“That’s not why I came,” Amanda said. “I wanted to be with you.”

“You’re a good friend,” Matt said.

She met his eyes, then looked away, and then met them again.

“Maybe that, too,” Amanda said softly.

“Jesus, Amanda.”

“Does that come as such a surprise? Am I making as much of a fool of myself as I think I am?”

He reached out and touched her cheek with his fingers.

She moved her head away and looked to the side.

“For God’s sake, don’t feel sorry for me,” she said.

“What I’m doing is wondering what would happen if I tried to put my arms around you.”

She turned her face to look at him. She looked into his eyes for a long moment.

“Why don’t you try it and find out?” Amanda asked.

SEVENTEEN

Matt Payne rolled over in bed, grabbed the telephone on the bedside table, and snarled, “Hello.”

“Good morning,” Amanda Spencer said, a chuckle in her voice. “Somehow I thought you’d be in a better mood than you sound like.”

Still half asleep, Matt turned and looked in confusion at where he expected Amanda to be, lying beside him. He was obviously alone in his bed.

“Where are you?”

“Thirtieth Street Station,” she said.

“Why?”

“You have to come here to get on a train.”

“Jesus H. Christ!”

“I have a job, Matt.”

“Call in and tell them you were run over by a truck.”

“It was something like that, wasn’t it? How do you feel this morning?”

“Right now, desolate.”

She chuckled again.

“Don’t call me, Matt. I’ll call you.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“This is what I think they call the cold, cruel light of day,” Amanda said. “I need some time to think.”

“Second thoughts, you mean? Morning-after regrets?”

“I said I need some time to think. But no regrets.”

“Me either,” he said.

He was now fully awake. He picked his watch up from the bedside table. It was ten past eight.

“You could have said something,” he said, somewhat petulantly.

“I’m saying it now,” Amanda said. “I have a job, I have to go to work, and I need some time to think.”

“Damn!”

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t really want to leave. But it was the sensible thing to do.”

“Screw sensible.”

“Have you got any morning-after regrets?”

“I’m still in shock, but no regrets.”

“We both got a little carried away last night.”

“Anything wrong with that?”

“That’s what I want to think about,” Amanda said. “I’ll call you, Matt. Don’t call me.”

The phone went dead in his ear.

“Damn!”

“Push the damned button, Matt,” Inspector Peter Wohl said into the microphone beside Detective Payne’s doorbell. “The Wachenhut guy told me he knows you’re up there.”

A moment later the solenoid buzzed, and Wohl pushed the door open and started up the narrow flight of stairs.

“I didn’t know who it was,” Matt said from the head of the stairs. He was wearing khaki trousers, a gray, battered University of Pennsylvania sweatshirt, and was obviously fresh from the shower.

He looks more than a little sleepy, Peter thought. Probably still feeling the pill Amy gave him.

“How are you doing?”

“I was just about to go out and get some breakfast.”

“Not necessary,” Wohl said, handing him a large kraft paper bag. “Never let it be said that I do not take care of my underlings.”

Matt sniffed it.

“Smells great. What is it?”

“Western omelet, bagels, orange juice, and coffee.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Matt said.

“I expected to find you still in bed,” Wohl said.

“Huh?”

“Amy said that the pill she gave you…” Wohl stopped. He had followed Matt into the kitchen and seen the stack of Forms 75-49. “What’s this?”

“75-49s on the Inferno job,” Matt said. “Milham told me to read them.”

“When did you see Milham?”

“Last night. Early this morning. I went over there-”

“You didn’t take Amy’s pill?” Wohl asked, but it was a statement rather than a question.

“No, I didn’t,” Matt confessed. “I had a couple of drinks here, decided going to the FOP was a good idea, started out for there, changed my mind, and went to Homicide.”

“Why?” Wohl asked, a tone of exasperation in his voice.

“At the time it seemed like a good idea,” Matt said.

Wohl reached into his jacket pocket and came out with an interoffice memorandum. He handed it to Matt.

“One of the reasons I came here was to show you this. I guess you’ve seen it.”

Matt glanced at it.

“Yeah. Milham had a copy.”

“Lowenstein sent me one,” Wohl said, taking the memorandum back and then crumpling it in his fist. He looked around, remembered the garbage can was under the sink, and went to it and dropped the memorandum in it.

“For some reason, I’m not sore at you,” Wohl said. “I think I should be.”

“I didn’t want that damned pill,” Matt said.

“That, I understand. But you shouldn’t have gone to Homicide until I sent you.”

“Sorry,” Matt said.

“Oh, hell, I’d have probably done the same thing myself,” Wohl said. “Unwrap the omelets.”

“Lieutenant Natali was very nice to me,” Matt said.

“Natali’s a nice fellow,” Wohl said. “Where’s your cups? I hate coffee in a paper cup.”

“In the cabinet.”

“Are you really all right? Amy thinks you’re still in what she calls a condition called ‘grief shock.’”

“Amy’s a nice girl,” Matt said, gently mocking. “But what I’m in is a condition called ‘Oh, what a sonofabitch you are, Matt Payne.’”

“I told you, what Penny did to herself wasn’t your fault.”

“Somebody came to see me last night,” Matt said. “To comfort me in my condition of grief shock.”

“Somebody, I gather from the tone of your voice, female. And?”

“She comforted me,” Matt said.

Wohl looked at him to make sure he had correctly interpreted what he had said.

“Who?”

“I don’t think I want to tell you.”

“Nice kind of girl, or the other?”

“Very nice kind of girl.”

“Good for you,” Wohl said. “But I don’t think I’d tell Amy.”

“I’ve been trying to wallow in guilt, but I don’t seem to be able to.”

“What’s in it for the girl?”

“I just think she was being nice. Maybe a little more.”

“The one from New York? Amanda, something like that?”

“Jesus Christ!”

“I saw her looking at you at Martha Peebles’s.”

“I didn’t see her at Martha Peebles’s.”

“I repeat, good for you, Matt. Don’t wallow in guilt.”

The door buzzer sounded.

Matt looked surprised.

“Detective McFadden, I’ll bet,” Wohl said. “Here to comfort you in your condition of grief shock, with firm orders to keep you off the sauce.”

“You really do take care of me, don’t you?” Matt asked.

“Somebody has to, or the first thing you know, you’re crawling around on a ledge like an orangutan.”

“Thank you, Peter,” Matt said, pushing the button to open the door, and walked to the head of the stairs.

It was, instead of Detective McFadden, Detective Milham.

“You’re up, I hope?” Milham asked. “I know I said ten…”

“Having breakfast. Come on up.”

“I’ve got somebody with me. Is that all right?”

“Sure.”

Milham took a step backward and a woman Matt had never seen before, but who he intuited was the Widow Kellog, appeared in the doorway and started up the stairs.

“I know we’re intruding,” she said as she reached Matt.

“Not at all.”

“I’m Helene Kellog,” she said.

“Matt Payne,” Matt said. “How do you do? Come on in.”

He led her to the kitchen.

“Mrs. Kellog, this is Inspector Wohl.”

“Oh, God,” Helene said.

“How do you do, Mrs. Kellog?” Wohl said politely, standing up.

Milham appeared.

It’s a toss-up, Matt thought, which of them looks unhappier at finding Wohl up here.