," Peter said, "because it got out that his son, the one who was murdered-Jerome?-was a homosexual."

"Oh," Barbara said. "How did it get out?"

"A cop who should have known better told Mickey O'Hara," Peter said. "Not that it wouldn't have come out inevitably, but he blames the Police."

Barbara considered that a moment, and then decided to change the subject: "Well, what are you going to do over there, anyway?" she asked.

"He's the commanding officer," Olga Wohl said, a touch of pride in her voice.

"You asked me how my day was," Peter said, dryly.

"Yes, I did."

"Well, I went over to my newcommand," he said, wryly, "about fourthirty. Special Operations will operate out of what until this morning was Highway Patrol headquarters, at Bustleton and Bowler. Three people were waiting for me. Captain Mike Sabara, his chin on his knees, because until this morning, he thought he was going to get Highway; Captain Dave Pekach, who had his chin on his knees because he's got the idea that somebody doesn't like him;because they gavehim Highwayin other words he thinks he's being thrown to the wolves; and a sergeant named Ed Frizell, from Staff Planning, whose chin is on his knees because when he dreamed up this ACT thing it never entered his mind that he would be involved in it-banished, so to speak, in disgrace from his office in the Roundhouse to the boondocks, forced to wear a uniform and consort with ordinary cops, and possibly even have to go out and arrest people."

Chief Wohl chuckled.

"And then I went to the Highway roll call," Peter went on."That was fun."

"I don't understand, dear," his mother said.

"Well, I was practicing good leadership techniques," Peter said. "I thought I was being clever as hell. I got there, and made my little speech. I was proud to be back in Highway, as I was sure Captain Pekach was. I said that I had always thought of Highway as the most efficient unit in the Department, and felt sure it would stay that way. I even included the standard lines that my door was always open, and that I looked forward to working with them."

"What's wrong with that?" Barbara asked.

"Well, I didn't know that they thought I was the SOB who took Highway away from Mike Sabara, who everybody likes, and gave it to Pekach, who nobody in Highway likes."

"Why don't they like Pekach?" Chief Wohl asked. "I thought he was a pretty good cop. And from what I hear, he did a good job in Narcotics. And he came out of Highway."

"He did a great job in Narcotics," Peter said. "But what I didn't know-and it was my fault I didn't-was that theone time a Highway cop got arrested for drugs, Dave Pekach was the one who arrested him."

"The Sergeant? About a year ago?" Chief Wohl asked, and Peter nodded.

"I knew about that," Chief Wohl said, "but I didn't know Pekach was involved."

"And I hadn't seen Miss Cheryl Davies's clever little newspaper article, and they had," Peter went on, "so my attempt at practicing the best principles of command left the indelible impression on my new command that I am a fool or a liar, or both."

"Oh, Peter," his mother said. "You don't know that!"

"I know cops, Mother," Peter said. "I know what those guys were thinking."

"If they think that now, they'll come to know better," Barbara said, loyally.

"Would you care to order now?" the waiter asked.

"Yes, please," Peter said. "I'm going to have something hearty. That' s traditional for condemned men."

Chief Wohl chuckled again. Barbara leaned across the table and put her hand on Peter's. Mrs. Wohl smiled at them.

They were on dessert when the manager called Peter to the telephone.

"Inspector Wohl," Peter said.

"Lieutenant Jackson, sir," the caller said. "You said you wanted to be notified when anything came up."

Wohl now placed the name and face. His caller was the Highway Tour Commander on duty.

"What's up, Jackson?"

"We got a pretty bad wreck, I'm afraid. Highway Sixteen was going in on a call and hit a civilian broadside. At Second and Olney."

"Anybody hurt?"

"Both of our guys were injured," Jackson said, reluctance in his voice. "One of the passengers in the civilian car is dead; two others are pretty badly injured."

"My God!"

"It was a little boy that got killed, Inspector," Jackson said.

"Jesus H. Christ!" Wohl said. "Has Captain Pekach been notified?"

"Yes, sir."

"You say they were answering a call?"

"Yes, sir," Jackson said. "They went in on a call to the Thirty-fifth District. Somebody saw a woman being forced into a van by a guy with a knife at Front and Godfrey, one of the apartment buildings. In the parking lot."

"Where are you?"

"At the scene, sir."

"What scene, the wreck or the kidnapping?"

"The wreck, sir. I sent Sergeant Paster to the kidnapping."

"Get on the radio, and tell Captain Pekach I said for him to handle the wreck, and then tell Sergeant-"

"Paster, sir," Lieutenant Jackson furnished.

"Tell Sergeant Paster to meet me at the scene of the kidnapping," Wohl said.

"Yes, sir."

Wohl hung up without saying anything else. He found the manager and arranged to settle the bill before returning to the table.

"A Highway car hit a civilian," he said, looking at his father. "A little boy is dead."

"Oh, God!" his father said.

"They were going in on a Thirty-fifth District call," Peter said. " Someone reported a woman being forced into a van at knife point. I've got to go."

His father nodded his understanding.

Peter looked at Barbara. "Sorry," he said. "And I don't know how long this will take."

"I understand," she said. "No problem, I've got my car."

"And I'm sorry to have to walk out on your party, Mother."

"Don't be silly, dear," she said. "At least you got to eat your dinner."

"I'll call you," he said, and walked quickly out of the restaurant.

You are a prick, Peter Wohl, he thought, as he walked through the parking lot. A little boy has been killed and a woman has been kidnapped, and your reaction to all this is that you are at least spared the problem of how to handle Barbara.

Until Dutch Moffitt had gotten himself killed, everybody concerned had been under the impression that he and Barbara had anunderstanding, which was a half-step away from a formal engagement to be married. But the witness to the shooting of Captain Moffitt had been a female, specifically a stunning, long-legged, long-haired, twenty-five-yearold blonde named Louise Dutton, who was co-anchor of WCBL-TV'sNine's News.

Less than twenty-four hours after he had met Louise Dutton in the line of duty, they had been making the beast with two backs in his apartment, and Peter had been convinced that he had finally embarked on the Great Romance of his life. And for a little while, the Grand Passion had seemed reciprocal, but then there had been, on Louise's part, a little sober consideration of the situation.

She had asked herself a simple question: "Can a talented, ambitious young television anchor whose father just happens to own a half dozen television stations around the country find lasting happiness in the arms of an underpaid cop in Philadelphia?"

The answer was no. Louise Dutton was now working for a television station in Chicago, one that not coincidentally happened to be owned by her father-who, Peter understood, while he liked Peterpersonally, did not see him as the father of his grandchildren.

There was no question in Peter's mind that Barbara knew about Louise, and not only because he had covered Dutch's ass one last time by telling the Widow Moffitt that Dutch could not have been fooling around with Louise Dutton because she was his, Peter's, squeeze. That he was "involved" with Louise Dutton had been pretty common knowledge around the Department; even Chief Coughlin knew about it. Barbara had two uncles and two brothers in the Department. Peter had known them all his life, and there is no human being more self-righteous than a brother who hears that some sonofabitch is running around on his baby sister. Barbara knew, all right.