"Well, fuck it. I sort of like him. I liked the way he told that shit-for-brains where to head in."

When they got to Highway, the corporal told them that Captain Sabara wanted to see them. There were a lot of people in the outer office, and they both figured they were in for a long wait. Jesus settled himself in as comfortably as he could, and Charley went looking for the Coke and garbage machines.

He had just returned with a ham and cheese on rye and a pint of chocolate drink when the door to the Commanding Officer's office opened, and a middle-aged cop with a white-topped Traffic Bureau cap in his hand came out.

"Is there somebody named McFadden out here?"

Charley couldn't reply, for his mouth was full of ham and cheese, but he waved his hand, with the rest of the sandwich in it, over his head, and caught the traffic cop's attention.

"Captain Sabara wants to see you," the traffic cop said. "You and Gonzales, I think he said."

"Martinez?"Jesus asked, bitterly.

"Yeah, I think so."

Charley laid the sandwich on the chair next to Jesus, and, chewing furiously, followed him into the office.

"You wanted to see us, sir?" Jesus asked, politely.

"Yeah," Sabara said. "You got the cars all right?"

"Yes, sir, we left the blue-and-white at Radio," Jesus said.

"This is bullshit," Sabara said. "But from time to time, like when the Commissioner says to, we do bullshit. There have been a couple of minor burglaries in Chestnut Hill. A lady named Peebles. She's rich, and she has friends. And she doesn't think that she's been getting the service she deserves from the Police Department. She talked to one of her friends and he talked to the Commissioner, and the Commissioner called Inspector Wohl. Getting the picture?"

"Yes, sir," Jesus said.

Charley McFadden made one final, valiant swallow of the ham and cheese and chimed in, a moment later, "Yes, sir."

"Here's the file. Inspector Wohl borrowed it from Northwest Detectives. Read it. Then go see the lady. Charm her. Make her believe that we, and by we I mean Special Operations especially, but the whole Department, too, are sympathetic, and are going to do everything we can to catch the burglar, and protect her and her property. Getting all this?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

"On the way back, return the file to Northwest Detectives," Sabara said, "and be prepared to tell me, and Inspector Wohl, what you said to her, and how she reacted."

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, go do it," Sabara said, and they said "yes, sir" again and turned to leave. Jesus was halfway through the door when Sabara called out, "Hey!"

They stopped and turned to look at him.

"I know what a good job you guys did getting the doer in the Captain Moffitt shooting," Sabara said. "And Captain Pekach told me you did a good job for him in Narcotics before that. But you got to understand that Chestnut Hill isn't the street, and you have to treat people like this Miss Peebles gentle. It's bullshit, but it's important bullshit. So be real concerned and polite, okay?"

"Yes, sir," they chorused.

Peter Wohl had to show the officer on duty his identification before he was permitted to go through the locked door into the lobby of the Roundhouse. That made the score fourteen-six.

He got on the elevator and went to the Homicide Bureau on the second floor. When he pushed open the door to the main room, he saw that Captain Henry C. Quaire was in his small, glass-walled office.

The door was closed, and Quaire, a stocky muscular man in his early forties, was on the telephone, but when he saw Wohl he gestured for him to come in.

"I'll be in touch," he said after a moment, and then hung up the telephone. Then he half got out of his chair and offered his hand.

"Congratulations on your new command," Quaire said.

"Thank you, Henry," Wohl said.

"I don't know what the hell it is," Quaire said, "but it sounds impressive."

"That sums it up very neatly," Wohl said. "I'm already in trouble, and I just got there."

"I heard about the little boy," Quaire said. "That's a bitch."

"The civilian ran the red light, not our guy," Peter said.

"I hope you can prove that," Quaire said.

"That's what Mickey O'Hara said," Wohl said. "I've got people looking for witnesses. I really hope they can turn some up. But that's not why I'm here, Henry."

"Why do I think I'm not going to like what's coming next?" Quaire asked, dryly.

"Because you won't," Wohl said. "I want two of your people, Henry."

"Which two?"

"Washington and Harris," Wohl said.

"Can I say no, politely or otherwise?"

"I don't think so," Wohl said. "Chief Coughlin said I can have anybody I want. I'm going to hold him to it."

"Can I ask why, then?" Quaire said, after a moment.

Wohl laid the file he had borrowed from Lieutenant Teddy Spanner of Northwest Detectives on Captain Quaire's desk.

"That's what Northwest Detectives has on the Northwest Philly rapist," he said.

"They found the woman he forced into the van?"

"No. Not yet."

"I'll say the obvious, Inspector," Quaire said, tapping the folder with his fingertips but not opening it. "Rape, sexual assault, is none of Homicide's business. What are you showing this to me for?"

"The Northwest Philadelphia rapist is now my business, Henry," Wohl said.

"Okay. But still, why are you showing this to me?"

"I don't think we're going to find that woman alive," Wohl said.

"Then it will be my business," Quaire said. "But not until."

"No. It will still be my business," Wohl said.

Quaire's eyebrows rose.

"Not that it's any of my business, but how did that sit with Chief Lowenstein when he heard that? Or has he?"

Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein, under whom Homicide operated, was notoriously unsympathetic to what he considered invasions of his territory.

"I devoutly hope he knows it wasn't my idea," Wohl said. "But he's been told."

"What are you asking for, Inspector?" Quaire asked. "That if this abduction turns into homicide, that I assign Washington and Harris? Frankly, I don't like being told how to run my shop."

"No, I want them transferred to Special Operations, now," Peter said.

Quaire considered that for a moment.

"I was about to say no," he said, finally, "but you've already told me I can't, haven't you?"

"Why don't you call Lowenstein?" Wohl said.

"I believe you, Peter, for Christ's sake," Quaire said.

"Thank you," Wohl said. "But maybe Lowenstein would like to think he' s not the only one pissed off about this."

Quaire looked at him a moment, and then grunted.

He dialed a number from memory and told Chief Inspector Lowenstein that Staff Inspector Wohl was in his office, saying he wanted Detectives Washington and Harris transferred to Special Operations.

The reply was brief, and then Captain Quaire put the handset back in its cradle without saying good-bye.

"That was quick," Peter said with a smile. "What did he say?"

"You don't want to know," Quaire said.

"Yeah, I do."

"Okay," Quaire said, with a strange smile. "'Give the little bastard whatever he wants, and tell him I said I hope he hangs himself.' End quote."

"That's all? He must be in a very good mood today," Wohl said, smiling. But it's not funny. Lowenstein is, understandably, angry, and if he thinks I'm abusing the authority Czernick and Coughlin gave me, I'll pay for it. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next year, but sometime.

"So when would you like Detectives Washington and Harris?" Quaire asked.

"Now."

"You mean today?" Quaire asked, incredulously.