"Peter, for chrissake, you're not listening to me!" Matt said. " She positively identified the shooter!"

"It's Inspector Wohl to you, Officer Payne," Wohl said.

"Sorry," Matt said.

"Matt, for chrissake!" Wohl said exasperatedly. "Let me explain all this to you. One, the chances of us catching these two, or either one of them, range from slim to none. On the way out here I stopped at Organized Crime and Intelligence. Neither of them are known by sight to anyone in Organized Crime or Intelligence-"

"You knew they weren't FBI guys?" Matt blurted, surprised.

"I have the word of the Special Agent in Charge about that," Wohl said. "They are not FBI agents. I have a gut feeling they are Mob hit men. Good ones. Imported, God only knows why, to blow DeZego away. Professionals, so to speak. We don't know where they came from. We can't charge them with murder or anything-unlawful flight or anything else, on the basis of some photographs that show them standing on a street."

"Penelope Detweiler swore that one of them is the guy who shot her and DeZego."

"Let's talk about Miss Detweiler," Wohl said. "She is a known user of narcotics, for one thing, and for another, she is Miss Penelope Detweiler, whose father's lawyers-your father, for example-will counsel her. They will advise her- and they probably should, I'm a little fuzzy about the ethics here-on the problems inherent in bringing these two scumbags before a grand jury for an indictment, much less before a jury. If I were her lawyer, I would advise her to tell the grand jury that she's really a little confused about what actually happened that day."

"Why would a lawyer tell her that?" Matt asked softly.

"Because, again presuming we can find these two, which I doubt, and presuming we could get an indictment-it isn't really true that any district attorney who can spell his own name can get an indictment anytime he wants to-and get him before a jury, then your friend Miss Detweiler would be subject to cross-examination. It would come out that she is addicted to certain narcotics, which would discredit her testimony, and it would come out that she was, tactfully phrased, romantically involved with Mr. DeZego. The press would have a certain interest in this trial. If I were her lawyer, I would suggest to her that testifying would be quite a strain on her and on her family."

"Oh, shit," Matt said. "I really fucked this up, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and good intentions don't count," Wohl said. "What counts, I'm afraid, is that Commissioner Czernick believes, more than likely correctly, that H. Richard Detweiler is going to be furious when he hears about your little escapade and is going to make his displeasure known to the mayor. When the mayor calls him, the commissioner will now be able to say that he's taken care of the matter. You have been relieved out here and assigned to duties appropriate to your experience. In other words, in a district, in uniform, and more than likely in a wagon."

"Oh, Christ, I'm sorry."

"So am I, Matt," Wohl said gently. "But what you did was stupid. For what it's worth, you probably should have gone to a district like anybody else fresh from the Academy."

"Hell, I'll just resign," Matt said.

"You think you're too good to ride around in a wagon?" Wohl asked.

"No," Matt said, "not at all. That's what I expected to do when I got out of the Academy. Denny Coughlin made sure I understood what to expect. I mean, under these circumstances. I have fucked up by the numbers, and they'll know that at the 12^th. I think it would be best all around, that's all, if I just folded my tent and silently stole away."

"Today's Thursday," Wohl said. "I'll call the captain of the 12^th and tell him you will either report for duty on Monday or resign by then. Think it over, over the weekend."

"You don't think I should resign?"

"I don't think you should resign right now, today," Wohl said. "I think you would have made a pretty good cop. I think you were given too great an opportunity to fuck up. But you did fuck up, and you're going to have to make your mind up whether or not you want to take your lumps." Matt looked at him.

"That's all, Officer Payne," Wohl said. "You can go." When Payne had left and closed the door behind him, Wohl went to his coffee machine and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Fuck it," he said suddenly, angrily. He opened a filing cabinet drawer and took out a bottle of bourbon and liberally laced the coffee with it.

"If anybody wants any of that, help yourself," he said.

"Inspector," Captain Sabara said, "I didn't want to open my mouth, but a lot of what happened just now went right over my head."

Wohl looked at him as if confused.

"Oh, that's right," he said. "You guys don't know about the FBI agents, do you?"

Both shook their heads.

He told them.

"So what Payne was really doing at Hahneman Hospital was less playing at detective than trying to get my chestnuts out of the fire," he concluded. "The poor bastard waited for me out there, in that pathetic innocence, really thinking that now that he had solved this shooting, it would get me off the hook for making an ass of myself with the FBI."

"Shit," Pekach said.

"If I was him, I'd quit," Wohl said. "But if he doesn't, I'll-I don't know how-try to get the word around the 12^th that he's really a good kid."

"I know Harry Feldman over there," Sabara said.

"He's the captain?"

"Yeah. I'll have a word with him," Sabara said.

"Thanks. Not surprising me at all, it seems to have turned out that Payne's new boss hates my ass. Do you think Czernick knew that?"

"I know a couple of guys in the 12^th," Pekach said. "I'll talk to them."

"What do you think is going to happen about the FBI?" Sabara asked.

"If Duffy doesn't know about the photographs yet, or of me going down there out of channels, he will shortly," Wohl said. "And from there, how long will it take him to walk down the corridor from his office to Czernick's?"

"Give Czernick Dolan," Sabara said. "That wasn't your fault."

"I might have done the same thing," Wohl said. "Those two looked like your standard, neatly dressed, shiny-shoes 'Look at me, Ma, I'm a G-man' FBI agents, just begging for the needle. I won't give Czernick Dolan. What he did was dumb, but not dumb enough to lose his pension over it, and that's what Czernick's reaction would be. Anyway, all Czernick is interested in doing is covering his ass in front of the mayor. I'm on his list now, so just let him add the photographs to everything else I've done wrong or shown a lack of judgment doing."

"Dolan won't do anything like that again, Peter," Pekach said.

"You're not defending the son of a bitch, Dave, are you?" Sabara asked.

"I should have added 'when I'm through with him,' " Pekach said.

"Well, what's done is done," Sabara said. "Let's go get some lunch."

"I've got to meet someone for lunch," Pekach said.

"Is that what they call a nooner, Dave?" Wohl asked mischievously. Then he saw the look on Pekach's face. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Pekach's face showed the apology was inadequate.

"What that is, Dave," Wohl said, "is a combination of a bad day and a bad case of jealousy. But I was out of line, and I'm sorry."

"I already forgot it," Pekach said. Both his face and his tone of voice made it clear that was far short of the truth.

"I'll buy lunch," Captain Mike Sabara said, "providing it doesn't go over two ninety-five."

Wohl chuckled. "Thanks, Mike, I really hate to pass that up, but I've got plans too. Maybe it would be a good idea if you hung around here until either Dave or I get back."

"You got it," Sabara said. "I'll send out for something. You want to tell me where you're going?"

"If you need me, put it on the radio," Wohl said. He looked at Dave Pekach. "If you're still sore, Dave, I'm still sorry."