"You must have had a reason," Wohl said, more than a little annoyed. "You work for me, getting back to that loyalty business.

"He convinced the both us that Holland is a thief," Matt said.

"You and McFadden, of course, being experts in the area of car theft."

"Open the goddamn door!" the intercom speaker erupted. "Michael J. O' Hara is gracing these crummy premises with his presence."

"Oh, shit!" Wohl said, even though he had to smile. "The last guy in Philadelphia I want to see is Mickey."

"You want to hide in the bedroom while I get rid of him?"

"No," Wohl said, after a moment's hesitation. "I've always thought, said, Mickey can be trusted. Let's put it to the test."

He walked quickly to the stairwell, and down it, to let O'Hara in.

TWENTY-SEVEN

"Imust be getting old," Michael J. O'Hara said to Inspector Peter Wohl as Wohl handed him a bottle of Tuborg. "I should have guessed you would be here."

"I'm not here, Mickey. You didn't see me."

O'Hara looked at him intently for a moment, and then shrugged and nodded his agreement.

"Okay. Neither of us are here. But if we were here, and I asked you, on or off the record, 'How do you think you're going to like Harrisburg?' what would be your off-the-record, just-between-us-boys reply?"

"Onthe record, I'm not going to Harrisburg."

"That's not what it said-whathe said,he being Farnsworth Stillwell-on the radio."

"As I was just saying to Casanova here, you should never believe everything you hear on the radio, or read in the newspapers, especially theLedger."

"Give me a for example."

"I just gave you one. I never told Stillwell that I would take that job."

"If I were to write that- 'Staff Inspector Peter Wohl today emphatically denied that he ever intended to resign from the Police Department to become chief investigator for Farnsworth Stillwell, newly appointed deputy attorney general for corporate crime'-it would make Stillwell look pretty silly."

"How about leaving out the phrase 'to resign from the Police Department'?"

"How about the making him look silly part?"

"I don't think that would reduce me to tears," Wohl said.

"Is it that bad, Peter? You're really thinking of resigning?"

"We were talking about not always believing what you read in the newspapers. You want another for example?"

"Yeah."

"The records of the medical examiner, so far as I understand it, are public records. If you were to go down there, and pay the small fee-I think it's two dollars-they would give you a copy of Mr. Albert J. Monahan's death certificate. I think you might find that very interesting."

"Why?"

"Why don't you go spend the two dollars?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me," O'Hara said.

"Perish the thought. But trust me, Mickey, I think you'd find the death certificate interesting."

"He's dead, right?" O'Hara asked.

"He's dead."

"So what would I find interesting? What did they do, shoot him with a cannon? He wasn't shot? Some jungle bunny threw a spear at him? What?

"For two dollars, you could find out," Wohl said.

"I can find out cheaper than that," O'Hara said.

He leaned over and picked up the telephone on the table beside Matt's chair. He draped the handset over his shoulder, and then dialed a number.

"Dr. Phane, please. Mickey O'Hara…

"Oh, bullshit. Tell him he owes me one."

He covered the mouthpiece with his hand. "Interesting," he observed, "the bastard doesn't want to talk to me…

"Charley, how the hell are you?…

"Well, just put her on hold, all I have is a couple of questions…

"Tell me about Albert J. Monahan…

"Yeah, I know he's dead. What did they shoot him with?…

"What are you telling me, Charley?…

"And that's what's going on the death certificate?…

"Charley, if I print this and it turns out it's not true, I would be very unhappy. It is for that reason I have been recording this call. Just so you can't deny having told me what you just told me."

O'Hara shrugged, hung the handset on his shoulder again, and dialed another number.

"Would you believe that the Most Exalted Poo-Bah of the Knights of Columbus just told me to go fuck myself?" he asked, in hurt innocence, and then his party answered.

"O'Hara," he said. "Are you ready to copy?…

"Slug: ILA Witness Dead of Natural Causes, Says Medical Examiner. By Michael J. O'Hara. In an exclusive interview with this reporter, Philadelphia County Medical Examiner Dr. Charles F. Phane refuted reports in another newspaper-break. I'd like to say the PhiladelphiaLedger, but you'd better run it past legal before you do."

"-in another newspaper that Mr. Albert J. Monahan was shot to death, allegedly by persons connected with the so-called Islamic Liberation Army. Dr. Phane said that a thorough autopsy of Mr. Monahan's body has convinced him, and other medical personnel of his staff, that Mr. Monahan had died of a cardiac arrest, commonly called a heart attack.

"Dr. Phane, who personally conducted the autopsy, also said that tests had been run that ruled out the possibility of poisons.

"Quote Mr. Monahan's heart just stopped beating, Unquote Dr. Phane said. Quote. He had a medical history of heart trouble and it finally took his life. Unquote.

"Got that?…

"Yeah, I'm sure. If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have called it in."

Mickey put the handset back in the cradle, and then set the telephone back on the table.

"Okay, Peter. So you tell me why Mrs. Monahan told me she saw her husband getting shot."

"This has to be off the record, Mickey."

"Off the record."

"I think she did see someone-"

"A cop? She said, 'a white cop.'"

"-someone, probably a Caucasian, in a police uniform, shoot her husband. But what he was using was a stun gun, not a real one."

"One of those things that shocks people?" Mickey asked. "No shit?"

"There were bruise marks, plus slight indications of electric burns, on his chest."

"Phane didn't say anything about that."

"Phane is a very careful man, Mickey."

"You don'thave the stun gun, do you?" O'Hara challenged. "This is atheory?"

"It's a pretty good theory," Wohl said.

"You tell me why it's a good theory."

"We don't think they were trying to kill Monahan, just scare him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," O'Hara said.

"I'll tell you what we think this whole thing is about, and where we are, but if you print it, you can really screw things up. Not only for me, but for a lot of other people."

"You prick!" O'Hara said. "You know that after you told me that, I couldn't use it."

"Fuck it," Matt Payne said. "The risk is too great, don't tell him."

Mickey turned to look at him in what looked like hurt surprise. "For the rest of your life, I will misspell your name," he said.

He turned at Wohl. "Doeshe know what's going on?"

"No. He's just worried about me."

"Okay, Peter," O'Hara said after a moment. "Boy Scout's Honor." He held up three fingers as Boy Scouts do when giving their word of honor. "I won't use any of this until you tell me I can."

It took Wohl ten minutes, during which Mickey O'Hara asked a very few questions, all of which struck Matt as being penetrating.

"Okay," Mickey said, finally. "So what are you doing here drinking beer with Wyatt Earp? Why aren't you out catching-better still, shooting by accident, or at least running over-this rogue cop of yours?"

"Two reasons," Wohl said. "For one thing, I think I would probably get caught if I did. More importantly, Jason Washington asked me to make myself scarce until five o'clock. That's what I'm doing."

"Can I stick around?"