"Yeah, and if they could keep their cars for a couple of days, until I can get cars for them, I'd appreciate it."

Quaire thought that over for a moment.

"Inspector, I'm short of cars. If youtell me to let them keep their cars, I will, but-"

"Okay. I'll work something out with the cars," Wohl said. "But I want them today."

"They're working the streets," Quaire said. "I'll get word to them to come in here. And then I'll send them out to you. Where are you, in Highway?"

"Yeah. Henry, there is a chance we can do something before that woman is… before the abduction turns into a homicide. That's why I need them now."

"What you're saying is that you don't like the way Northwest Detectives are handling the job," Quaire said.

Now it was Wohl's turn to consider his reply.

"I hadn't thought about it quite that way, Henry. But yeah, I guess I am. The Northwest Philly rapist is out there somewhere; Northwest Detectives doesn't seem to have been able to catch him. Look at the file-nothing."

Quaire pushed the file across the desk to Wohl.

"I don't want to look at that file, Inspector," he said. "It's none of my business."

Wohl bit off the angry reply that popped into his mind before it reached his mouth. He picked up the file and stood up.

"Thank you, Captain," he said.

"Yes, sir," Captain Quaire said.

In the elevator on the way down to the lobby, Peter's stomach growled, and then there was actually pain.

I didn't have any breakfast, that's what it is.

And then he realized that his having skipped breakfast because he didn't want to be late his first morning on his new command had nothing to do with it.

He thought of a sandwich shop not far from the Roundhouse where he could get an egg sandwich or something and a half pint of milk. But when he walked out of the rear door of the Roundhouse, he saw a Highway Patrol car coming out of the Central Lockup ramp.

He trotted over to it, tapped on the closed window, and told the surprised driver to take him to Highway.

As Peter got out of the Highway car, out of the corner of his eye he saw another unmarked car, Sabara's, pull into the parking lot. The driver was Matt Payne. He looked around the parking lot and saw that his car, now wearing another shortwave antenna, was in the parking spot marked INSPECTOR.

He waited until Payne found a spot to park Sabara's car and then walked to the building.

"Payne!"

Payne looked around and saw him, and walked over.

"Yes, sir?"

"You got radios in the cars?"

"Yes, sir."

"That was quick," Wohl thought aloud.

"Well, there really wasn't much to it," Payne said. "Just screw the mounting to the transmission tunnel, install the antenna, and make a couple of connections."

"Come on in the office," Wohl said. "I want to talk to you."

"Yes, sir," Payne said.

Wohl had a quick mental picture of himself having a short chat in his office, to feel the boy out, to get a better picture of him to see what he could do with him.

As soon as he got in the building, he saw that would be impossible. All the folding chairs were occupied. Some of the occupants were in uniform, and he didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to decide that the ones in plainclothes were policemen, too.

Sabara had gotten right to work, he decided. These people appeared to be looking for a job.

Sergeant Frizell immediately confirmed this: "Captain Sabara is interviewing applicants in there, sir," he said.

"Wait here a minute, Payne," Wohl said.

"Inspector," Payne said, as Wohl put his hand on the office doorknob, and Wohl looked at him. "Captain Sabara's keys, sir," Payne said, handing them to him.

"Thank you," Wohl said. He took the keys and went inside.

Sabara was behind the desk, with a personnel folder spread out before him. A uniformed cop sat nervously on the edge of a straight-backed chair facing the desk. Sabara started to get up, and Wohl waved him back.

There was something about the uniformed cop Wohl instinctively disliked. He had a weak face, Wohl decided. He wondered how he knew. Or if he knew.

"This is Inspector Wohl," Sabara said, and the cop jumped to his feet and put out his hand.

"How do you do, sir?" the cop said.

Confident that the cop couldn't see him, Sabara made a wry face, and then shook his head, confirming Wohl's own snap judgment that this cop was something less than they desired.

Why am I surprised? When there is a call for volunteers, ninety percent of the applicants are sure to be people unhappy with their present assignment, and, as a general rule of thumb people are unhappy with their jobs because they are either lazy or can't cut the mustard.

"Here's your keys, Mike," Wohl said.

"So quick?" Sabara asked.

Before Wohl could reply, one of the phones rang and Sabara picked it up.

"Yes?" he said, and listened briefly, and then covered the receiver with his hand. "Detective Washington for you, sir."

Wohl took the telephone.

"Hello, Jason," he said.

"Sir, I'm ordered to report to you," Washington said, his tone of voice making it quite clear what he thought of his orders.

"Where are you, Jason?" Wohl asked.

"At the Roundhouse, sir."

"You need a ride?"

"Sir, I called to ask if you wanted me to drive my car out there."

"Wait around the rear entrance, Jason," Wohl said. "I'll have someone pick you up in the next few minutes."

"Yes, sir," Washington said.

"Is Tony Harris there, too?"

"No, sir," Washington said, and then blurted, "Him, too?"

"I'm trying to get the best people I can, Jason," Wohl said.

"Yes, sir," Washington said, dryly, making it quite clear that he was not in a mood to be charmed.

"I'll have someone pick you up in a couple of minutes, Jason," Wohl said, and hung up.

He looked at Mike Sabara. "Detectives Washington and Harris will be joining us, Captain," he said. "That was Washington. I'm going to have someone pick him up and bring him here."

"You want me to take care of that, Inspector?" Sabara asked.

"I can do it," Wohl said, and smiled at the cop. "Nice to have met you," he said. Ihope he doesn't 't take that guy.

Matt Payne was leaning on the concrete-block wall of the outside room when Wohl returned to it. When Payne saw him, he pushed himself off the wall.

"Payne, take my car again-" Wohl began and then stopped.

"Yes, sir?"

"How long did it take you to get a car out of the motor pool?"

"Just a couple of minutes," Payne said. "They have a form; you have to inspect the car for damage and then sign for it."

"Okay, let's go get another one," Wohl said, making up his mind.

As they walked to the car, Payne asked, "Would you like me to drive, sir?"

Wohl considered the question.

I liked my first ride downtown; it gave me a chance to look around. All I usually see is the stoplight of the car ahead of me.

"Please," he said, and handed Payne the keys.

Three blocks away, Payne looked over at Wohl and said, "I don't know the ground rules, sir. Am I expected to keep the speed limit?"

"Christ," Wohl replied, annoyed, and then looked at Payne. It was an honest question, he decided, and deserves an honest answer.

"If you mean, can you drive like the hammers of hell, no. But on the other hand… use your judgment, Payne." And then he added, "That's all police work really is, Payne, the exercise of good judgment."

"Yes, sir," Payne said.

Well, didn't you sound like Socrates, Jr., Peter Wohl?

But then he plunged on: "It's not like you might think it is. Brilliant detective work and flashing lights. Right now every cop in Philadelphia, and in the area, is looking for a woman that some lunatic with sexual problems forced into the back of his van at the point of a knife. Since we don't have a good description of the van, or the tag number-and, even if we had the manpower, and we don't-we can't stop every van and look inside. That's unlawful search. So we're just waiting for something to happen. I don't like to consider what I think will happen."