"That's nice," Coughlin said.

"He's more worried about his car than anything else, Chief."

"What about his car?"

"We formed up in the playground of the school at Castor and Frankford. Matt went to the scene with Lieutenant Suffern. And left his car, with the keys in it in the playground."

"You're taking care of it, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you called the commissioner?"

"No, sir. Chief Lowenstein is doing that."

"Lowenstein was there?"

"No, sir. But he heard about it, and told me he would take care of calling the commissioner."

"Is the Department going to look bad in this, Peter?"

"No, sir. I don't see how. The other seven arrests went very smoothly. They're all down at 8^th and Race already. As soon as I get off the phone, I'm going down there."

"Have you notified Matt's family?"

"No, sir. I thought I should call you before I did that."

"Well, at least your brain wasn't entirely disengaged," Coughlin said. And then, immediately, "Sorry, Peter. I shouldn't have said that."

"Forget it, Chief. I don't think I have to tell you how bad I feel about this. And I know how you feel about Matt."

"I've been on the job twenty-seven years and I've never been hurt," Coughlin said. "Matt's father gets killed. His Uncle Dutch gets killed, and now he damned near does."

"I thought about that too, Chief."

"I'll take care of notifying his family," Coughlin said. "You make sure nobody else gets carried away with procedure and tries to."

"I've already done that, Chief."

"You're sure he's going to be all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Keep yourself available, Peter. You say you're going to be at Homicide?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Stillwell asked me to be there."

"Farnsworth Stillwell?"

"Yes, sir."

"When you can break loose, it might be a good idea to go back to the hospital; to have a word with Matt's family."

"Yes, sir, I'd planned to do that."

"Well, don't blame yourself for this, Peter. These things happen."

"Yes, sir."

Coughlin, without another word, hung up. He swung his feet out of bed, pulled open the drawer of a bedside table, and took out a telephone book. He dialed a number.

"Police Department."

"Let me speak to the senior officer on duty."

"Maybe I can help you."

"This is Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin. Get the senior police officer present on the telephone!"

"This is Lieutenant Swann. Can I help you?"

"This is Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin-"

"Oh, sure. How are you, Chief?"

"I need a favor."

"Name it."

"You know where the Payne house is on Providence Road in Wallingford?"

"Sure."

"Their son is a police officer. He has just been shot in the line of duty. He is in Frankford Hospital. I am about to notify them. I would consider it a personal favor if you would provide an escort for them from their home to the Philadelphia city line. I'll have a car meet you there."

"Chief, when the Paynes come out of their driveway, a car will be sitting there."

"Thank you."

"He hurt bad?"

"We don't think so."

"Thank God."

"Thank God," Denny Coughlin repeated, and, unable to trust his voice any further, hung up.

He walked into the kitchen, poured an inch and a half of John Jameson's Irish whiskey in a plastic cup, drank it down, and then reached for the telephone on the wall. He dialed a number from memory. It took a long time to answer.

Please, God, don't let Patty answer.

"Hello?"

"Brewster, this is Denny Coughlin."

"Is something wrong, Denny?" Brewster Cortland Payne, suddenly wide awake, asked.

"What is it?" a familiar female voice came faintly over the telephone.

"Matt's got himself shot," Denny Coughlin said very quickly. "Not seriously. He's in Frankford Hospital. By the time you get dressed, there will be a police car waiting in your driveway to escort you to the hospital. I'll meet you there."

"All right."

"My God, I'm sorry, Brewster."

"Yes, I know. We'll see you there, Denny."

The phone went dead.

Coughlin broke the connection with his finger and then dialed another number from memory.

"Highway."

"This is Chief Coughlin."

"Yes, sir."

"I have cleared this with Inspector Wohl. A Media police car is about to escort a car to the city line. I want a Highway car to meet it and take it the rest of the way to Frankford Hospital. Got that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you," Coughlin said, and hung up. Then he went into his bedroom and started to get dressed. As he was tying his shoes, he suddenly looked up, at the crucifix hanging over his bed.

"It could be worse. Thank you," he said.

FOURTEEN

Shortly after Mr. Michael J. O'Hara appeared in the city room of the PhiladelphiaBulletin at a little after six A.M., theBulletin's city and managing editors decided that since they had an exclusive (the term "scoop" is considered declasse' by modern journalists) in Mr. O' Hara's coverage of the shooting during the arrest of the Islamic Liberation Army, together with some really great pictures, it clearly behooved them to run with it.

The front pages of Sections A and B were redone. On Page 1A, a photograph of the President of the United States shaking hands with some foreign dignitary in flowing robes was replaced with a photograph of the cop bleeding all over himself as he held his gun on the guy who had shot him. Under it was the caption:

Special Operations Officer Matthew M. Payne, blood streaming from his wounds, holds his pistol on Charles D. Stevens, whom he had just bested in an early morning gun battle in Frankford. Stevens was one of eight men, alleged to be participants in the murder-robbery of Goldblatt's furniture store, whom police rounded up at dawn. Payne collapsed moments after this photo was taken. Full details on Page IB. [Bulletin Photograph by Michael J. O'Hara.]

Most of Page IB was redone. When finished it had three photographs lining the top, and a headline reading,EXCLUSIVEBULLETIN COVERAGE OF

EARLY MORNING SHOOTOUT.

Below the photographs-which showed Matt Payne being held up by the ACT cop; Charles D. Stevens being rolled into Frankford Hospital on a gurney; and Matt Payne, his face caked with blood, on his gurney in the corridor at Frankford Hospital-was the story:

By Michael J. O'Hara

Bulletin Staff Writer

Blood stained the freshly fallen snow in an alley in Frankford early this morning after Charles D. Stevens chose to shoot it out with the cops rather than submit to arrest and picked the wrong cop for his deadly duel.

Stevens, who sometimes calls himself Abu Ben Mohammed, is one of eight suspects in the murder-robbery of Goldblatt's Furniture earlier this week. It was the intention of Staff Inspector Peter Wohl, commanding the Special Operations Division, to arrest all eight suspects at once, and in the wee hours, to minimize risks to both the public and his officers.

Seven of the eight carefully orchestrated arrests went smoothly. But, as this reporter and Officer Matthew M. Payne, administrative assistant to Inspector Wohl, waited in a dark alley behind Stevens's house in the 4700 block of Hawthorne Street for the meticulously planned arrest procedure to begin, Stevens suddenly appeared in the alley, a blazing.45 automatic in his hand.

As this reporter dove for cover, two of Stevens's bullets struck Payne, who had been assigned to escort this reporter during Stevens's arrest. Payne went down, but he was not out. Somehow, Payne managed to get his own pistol into action. When the shooting was over, Stevens was critically, possibly fatally, wounded, and the young cop he had tried to gun down without warning was standing over him, blood dripping from his own wounds.