But he was surprised at the handwriting. He had read somewhere, years before, and come to accept, that a very good clue to a man's character was his handwriting. From what he had seen of Wohl, what he knew about him, there was a certain flamboyance to his character, which, according to the handwriting theory, should have manifested itself in flamboyant, perhaps even careless, writing. But the writing on the sheets of lined paper was quite the opposite. Wohl's characters were small, carefully formed, with dots over the I's, and neatly crossed T' s. Even his abbreviations were followed by periods.

Maybe that's what he's really like, Malone thought. Beneath the fashionable clothing and the anti-establishment public attitude, there really beats the heart of a very careful man, one who doesn't really like to take the chance of being wrong.

"You have three officers at Monahan's house when he's there," Malone said, but it was meant as a question, and Wohl answered it.

"Two two-man Special Operations RPCs," Wohl said. "Four cops. One car and three cops at Monahan's. The fourth officer will be the guy wearing the rent-a-cop uniform in the garage on Rittenhouse Square."

"He'll have the second car with him at Payne's place?" Malone asked.

Wohl nodded, and went on. "I think Monahan's at the greatest risk. There is a real chance that they will try to kill him. And I don't want everybody there just sitting in a car. I want one man, all the time, walking around. It's cold as hell now, so they can split it up any way they want."

"I understand."

"Payne's apartment is really easy to protect. After five-thirty, the main door is locked. There's a pretty good burglar alarm not only on the door, but on the first-, second-, and third-floor windows. There's a key for the elevator from the basement. They haven't been using it, but starting tomorrow, they'll have to."

"Payne gets out of the hospital tomorrow?"

"Right. Before lunch. He'll go to the Roundhouse for the Homicide interviews-Chief Coughlin got Chief Lowenstein to hold off on that, kept them out of Frankford Hospital, but it has to be done-and then he'll go to his apartment. We'll give the officer in the rent-a-cop uniform a shotgun; he can stay inside that little cubicle with it. And, of course, we'll have one of the three guys with Payne around the clock. I don't think that's going to be a problem. Monahan might be."

"And district and Highway cars will make passes by both places all night, right?"

"District, Highway, and Special Operations," Wohl said. "There should be at least one of them going by both places at least once an hour, maybe more often. And if Monahan keeps insisting on going to work, by Goldblatt's during the day."

"I don't want to sound like I'm polishing the apple, Inspector, but I can't think of a thing I'd do differently."

"Good," Wohl said. "Because, until further notice, you're in charge. I told Captain Sabara and Captain Pekach that they are to give you whatever you think you need."

"Yes, sir," Malone said. "I met McFadden, and I've seen Martinez, but I don't know this man Lewis."

"Great big black kid," Wohl said. "He just came on the job, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"He worked Police Radio for four, five years before he came on the job, while he was in college. His father is a cop. He made lieutenant on the list before yours. He used to be a sergeant in the 18^th District."

"Great big guy? Mean as hell, and goes strictly by the book?"

"That's him."

"And the young one's in Highway?"

"No. He's been working as a gofer for Detective Harris. Frankly-don't misunderstand this, he's a nice kid and he'll probably make a very good cop-he's in Special Operations because the mayor made a speech at some black church saying Czernick had assigned him to Special Operations. The same sort of thing that Carlucci did with Payne. Carlucci told the newspapers Payne was my administrative assistant, so I named Payne my administrative assistant. Carlucci told the people at the church that Czernick had assigned this well-educated, highly motivated young black officer to Special Operations, so Czernick assigned him to us-"

The waiter delivered two plates heaped high with food. The smell made Malone's mouth water.

"I'll get your drinks, gentlemen," the waiter said.

"-so not knowing what to do with him," Wohl went on, "I gave him to Harris. He needed a gofer. We still don't have a fucking clue about who shot that young Italian cop, Magnella. That's what Harris is working."

Malone, who had heard the gossip about Detective Tony Harris being on a monumental bender, wondered if Wohl knew.

Wohl started eating.

"The idea, if I didn't make this clear," he said a moment later, "is that with three young cops, in plainclothes, one of whom is actually Payne's buddy, it will look, I hope, that they're just hanging around with him."

"I got that. Instead of a protection detail, you mean?"

"Right. I don't want these scumbags to get the idea that they're worrying us as much as they are."

"How long is this going to go on?"

"So far as Monahan is concerned, I don't know. At least until the end of the trial, and probably a little longer. Stillwell is going to go before the Grand Jury as soon as he can, probably in the next couple of days, and then they're going to put it on the docket as soon as that can be arranged. Giacomo will do his damnedest to get continuances, of course, but with a little bit of luck, we'll have a judge who won't indulge him. As far as Payne is concerned: He's a cop. As soon as he's back for duty, we'll call off official protection. Encourage him to do his drinking and wenching in the FOP."

Malone nodded and chuckled.

"There is also a chance that we'll be able to get our hands on the people who are issuing the press releases. I want the people on Monahan's house to take license numbers, that sort of thing."

"That wasn't in here," Malone said, tapping the lined paper Wohl had given him, "but I thought about it."

"There is also a chance, a very slim one, that we can get some of the other witnesses to agree to testify. Washington's going to talk to them. And I'm sure that Stillwell will probably try too. If we can get more people to come forward-"

"Which is exactly what these scumbags are worried about, what they're trying to prevent," Malone said, and then, really surprising Wohl, said bitterly, "Shit!"

Then, having heard what he said, and seeing the look on Wohl's face, he explained.

"Second table from the headwaiter's table. My wife. Ex-wife."

Wohl looked, saw a not-especially-attractive woman, facing in their direction, across a table from a man with long, silver-gray hair, and then turned to Malone.

"That the lawyer?"

"That's him."

"What I think you should do, Jack," Wohl said, "is smile and act as if you're having a great time. I'm only sorry that I'm not a longlegged blonde with spectacular breastworks."

Malone looked at him for a moment, and then picked up his glass.

"Whoopee!" he said, waving it around. "Ain't we having fun!"

"What do you say, kiddo?" Mickey O'Hara asked as he stuck his head into Matt Payne's room. "Feel up to a couple of visitors?"

"Come on in, Mickey," Matt said. He had been watching an especially dull program on public television hoping that it would put him to sleep; it hadn't. He now knew more of the water problems of Los Angeles than he really wanted to know.

Mickey O'Hara and Eleanor Neal came into the room. O'Hara had a brown bag in his hand, and Eleanor carried a potted plant.

"I hope we're not intruding," Eleanor said, "but Mickey said it would be all right if I came, and I wanted to thank you for saving his life."