When Officer Matthew Payne walked into the Special Operations Office, the sergeant had given him the message that Inspector Wohl had called in at 7:12 to say that he would not be in until later, time unspecified.

Officer Payne sat down at his desk and opened theBulletin. He had just started to read Mickey O'Hara's story about the robbery and murder at Goldblatt amp; Sons Credit Furniture amp; Appliances, Inc., when, startling him, the newspaper was snatched out of his hands.

Officer Charles McFadden was standing there, looking very pleased with himself.

"Jesus Christ, Charley!"

"Gotcha, huh?"

"Why aren't you out fighting crime?"

"Need a favor."

"Okay. Within reason."

"Be my best man," Charley said.

"I have this strange feeling you're serious."

"Margaret's going to call her mother this morning; we're going to get married in six weeks."

"Yeah, sure, Charley. I'd be honored."

"Thank you," Charley said very seriously, shook Matt's hand enthusiastically, and walked out of the office.

When he was gone, Matt picked up and read theBulletin and then theLedger. Both carried stories about the robbery of Goldblatt's. TheLedger story was accompanied by a photograph of a press release from the Islamic Liberation Army, claiming responsibility. Mickey O' Hara's story in theBulletin hadn't mentioned the Islamic Liberation Army.

Matt found that interesting. He allowed himself to hope that the press release was a hoax, on which theLedger had bit, and which would show them up for the assholes they were.

The society pages of both newspapers (called "LIVING" in theLedger) carried stories of the festivities of the Delaware Valley Cancer Society on Rittenhouse Square, complete with photographs of some of the guests, standing around holding plastic champagne glasses. Matt hoped that he would find Helene's picture, and then, in the caption, her last name. He examined each of them carefully but was unable to find a picture of Helene.

Of course not. While this momentous occasion was being photographed for posterity, Helene and I were thrashing around in our birthday suits on my bed. It's a shame I don't have a picture of that for my memory book.

The telephone rang.

"Good morning. Inspector Wohl's office, Officer Payne."

"You're remarkably cheerful," Wohl's voice said.

"Yes, sir. Every day, in every way, things are getting better and better."

"I gather you were not alone in your monastic cell last night?"

"Yes, sir. That's true."

"I'm in the DA's office, Matt. Get word to Pekach and Sabara that I want to see them in my office at half past eleven. Tell them to keep lunch free too."

"Yes, sir."

"In the upper right drawer of my desk, you'll find a ring of keys. They're to the elementary school building at Frankford and Castor."

"Yes, sir?"

"Get a car and take Lieutenant Malone over there. Tell him I want his assessment of the building as a headquarters-listen carefully: for Special Operations headquarters and Special Operations; for Special Operations headquarters and Highway; and for Special Operations headquarters, Special Operations,and Highway. All three possibilities. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

"Don't help him," Wohl said.

"Sir?" Matt asked, confused.

"I want to know what you think too, separately," Wohl said. "Get him back in time for the eleven-thirty meeting."

"Yes, sir. What would you like me to do with the stuff for the FBI?"

"You have it all?"

"Yes, sir. I couldn't run Mr. Harris down, but I asked Mr. Washington to have a look at it, and he said I found everything they'd want."

"Leave it on my desk. Maybe I'll have time-I'll have to make time-to look at it before eleven-thirty. You have to be damned careful what you hand the FBI. Call them, and tell them they'll have it this afternoon."

"Yes, sir."

"And see if you can get word to Washington to be there at half past eleven."

"Just Mr. Washington?"

"Just Mr. Washington" Wohl repeated, and hung up.

Matt called Captain Sabara, Captain Pekach, Detective Washington-now Sergeant Washington-finally the FBI office. He got through to everybody but SAC Davis, who was not available to come to the telephone. Matt left word that the material Inspector Wohl was sending would be there that afternoon.

Then he went to the Special Operations dispatcher and asked for a car. When he had the keys, he went and looked for Lieutenant Malone.

ELEVEN

The building at Frankford and Castor Avenues, according to what was chiseled in stone over the front door and on a piece of granite to the left of the door, had been built in 1892 as the Frankford Grammar School.

Plywood had been nailed over the glass portion of the doors and many of the ground-floor windows, the ones from which, Matt Payne decided, the local vandals had been successful in ripping off the wire mesh window guards.

The front doors were locked with two massive padlocks and closing chains looped around the center posts of the door. When Matt finally managed to get one padlock to function, he turned to Lieutenant Jack Malone.

"Why don't we just stop here and go back and tell the inspector that a detailed survey of these premises has forced us to conclude they are unfit for human habitation?"

"They obviously are, but we are talking aboutpolice habitation," Malone said. "The standards for which are considerably looser."

Matt jerked the door open. It sagged and dragged on the ground; the top hinge had pulled loose from the rotten frame.

He bowed and waved Malone past him.

Malone chuckled. From what he had seen of Payne, he liked him. He was not only a pleasant kid, but he'd already proven he was a cop. And Malone had heard the gossip. He knew that Payne's father had been a sergeant, killed on the job, and that he had a very important rabbi in Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin.

Not that he needed one, Malone thought, as close as Payne was to Inspector Wohl. Wohl was a powerful man in the Department. In his present uncomfortable circumstances, that could mean he could get his career back on track, or begin thinking of leaving the Department as soon as he had his twenty in, or maybe even before.

And since Payne was close to Wohl, the same thing applied to him. He could help, or he could hurt. Malone had waked up wondering what kind of trouble he was already in, thanks to that zealous Highway cop who had spotted him keeping an eye on Holland's body shop.

Wohl hadn't said anything to him about keeping his nose out of Auto Squad's business now that he was assigned to Special Operations. Malone knew that he was supposed to be smart enough to figure that out himself. There was little chance that Wohl hadn't heard about it, however.

They didn't send me to Special Operations without talking to Wohl about Poor Jack Malone, who has personal problems, and who incidentally had somehow acquired the nutty idea that Robert L. Holland, respectable businessman and pal of everybody important from Mayor Jerry Carlucci down, was a car thief.

The smart thing for me to have done was just forget the whole damned thing and make myself useful around Special Operations. A good year on this job, and the word would get around that I had gotten through my personal problems and could now, again, be trusted not to make an ass of myself and the Department. That word, coming from Wohl, would straighten everything out.

The worst possible scenario would be for the Highway cop, McFadden, he said his name was, to tell his lieutenant that he had checked out a suspicious car parked near Holland's body shop and found the new lieutenant, Malone, in it. If that happened, there was a good chance that the lieutenant would "mention" that to either Sabara or Pekach. Or maybe to Inspector Wohl himself. In any event, Wohl would hear about it. At that point, Wohl would have to call me in and tell me to straighten up and fly right or find myself another home. Wohl was not about to put himself in a position where the brass would jump on his ass for letting Poor Jack Malone run around making wild accusations about a friend of the mayor's.