He got in one of the curved elevators and rode it up one floor, and then walked down the curved corridor to the Homicide Bureau.

He had been here often before, and twice under more or less involuntary conditions. The first time, which ranked among the top two or three most unpleasant experiences of his life, had been an eighthour visit following his shooting of Warren K. Fletcher, aka the Northwest serial rapist.

He had been "interviewed" by two very unpleasant Homicide detectives, under the cold eye of a Homicide captain named Henry Quaire, all three of whom seemed to feel that the shooting was not a good shooting. It had not helped at all that both Peter Wohl and Denny Coughlin had established themselves in Quaire's office during the "interview." By the time the "interview" was over, Matt was beginning to wonder whose side the Homicide guys were on.

The second time was when an asshole Narcotics sergeant had actually suspected (with nothing more, really, to go on than the Porsche) that Matt was (a) involved with drugs, and therefore (b) connected with the shotgun slaying of a Mafia guy named Tony DeZego.

That was all the bastard had. And all Matt had done to arouse his suspicion was to have driven onto the crime scene a minute or two after the shooting had taken place. You didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that if Matt had been involved, he wouldn't have been the one who had sent his date to call theshooting, hospital case in.

This afternoon, however, all was sweetness and light. He had no sooner got to the railing barring access to the interior of the Homicide Bureau when he heard his name being called, and then saw Captain Quaire smiling and waving him inside.

Quaire offered his hand.

"How are you, Payne? Inspector Wohl called. We've been expecting you."

"How are you, sir?"

"I had them pull the files," Quaire said, tapping a stack of folders on his desk.

"I appreciate that," Matt said.

"I would have them Xeroxed," Captain Quaire said, "but I didn't know what you already had."

"I got a bunch," Matt said, holding up the well-stuffed manila envelope.

Quaire picked up the folders on his desk and carried them to an unoccupied desk in the outer office and sat there as Matt went through the Homicide files on the Nelson murder.

There were only three things-none Of which looked important-in the Homicide files that Matt hadn't already found at Bustleton and Bowler, but it took half an hour to find them.

"I didn't think there'd be much," Captain Quaire said as Matt was making copies. "Anything else we can do for Special Operations?"

"I need to use the phone, sir," Matt said. "I'm supposed to see if Mr. Harris has anything."

"Oh, yes,Mr. Harris," Quaire said, dryly sarcastic."Mr. Harris used to work here, you know."

"He's told me," Matt said, smiling.

Quaire laughed.

"Help yourself," Quaire said, pointing at a telephone.

Matt called Harris's number at Special Operations. There was no answer. Then he called Police Radio and asked the operator if she could contact W-William Four and ask him to call Homicide.

A minute later she reported there was no response from W-William Four.

"Thank you," Matt said, and hung up.

"For your general information, Officer Payne," Captain Quaire said, " in my long experience withMr. Harris, when he worked here, you understand, it is often difficult to establish contact with him at the cocktail hour."

"Thank you, sir. I'll remember that."

"Why don't you try him at his apartment in an hour or so?"

"I will," Matt said.

Two detectives walked into the room. One of them, a slightly built, natty, olive-skinned man, Matt recognized. He was a Homicide detective, Joe D'Amata. The other one, a large, heavy, round-faced man, he didn't know.

"What have you got, Joe?" Captain Quaire said.

"High noon at the OK Corral, Captain," D'Amata said. "Whaddaya say, Payne? How are you?"

"Hello, Joe."

"He calls Tony Harris 'Mr.' " Captain Quaire said. "That tell you anything?"

"Tony Harris is much older than I am," D'Amata said, grinning. He turned to the other detective. "You know Payne, don't you?"

The other detective shook his head no.

"Jerry Pelosi, Central Detectives, Matt Payne, Special Operations, also known as 'Dead Eye.' "

"I knowwho he is, I just never met him. How are you, Payne?" Pelosi said, offering Matt a large, muscular hand and a smile.

"Hi," Matt said, and then, to keep D'Amata from making further witty reference to the shooting, he asked, "What's this 'OK Corral' business?"

"'High Noon at the OK Corral,'" D'Amata corrected him. "The current count of bullets fired and found at Goldblatt's, not counting what the medical examiner will find in Mr. Cohn-three, maybe four-is twentysix."

"Jesus," Captain Quaire said.

"And they're still looking."

"What's Goldblatt's?" Matt asked.

"Furniture store on South Street," Pelosi explained. "Robbery and murder. Early this afternoon."

"And a gun battle," Matt offered.

"No," D'Amata said, as much to Captain Quaire as to correct Payne. " Not a gun battle. Nobody took a shot at them. Nobody even had a gun. The doers just shot the place up, for no reason that I can figure."

Quaire looked between the two detectives. When his eyes met Pelosi's, Pelosi said, "WhatI can't figure, Captain, is why they hit this place in the first place. They never have much cash around, couple of hundred bucks, maybe a thousand tops. They could have hit any one of the bars around there, and got more. And why did they hit it now? I mean, right after the holidays, there's no business?"

"You have any idea who the doers are?" Quaire asked.

"No, but we're working on that," D'Amata said. "The victims are still a little shaky. I want them calm when I show them some pictures."

Quaire nodded.

"I'd better get out of here," Matt Payne said, suspecting he might be in the way. "Thank you for your help, Captain. And it was nice to meet you."

"Same here," Pelosi replied.

"Anytime you want to sell that piece of shit you drive around in, Payne, cheap, of course, call me," D'Amata said, punching Matt's shoulder.

Matt got as far as the outer door when Captain Quaire called his name. Matt turned.

"Yes, sir?"

"If you manage to find him," Quaire said. "Give our regards toMr. Harris. Tell him we miss his smiling face around here."

"Yes, sir," Matt said. "I'll do that."

On the way to the lobby in the elevator, Matt thought first,If they didn't like me, they would not tease me. Teasing, he had learned, was not the police way of expressing displeasure or contempt.

And then he thought, Shit, I'll be out all night looking for Harris.

And then a solution to his problem popped into his mind. He crossed the lobby to the desk and asked the corporal if he could use the telephone.

"Business?"

"No, I'm going to call my bookie," Matt said.

The corporal, not smiling, pushed the telephone to him. Matt dialed, from memory, the home telephone of Detective Jason Washington.