Penny made noises, not quite groans, but much like them, but was not fully conscious. Once, she slipped down in the tub and Amy ordered Matt to slide her back up.

Finally, rather coldly, Matt thought, Amy turned on the shower, and as the water drained, she used it to rinse Penny off, as a hose might be used to clear a sidewalk.

"Get her out of there," she said, finally. "Be careful. She's slippery."

Matt got Penny out of the tub and held her up by locking his hands under her arms and breasts. Amy made a halfhearted effort to dry her with a towel, then bent and picked up her feet, and they carried her into Amy's spare bedroom and put her between the sheets.

"For what the hell it's worth," Matt said. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," Amy said. "And for what the hell it's worth, it just occurred to me that if you were not a cop, this would probably be more of a disaster than it is."

"What happens now?"

"You get out of here. I call the Detweilers, who probably need a padded cell themselves by now, and tell them Penny is here with me. What happens in the morning, God knows."

"From what I understand, the Narcs got her before she could buy any drugs," Matt said.

"You sound as if you actually care," Amy said.

"Fuck you, Amy! God damn you! Of course I care."

"Get out of here, Matt," Amy said.

When he got back to the underground garage at his apartment, Matt took the newspaper from the back seat. They had protected the upholstery from Penny's incontinence, but when she had vomited, that had gone onto the floor carpet, where there were no newspapers.

He went up to his apartment and returned with Lysol and everything else in the under the sink cabinet he thought might be helpful in cleaning the carpet and getting rid of the smell.

It still smelled like vomitus, so he went back to the apartment and got the bottle of Lime after-shave Amy had given him for Christmas and sprinkled all that was left over the interior of the car.

It was three when he climbed the stairs for the last time.

The fucking smell has followed me up here!

He then realized that his suit was soiled, probably ruined.

Can you get that shit, accurate word, shit, out of suiting material?

He took his clothing off, down to his skin, put on a bathrobe, and then carried the suit, the shirt, the necktie, and the underwear down to the basement and jammed it into one of the commercial garbage cans.

Then he went back to his apartment and showered and shaved and waited for it to grow light by watching television. He fell asleep in his armchair at four-thirty. At five-thirty, the alarm went off.

At ten minutes to six, as Peter Wohl was measuring coffee grounds into the basket of his machine, his out-of-tune "Be It Ever So Humble" door chimes sounded.

He went quickly through the door, wondering who the hell it could be. Usually, a telephone call preceded an early morning call.

Unless, of course, it's my father, who, 1 suspect, really hopes to catch me with some lovely in here.

It was Captain Richard Olsen, of Internal Affairs.

"Good morning, Swede," Wohl said. "What gets you out of bed at this hour?"

"I need to talk to you, and I didn't want it to be over the phone."

Olsen wouldn't do this unless he thought it was necessary.

"Come on in. I'm just making coffee."

"It's been a long time since I've been here. I remember the couch. What was her name?"

"What was whose name?"

"That interior decorator. You really had the hots for her."

"I forget," Wohl said.

"The hell you do," Olsen chuckled.

"You had breakfast?"

"No. But that doesn't mean you have to feed me."

"There's bacon and eggs. That all right?"

"Fine. Can I help?"

"You can make bacon and eggs while I get dressed," Wohl said. "And I'll finish the coffee."

"Lanza is dirty," Olsen said. "Or it goddamned well looks that way."

"I hope it won't require action between seven and nine this morning," Wohl said.

"No."

"Good, then I can get dressed," Wohl said, and went into his bedroom.

When he came out, he said, "What I really am curious about is why you couldn't have told me that on the phone?"

"We have a wiretap of questionable legality," Olsen said.

"How questionable?"

"Absolutely illegal," Olsen said.

"Oh, shit," Wohl said. "And it was found? Are you in trouble, Swede?"

"The tap is gone, and we were not caught."

"Who's we? You knew about this?"

"No, of course not. Can I start at the beginning?"

"The bacon's burning," Wohl said.

Olsen quickly took the pan off the burner and quickly forked bacon strips out of it.

"Well done, not destroyed," he said.

"Thank God for small blessings," Wohl said."I'll make the eggs. Can you handle the toaster?"

"I don't know. I used to think I could fry bacon without a problem."

"Give it a try. Tell me about the tap."

"You remember I told you about Sergeant Framm and Detective Pillare losing Lanza at the airport, and your man Payne saving their ass?"

"Yeah,"

"Yeah, well, Framm was humiliated by that. So he thought he'd make up for it by being Super Cop. He tapped the Schermer woman's line."

"How did you find out?"

"You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I think I better know."

"He told me," Olsen said.

"Oh, Jesus! Now I'm sorry I asked."

"He means well, Peter. I think he just watches too many cop shows on the TV.They don't have to get a warrant for a tap."

"We do. I hope you told him that."

"What do you think?"

"Not that we could use it, but what did he hear?"

"They tailed Lanza from the airport when he went off tour at midnight. He went to the Schermer woman's apartment. At quarter to one, he was visited by Mr. Ricco Baltazari…"

"The Ristorante Alfredo Ricco Baltazari?"

"One and the same. He stayed about ten minutes. While he was there, a male, almost certainly Baltazari, called somebody, no name, but Organized Crime told me the number is the unlisted number of Mr. Gian-Carlo Rosselli."

"You didn't tell Organized Crime why you wanted to know, I hope?"

"No. Just asked if they had a name to go with the number."

Olsen took a notebook from his pocket, and opened it.

"Ricco told the no-name guy he was with quote, our friend, end quote, and that the friend, quote, wants to know what he should do with the basket of fruit, unquote."

"Swede, did you listen to the tape?"

"What tape?"

"Is that how you're going to play it?"

Olsen shrugged helplessly.

"Was there a reply?" Wohl asked.

"No name replied, quote, Ask him if he could take it home, and we' ll arrange to pick it up there, unquote. Then Ricco replied, quote, He says that's fine, unquote."

Wohl grunted.

"That's all?"

"Two more lines: Unnamed, quote, Okay. And everything else is fine too, right? unquote, to which Ricco replies, quote, Everything else is fine too, unquote."

"Being the clever detective that I am, I don't think the basket of fruit is oranges and grapefruit and things of that nature," Wohl said. "Drugs?"

"What else?" Olsen said. "Rosselli is a heavy hitter."

"Lanza is going to somehow get his hands on this 'fruit basket' at the airport, get it away from the airport, and take it home. Where Rosselli will arrange to have it picked up, right?"

"That's how I see it, Peter."

"God, I'd like to bag Rosselli and Baltazari picking it up," Wohl said.

"Maybe we can," Olsen said.

"Don't hold your breath," Wohl said. "They'll send some punk. They don't take risks."