"Yeah, fine," McFadden said.

That means I've got to hang around until three, Jesus Martinez thought. But what the fuck. It's worth it!

And then he thought that the sonofabitch would probably still be asleep when Charley rode up.

Good, let Charley see for himself what a useless prick Rich-boy is.

TWENTY

Officer Charles McFadden attempted to contact Officer Matthew Payne by radio as he drove to Chestnut Hill. There was no reply, which Charley thought was probably because Payne was walking around, the way he told him to, to keep awake.

But he sensed that something was wrong when he pulled up behind Matt' s car and didn't see him. He had had plenty of time to stretch his legs from the time he had called; he should have been back by now. McFadden got cautiously out of his car and walked warily to Matt's.

Then he sensed something was wrong with the car and looked at it and found the four flat tires. McFadden squatted and took his revolver from his ankle holster, then approached the car door, and saw Matt sprawled on the seat.

"Matt!" he called, and then, louder, "Payne!"

Matt sat up, sleepily.

"You dumb fuck!" Charley McFadden exploded. "What in the goddamned hell is wrong with you? If one of the supervisors caught you, you'd be up on charges."

"I guess I fell asleep," Matt said, pushing himself outside the car, and then raising his arms over his head.

"What happened to your tires?" McFadden asked.

"My tires? What about my tires?"

"They're flat," McFadden said. And then he felt rage rise up in him.

That fucking Hay-zus did this! That's what that bullshit was about him working on something at Broad and Olney! He drove up here, and let the air out of Payne's tires!

"They're?" Matt asked. "Plural? As in more than one?"

He knelt beside Charley as Charley, pulling on a valve stem, discovered that someone had slit it with a knife.

Someone, shit! Hay-zus!

"All four of them, asshole!" Charley said. "Somebody caught you sleeping and slit your valve stems open. And I've got a good fucking idea who."

"It doesn't matter, Charley."

"The fuck itdon't!" McFadden said. "You call for a police wrecker, how you going to explain this? Vandals? You were supposed to be sitting in the car, or close enough so that you could hear the radio. The guys on the wrecker are going to know what happened, stupid. It'll be all over Highway and Special Operations, the District,'you hear about the asshole was sleeping on a stakeout? Somebody cut his tire valves. ' "

Matt was touched by Charley's concern. This did not seem to be the appropriate time to tell him that he was going to resign in the morning. It occurred to him that he liked Charley McFadden very much, and wondered if some sort of friendship would be possible after he had resigned.

"Well, now that I've made a jackass of myself, what can be done about it?"

"I'm thinking," Charley said. "There's a Sunoco station at Summit Avenue and Germantown Pike I think is open all night. I think they fix tires."

"Why don't we just call the police wrecker and let me take my lumps?" Matt asked.

"Don't be more of an asshole than you already are," Charley said. " We'll jack your car up, take off two tires at a time, put them in my car, and you get them fixed. Then the other two."

I have an AAA card, Matt thought, but this doesn't seem to be an appropriate time to use it.

"Come on," Charley said. "Get off the dime! I don't want to have to explain this to a supervisor."

A supervisor did in fact appear thirty minutes later, by which time Matt had returned from the service station with two repaired tires, and departed with the last two.

"What's going on here?" Captain David Pekach asked. "You need some help?"

"No, sir, another officer's helping me," Charley said. "Payne."

"What the hell happened?"

"There was some roofing nails here, Captain. Got two tires."

"You should have called the police wrecker," David Pekach said. " That's what they're for."

"This looked like the easiest way to handle it, sir," Charley said.

"Well, if you say so," David Pekach said. "Good night-or is it good morning?-Charley."

"Good night, sir."

"Charley, I'll have a word with Inspector Wohl tomorrow, and see if he won't reconsider this bullshit stakeout."

"I wish you would, sir."

"Good night, again, Charley," Captain Pekach said. He was in a very good mood. He was going to check in at Bustleton and Bowler, then go home and change his clothes, and then come back. Martha had said she completely understood that a man like himself had to devote a good deal of time to his duty, and that she would make them breakfast when he came back. Maybe something they could eat in bed, like strawberries in real whipped cream. Unless he wanted something more substantial.

Jesus!

Matt Payne walked into Bustleton and Bowler thirty minutes later and handed the keys to the car to the same Corporal who had given him hell for being late before he'd gone on the stakeout.

"'Where the hell have you been with that car? It's after one."

"Go fuck yourself," Matt said. "Get off my back."

"You can't talk that way to me," the Corporal said.

"Payne!" a voice called. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, who's that?"

"Jason," Washington called. "I'm in here."

"Here" was Wohl's office. Washington was sitting on the couch, typing on a small portable set up on the coffee table.

"Do me a favor?" Washington asked, as he jerked a sheet of paper from the typewriter.

"Sure," Matt said.

"I'm dead on my feet," Washington said, "and you, at least relatively, look bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

He inserted the piece of paper he had just taken from the typewriter into a large manila envelope and then licked the flap.

"Wohl wants this tonight, at his house," Washington said. "It's a wrap-up of the stuff we did in Bucks County, and what's happening here. You'd think they could find a maroon Ford van, wouldn't you? Well, shit. We'll have addresses on every maroon Ford van in a hundred miles as soon as Motor Vehicles opens in Harrisburg in the morning. Anyway, that's what's in there. He says if there are no lights on, slip it under his door."

"I don't know where he lives," Matt said.

"Chestnut Hill," Washington said. "Norwood Street. In a garage apartment behind a big house in front. You can't miss it. Only garage apartment. I'll show you on the map."

"I can find it," Matt said.

"Thanks, Matt, I appreciate it," Washington said.

"I appreciate… today, Mr. Washington," Matt said. "I'll never forget today."

"Hey, it's Jason. I'm a detective, that's all."

"Anyway, thanks," Matt said.

When he was in the Porsche headed for Chestnut Hill, he was glad he had thought to say"thank you" to Washington. He would probably never see him again, and thanks were in order. A lesser gentleman would have made merry at the rookie's expense.

He found Norwood Street without trouble. There was a reflective sign out in front with the number on it, and he had no trouble finding the garage apartment behind it, either.

And there was the maroon Ford van that everybody was looking for, parked right under Staff Inspector Peter Wohl's window.

Matt chuckled when he saw it.

That poor sonofabitch is in for a hell of a surprise when he goes tooling down the street tomorrow, and is suddenly surrounded by eight thousand cops, guns drawn, convinced they've caught the rapist.

Matt's attention didn't linger long on the Ford van. There was another motor vehicle parked on the cobblestones he really found fascinating. It was a Buick station wagon, and if the decal on the windshield was what he thought it was, a parking permit for the Rose Tree Hunt Club, then it was the property of Amelia Alice Payne, M.D., which suggested that the saintly Amelia and the respectable Peter Wohl were up to something in the Wohl apartment that they would prefer not to have him know about.