“How do I find Inspector Wohl’s office?” Mike addressed a burly Highway Patrolman sitting on a wooden bench in his undershirt, scrubbing at a spot on his uniform shirt.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here, sir,” the Highway Patrolman said, using the word as he would use it to a civilian he had just stopped for driving twenty-five miles over the speed limit the wrong way down a one-way street. “Visitors is supposed to use the front door.”

The Highway Patrolman examined him carefully.

“I know you?”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. My name is Mike Weisbach.”

The Highway Patrolman stood up.

“Sorry, Inspector,” he said. “I didn’t recognize you. There’s stairs over there. First floor. Used to be the principal’s office.”

“Thank you,” Mike said, and then smiled and said, “Your face is familiar, too. What did you say your name was?”

“Lomax, sir. Charley Lomax.”

“Yeah, sure,” Mike said, and put out his hand. “Good to see you, Charley. It’s been a while.”

“Yes, sir. It has,” Lomax said.

When he reached the outer office of the Commanding Officer of the Special Operations Division, Weisbach identified himself as Staff Inspector Weisbach to the young officer in plain clothes behind the desk.

“I know he’s expecting you, Inspector. I’ll see if he’s free,” the young officer said, and got up and walked to a door marked INSPECTOR WOHL, knocked, and went inside.

Mike’s memory, which had drawn a blank vis-a-vis Officer Lomax, now kicked in about Wohl’s administrative assistant.

His name is O’Mara, Paul Thomas. His father is Captain Aloysious O’Mara, who commands the Seventeenth District. His brother is Sergeant John F. O’Mara of Civil Affairs. His grandfather had retired from the Philadelphia Police Department. His transfer to Special Operations had been arranged because Special Operations was considered a desirable assignment for a young officer with the proper nepotistic connections .

That’s not why I’m here. Lowenstein didn’t arrange this transfer for me to enhance my career. I’m here to help Jerry Carlucci get reelected.

Peter Wohl, without a jacket, his sleeves rolled up and his tie pulled down, appeared at the door.

“Come on in, Mike,” he said. “Can I have Paul get you a cup of coffee?”

“Please,” Mike said.

“Three, Paul, please,” Wohl ordered, and held the door open for Weisbach.

“Morning, Mike,” Mickey O’Hara called as Weisbach entered the office.

He was sitting on a couch. On the coffee table in front of him was a tape recorder and a heavy manila paper envelope.

“What’s good about it, Mick?” Weisbach asked.

“Peter’s been telling me that the forces of virtue are about to triumph over the forces of evil,” O’Hara replied. “I get an exclusive showing a dirty district captain and a dirty lieutenant on their way to the Central Cellroom. I like that, professionally and personally. So far as I’m concerned, that’s not a bad way to start my day.”

“Mick,” Wohl asked, “how would you feel about going with Mike Sabara when he picks up Paulo Cassandro?”

“Instead of staying here, you mean?” O’Hara replied, and then went on without giving Wohl a chance to reply. “For one thing, Peter, the arrest of second- or third-level gangsters is not what gets on the front page. The arrest of a police captain, a district commander, is. And please don’t tell him I said so, but Mike Sabara is not what you could call photogenic.”

“It’s your call, Mickey.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, Peter,” Mickey said. “Keep a picture of a dirty captain getting arrested out of the papers. But it won’t work. That’s news, Peter.”

“And you’re here with Carlucci’s blessing, right?”

“Yeah, I am, Peter. Sorry.”

“OK. Let’s talk about what’s going to happen. Chief Coughlin will be here any minute. Inspector Sawyer and the others no later than eight. Sawyer comes in here. Coughlin plays the tape of Meyer and Cassandro for him-”

Wohl pointed to the tape machine.

“Coughlin’s going to play the tape for him?” Mickey interrupted, sounding surprised.

“That was my father’s idea. He and Coughlin choreographed this for me last night. The tape is damned incriminating. That should, I was told, keep Sawyer from loyally defending his men. And, Mickey, Carlucci’s blessing or not, you are not going to be here when that happens.”

“OK. Do I get to hear the tape?”

“Can you live with taking my word that it’s incriminating?”

“Can I listen to it out of school?”

“OK. Why not?”

“Before?”

“After.”

O’Hara shrugged his acceptance.

“Then we go to the Investigation Section, upstairs, where Cazerra, Meyer, and the two officers will be waiting. Inspector Sawyer will arrest Captain Cazerra. I will arrest Lieutenant Meyer. Their badges, IDs, and guns will be taken from them. Staff Inspector Weisbach, assisted by Detectives Payne and Martinez, will arrest the two officers, and take their guns and badges.”

“Am I going to get to be there?” O’Hara asked.

“When Inspector Sawyer comes in here, you leave,” Wohl said. “Wait outside. When we come out, we will be on our way upstairs. You can come with us.”

“Thank you.”

“The Fraternal Order of Police will be notified immediately after the arrests,” Wohl went on. “It will probably take thirty minutes for them to get an attorney, attorneys, here. When that is over, I will take Captain Cazerra to the Police Administration Building in my car, which will be driven by Sergeant Washington. He will not be placed in a cell. Chief Coughlin has arranged for him to be immediately booked, photographed, fingerprinted, and arraigned. He will almost certainly be released on his own recognizance.”

“Nice, smooth operation,” O’Hara said.

“The same thing will happen with the others. Weisbach will take Lieutenant Meyer to the Roundhouse in his car, with Officer Lewis driving. Detectives Payne and Martinez will take the two officers in a Special Operations car.”

“It would be nice if I could get a shot of Cazerra and Meyer in handcuffs,” O’Hara said.

Wohl ignored him.

“It would be a good public relations shot, either one of them in cuffs,” O’Hara pursued.

Wohl looked at him and shook his head.

“Mick,” he said. “I am aware that there are certain public relations aspects to this, otherwise the Prince of the Fourth Estate would not be sitting in my office with egg spots on his tie and his fly open.”

Mickey O’Hara glanced in alarm toward his crotch. His zipper was fastened.

“Screw you, Peter.” He laughed. “Question: Don’t you think the Mayor would be happier if Captain Cazerra were arrested by the new Chief of the Ethical Affairs Unit?”

“Why would that make the Mayor happier?”

“Maybe assisted by Detective Payne?” Mickey went on, not directly answering the question. “Handsome Matthew is always good copy. That picture, I’m almost sure, would make page one. Isn’t that what Carlucci wants? More to the point, why he fixed it for me to be here?”

“I suggested last night that Mike make all the arrests.”

“Thanks a lot, Peter,” Mike Weisbach said sarcastically.

“Coughlin shot me down,” Wohl went on. “There’s apparently a sacred protocol here, and Coughlin wants it followed.”

“Just trying to be helpful,” Mickey said. “For purely selfish reasons. I want to get invited back the next time. I guess the Mayor will have to be happy with a picture of the Black Buddha standing behind Cazerra going into the Roundhouse. That should produce a favorable reaction from the voting segment of the black population, right?”

“Even if it does humiliate every policeman in Philadelphia,” Wohl said bitterly. “Mike, you’ve heard it. See anything wrong with it?”

Weisbach shook his head.

“OK,” Wohl said. “Then that’s the way we’ll do it.”

“OK,” Weisbach parroted.

“Afterward, Mike, you and I are going to have a long talk about the Ethical Affairs Unit.”