"I just bought it today," Matt said.

"You were saying you're a policeman?" the Highway Patrolman asked.

"That's right," Matt said.

"Where do you work? Who's your Lieutenant?"

"Special Operations," Matt said. "I work for Inspector Wohl."

"Where's that?" the Highway Patrolman asked, just a faint hint of self-doubt creeping into his voice.

"Bustleton and Bowler," Matt said.

"Where's your ID?"

"In my jacket pocket," Matt said.

The Highway Patrolman dipped into the pocket and found the ID.

"Jesus!" he said, then, "Turn around."

Matt felt his wrists being freed.

"What's this?" the second Highway Patrolman said.

"He's a cop," the first one said. "He says he works for Inspector Wohl."

"Why didn't you show us this when we pulled up beside you?" the second asked, more confused than angry.

Matt shrugged helplessly.

"You find anything wrong with the way we handled this?" the first Highway Patrolman asked.

"Excuse me?" Matt asked, confused.

"We stopped an eighty-five-mile-an-hour speeder, and found a weapon concealed under his seat. We asked permission to examine the car. We took necessary and reasonable precautions by restraining a man we found in possession of two concealable firearms. Anything wrong with that?"

Matt shrugged helplessly.

"Isn't that what this is all about? You were checking on us?" Matt suddenly understood.

"What this is all about is that this is my first day on the job," he said. "And I decided I'd rather pay the ticket than have Inspector Wohl find out about it."

They both looked at him. And both of their faces, by raised eyebrows, registered disbelief.

And then the taller of them, the one who had found the revolver under the seat, laughed, and the other joined in.

"Jesus H. Christ!" he said.

The taller Highway Patrolman, shaking his head and smiling with what Matt perceived to be utter contempt, handed him the Chief's Special and then the cartridges for it. The shorter one looped the shoulder holster harness around Matt's neck. Then, chuckling, they walked back to their car and got in.

By the time Matt got back in his car, they had driven off.

Officer Matthew Payne drove the rest of the way to his apartment more or less scrupulously obeying the speed limit.

It was after the change of watches when Peter Wohl returned to his office. The day-watch Sergeants had gone home; an unfamiliar face of a Highway Patrol Sergeant was behind the desk.

"I'm Peter Wohl," Peter said, walking to the desk with his hand extended.

"Yes, sir, Inspector," the Sergeant said, smiling. "I know who you are. We went through Wheel School together."

Wohl still didn't remember him, and it showed on his face.

"I had hair then," the Sergeant said, "and I was a lot trimmer. Jack Kelvin."

"Oh, hell, sure," Wohl said. "I'm sorry, Jack. I should have remembered you."

"You made a big impression on me back then."

"Good or bad?" Wohl asked.

"At the time I thought it was treason," Kelvin said, smiling. "You spilled your wheel, and I went to help you pick it up, and you said, ' Anybody who rides one of these and likes it is out of his fucking mind.' "

"I said that?"

"Yes, you did," Kelvin said, chuckling, "and you meant it."

"Well, under the circumstances, I'd appreciate it if you didn't go around telling that story."

"Like I said, that was a long time ago, and you'll notice that I am now riding a desk myself. You don't spill many desks."

"I've found that you can get in more trouble riding a desk than you can a wheel," Wohl said. "Did anything turn up on the abduction?"

"No, sir," Kelvin said. "Chief Coughlin called a couple of minutes ago and asked the same thing."

"Did he want me to call him back?"

"No, sir, he didn't. He asked that you call him in the morning."

"Anything else?"

"Sergeant Frizell said to tell you that your driver took the vehicle and radio requisition forms home to fill out," Kelvin said. When Wohl looked at him curiously, Kelvin explained. "Frizell said he didn't like the typewriter here."

Wohl nodded. He understood about the typewriters. It was generally agreed that the only decent typewriters in the Police Department were in the offices of Inspectors,full Inspectors, and up.

"He's a nice kid," Wohl said. "Just out of the Academy. He is-was?how do you say this? Dutch Moffitt was his uncle."

"Oh," Kelvin said. "I heard that Chief Coughlin sent him over, but I didn't get the connections."

"Chief Coughlin also sent over the two Narcotics plain-clothesmen who found Gerald Vincent Gallagher," Wohl said. "Until I decide what to do with Payne, I'm going to have him follow them around, and make himself useful in here. He's not really my driver."

"You're entitled to a driver," Kelvin said. "Hell, Captain Moffitt had a driver. It may not have been authorized, but no one said anything to him about it."

"Did Captain Sabara? Have a driver, I mean?"

"No, sir," Kelvin said. "After Captain Moffitt was killed, and Sabara took over, he drove himself."

"Every cop driving a supervisor around is a cop that could be on the streets," Wohl said. "Matt Payne is nowhere near ready to go on the streets."

Kelvin nodded his understanding.

"Jason Washington called. Homicide detective? You know him?"

"Special Operations," Wohl corrected him. "He transferred in today."

"He didn't mention that," Kelvin said. "He called in and asked that you get in touch when you have time to talk to him."

"Where is he?"

"He said he was having dinner in the Old Ale House."

"Call him, please, Jack, and tell him that when he finishes his dinner, I'll be here for the next hour or so."

"Yes, sir," Kelvin said. "Captain Sabara left word that he's going to work the First and Second District roll calls for volunteers, and then go home. Captain Pekach left word that he's going to have dinner and then ride around, and that he'll more than likely be in here sometime tonight."

Wohl nodded. "Payne was supposed to have Xeroxed some stuff for me. You know anything about it?"

"Yes, sir. I left it on your desk. I'd love to know where he found that Xerox machine. The copies are beautiful."

"Knowing Payne, he probably waltzed into the Commissioner's office and used his," Wohl said. He put out his hand again. "It's good to see you, Jack," he said. "And especially behind that desk."

"I'm glad to see you behind your desk, too, Inspector."

He meant that, Wohl decided, flattered. It wasn't just polishing the apple.

Wohl went into his office and examined the Xeroxed materials. Kelvin was right, he thought, the copies were beautiful, like those in the Xerox ads on television, not like those to be expected from machines in the Police Department.

He took the original file back out to Sergeant Kelvin and told him to have a Highway Patrol car run it back to Northwest Detectives, and to make sure that it wound up in Lieutenant Spanner's hands, not just dumped on the desk man's desk in the squad room.

Then he sat down and took one of the Xerox copies and started, very carefully, to read through it again.

Fifteen minutes later, he sensed movement and looked up. Jason Washington was at the office door, asking with a gesture of his hand and a raised eyebrow if it was all right for him to come in.

Wohl gestured that it was. Washington did so and then closed the door behind him.

"How was dinner?" Wohl asked.

"All I had was a salad," Washington said. "I have to watch my weight."

"What's on your mind, Jason?"

"Is that the Xerox you said you would get me?"

Wohl nodded, and made a gesture toward it.