"Your sister the psychiatrist?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you get the feeling that Tony Harris is not too impressed with psychiatrists?" Wohl asked.

"Yes, sir, that came through pretty clearly."

"Or did you come on the job because of what happened to Dutch? And/or your father?" Wohl asked, picking that up again.

"That's probably got something to do with it," Matt said. "It probably was impulsive. But from what I've seen so far-"

"What?"

"It's going to be fascinating," Matt said.

"You haven't seen enough of it to be able to make that kind of judgment," Wohl said. "All you've seen is the Academy."

"And Washington and Harris," Matt argued gently.

"You're a long way, Matt, from getting close to guys like those two. The folklore is that being a detective is the best job in the Department; and that being a Homicide detective is the best of detective jobs. Washington and Harris, in my judgment, are the best two Homicide detectives, period. But that does trigger a thought: it would be a good idea for you to hang around with somebody, some people, who know what they're doing. I'm talking about McFadden and Martinez. I'll tell them to show you the ropes. That'll mean a lot of night work, overtime. How do you feel about overtime?"

"I really don't have anything better to do," Matt said, honestly. " Sure, I'd like that."

"The eyes of the average police officer would light up when a supervisor mentioned a lot of overtime," Wohl said.

"Sir?" Matt asked, confused.

The waitress appeared with the check on a small plastic tray. Matt had to wait until Wohl had carefully added up the bill and handed her his American Express card before he got an explanation.

"Overtime means extra pay," Wohl said. "Washington and Harris take home as much money as I do. More, probably. Supervisors get, at least, compensatory time, not pay for overtime. To most cops, overtime pay is very important."

"I wondered why you kept mentioning to them they could have all the overtime they wanted," Matt said.

"My point is that you weren't thinking about the money, were you? Money isn't much of a consideration for you, is it? You remember, you told me about that the night we met."

"I don't think that will keep me from doing my job," Matt said.

"I don't think it will, either," Wohl said. "But I think you should keep it in mind."

"Yes, sir."

"About the snub-nose," Wohl said, as he signed the American Express bill, "I don't think anyone will challenge you, but if that happens, the paperwork will come through me, and I'll handle it. But don't buy a Smith amp; WessonUndercover, or a Colt with a hammer shroud."

"Sir?"

"AnUndercover comes with a built-in shroud over the hammer; it's intended to keep you from snagging the gun on your clothing, if you should ever need to get at it in a hurry. And they sell shrouds for Colts. The problem is you can't carry a gun with a shroud in an ankle holster; there's no place for the strap on the holster to catch."

"I understand, sir."

"The odds that you will ever have to use your revolver, which I hope they told you at the Academy, are about a thousand to one. But as the Boy Scouts say,"Be Prepared!"

He smiled at Matt and got up and walked out of the restaurant with Matt at his heels.

When Peter Wohl walked into what had been Mike Sabara's office as Acting Commanding Officer of Highway Patrol, and was now his, it was empty; all of Mike's photographs and plaques were gone from the walls, and so were the pistol shooting and bowling trophies Sabara had had on display on top of filing cabinets and other flat surfaces. Wohl walked to the desk, pulled drawers open, and saw that they too had been emptied.

He walked to the door.

"What happened to Captain Sabara?" he asked Sergeant Frizell.

"He and Captain Pekach moved in there," Frizell said, pointing to a door.

Wohl walked to it and pulled it open. He had been unaware of the room's existence until that moment, and now that he saw it, he realized that it was really too small for two captains, and felt a moment's uneasiness at having the relatively large office to himself. He hadn't had an office when he had been just one more Staff Inspector. He had shared a large room with all of his peers, and he had not had a Sergeant to handle his paperwork.

I guess it goes with the territory, he decided, but I don't like it.

"We're going to have to do better than that," he said, to Sergeant Frizell. "In your planning, did the subject of space come up?"

"Space is tight, Inspector."

"That's not what I asked."

"There's an elementary school building at Frankford and Castor," Frizell said. "Not being used. The Department's been talking to the Board of Education about that."

"And?"

"It's aschool building," Frizell said. "There's no detention cells, nothing but a bunch of classrooms. Not even much space for parking."

"And there's no room in this building to move in fifty, maybe a hundred, maybe two hundred cops," Wohl said. "Find out what's being said, and to whom, about us getting it, will you?"

"Yes, sir," Frizell said. "There was some discussion about giving Special Operations, if it grows as large as it might with the ACT Grants, Memorial Hall."

"At Forty-forth and Parkside in Fairmount Park?"

"Yes, sir."

"That would be nice. Keep your ears open and keep me advised," Wohl said.

Frizell nodded. "Inspector, what do you want me to do about these?" He held up the Northwest Philadelphia rape files.

"I told Payne to Xerox them in four copies."

"Our Xerox is down."

"What about the machine in the District?"

"Well, they're not too happy with us using theirs," Frizell said. " They'll do it, but they make us wait."

I will be damned if I will go find the District Captain and discuss Xerox priorities with him.

"Sergeant," Wohl said, his annoyance showing in his voice, "high on your list of priorities is getting us a new Xerox machine. Call Deputy Commissioner Whelan's office and tell them I said we need one desperately."

"Yes, sir," Frizell said. "And in the meantime, sir, what do I do with this?"

"Payne," Wohl ordered. "Go get that Xeroxed someplace. "You're a bright young man, you'll find a machine somewhere."

"Yes, sir," Matt said.

"There's one more thing, Inspector," Sergeant Frizell said, and handed him a teletype message.

General: 0698 06/30/73 From Commissioner

:::::::::::

:::::::::::

Jesus! I just got here, and they're already changing things.

"William"? That's awkward. Why not " Whiskey"?

Obviously, "Whiskey" wouldn't work.

And "Wine" and "Women" wouldn't work, either. But "William"?

In two or three days, if not already, that will he "Willy" and I will get an interdepartmental memorandum crisply ordering me to have my men follow official Department Radio procedures.

"Did you get the word out?" Wohl asked Frizell.