They had pointed out to him that just because someone has a little trouble with promotion examinations doesn't mean he's not a good cop, with potential. It just means that he has trouble passing examinations.

Not like you, Peter, or, for that matter, Matt, the inference had been. You're not really all that smart; you're just good at taking examinations.

One or the other or both of them had suggested that what Officer O'Mara needed was a little broader experience than he was getting in the Traffic Division, such as he might get if it could be arranged to have Personnel, with your approval, of course, assign him to Special Operations as your administrative assistant, now that Matty got himself promoted, and the job's open.

Officer O'Mara's performance as Wohl's administrative assistant had been satisfactory. He was immensely loyal, hard-working, and reliable. The trouble with Officer O'Mara, as Detective Jesus Martinez had often pointed out, was that he had been at the end of the line when brains were passed out, and an original thought and a cold drink of water would probably kill him.

Inspector Wohl came on the line a moment later.

"When's the meeting going to be over?" he asked without any preliminaries.

"It's over, sir."

"You're en route here?"

"Actually, sir, I'm in the shower."

"You had planned to come to work today?"

"Yes, sir. I will be there directly."

The line went dead.

Shit! Another three minutes, and when he asked, "You're en route here?" I could have said, "Yes, sir."

I wonder what's going on?

Why did he put the arm out for me?

[TWO] Twenty minutes later-after having twice en route responded to radio requests for his location-Detective Payne entered the walled collection of aging red-brick buildings once known as the U.S. Army Frankford Arsenal and now somewhat hopefully dubbed the "Arsenal Business Center" by the City of Philadelphia.

When business had not rushed to the Arsenal, the city had given its permission for two units of the police department to occupy some of the buildings. One was the Sex Crimes Unit, and the other the far larger Special Operations Division, which previously had been operating out of a building at Castor and Frankford Avenues. Built in 1892, the Frankford Grammar School had rendered the city more than a century of service before being adjudged uninhabitable by the Bureau of Licenses Inspections.

It had then served as Special Operations Division Head-quarters-with Inspector Peter Wohl installed in what had been the principal's office-until space had "become available" in the Arsenal Business Center. Just as soon as funds became available, the city intended to demolish the old school. Unless, of course, itreally died of old age and fell down by itself, thereby saving the city that expenditure.

Matt drove through the collection of old and mostly unused Arsenal buildings until he came to one of the "newer" buildings-the cornerstone was marked 1934-and drove around it, looking for a place to park. There were none. Even the spot reserved for COMMISSIONER was occupied.

He finally parked a block away and then trotted to the Special Operations headquarters building. Inspector Wohl was now housed in the ground-floor office of what had once been the office of the Arsenal's commanding officer.

He pushed open the door from the corridor to Wohl's outer office.

Officer O'Mara pushed a lever on his intercom.

"Sir, Detective Payne is here."

"Send him in."

Matt knocked politely at the door and waited for permission to enter.

"Come in, please," Inspector Wohl called.

Matt pushed the door open.

There were five people in the room. Inspector Peter Wohl, sitting behind his desk; Captain Michael J. Sabara, fortyish, a short, barrel-chested Lebanese, who was Wohl's deputy; Captain David Pekach, the weasel-faced, fair-skinned, small, wiry thirty-seven-year-old commanding officer of the Highway Patrol; and, sitting side by side on Wohl's couch, two white shirts Matt was really surprised to see in Wohl's office: Deputy Commissioner (Patrol) Dennis V. Coughlin and his Executive Officer, Captain Francis X. Hollaran.

What the hell is going on?

"I'm delighted, Detective Payne," Inspector Wohl said, sarcastically, "that you have managed to squeeze time for us into your busy schedule."

"There's one bastard I would really like to see shuffling around in shackles," Captain Hollaran said, handing something to Captain Pekach.

"You'd like to see him in shackles?" Captain Sabara replied. "I'd like to see him fry. I'd strap him in the chair myself."

Despite his somewhat menacing appearance, Captain Michael Sabara was really a rather gentle man. Matt was surprised at his vehemence.

"Fry"? "I'd strap him in the chair myself"?

Who are they talking about?

"You were saying, Detective Payne?" Inspector Wohl went on.

"Sorry, sir. I had to change my clothes," Payne said.

"When was the last time you got a postcard, Dave?" Commissioner Coughlin asked.

"I get one every couple of months," Pekach replied. "The one before this was from Rome. This one's from someplace in France."

"Probably from where he lives," Coughlin said, shaking his head. "The sonofabitch knows the French won't let us extradite him."

"Unless it had something to do with Monsignor Schneider, I don't think I want to hear why you had to change your clothes," Inspector Wohl said.

"Nothing to do with the monsignor, sir."

"Good," Inspector Wohl said. "I presume everything went well at the meeting?"

"Everything went well at the meeting," Matt said. "I e-mailed you, sir."

"So you did," Wohl said. "And I was delighted to hear that you think you're in love, but wondered why you thought you should notify me officially."

"You're in love, are you, Payne?" Captain Pekach asked.

"No, sir, I'm not."

"Then why did you tell Inspector Wohl you were, and as part of your official duties?" Commissioner Coughlin asked.

"It was a little joke, sir," Matt said.

Jesus, why the hell did I do that?

And damn it, I sent it to his personal e-mail address, so it wasn't official.

"You have to watch that sort of thing, Matty," Commissioner Coughlin said, his tone suggesting great disappointment in Matt's lack of professionalism.

"Who are you in love with, Payne?" Captain Sabara asked.

"There was a girl at the meeting," Matt said. "I…"

"The sort of girl you could bring home to dinner with your mother?" Sabara pursued.

"Or to dinner with my Martha?" Captain Pekach asked.

Martha was Mrs. Pekach.

"Sir?"

"More important," Sabara asked, "what makes you think this female is in love with you?"

I am having my chain pulled. Just for the hell of it? Or is there more to this?

"Actually, sir, I knew she was in love with me from the moment she saw me. I seem to have that effect on women."

There were smiles, but not so much as a chuckle.

"Let me put it to you this way, Matty," Commissioner Coughlin said, very seriously. "Theone thing a detective-or a newly promoted sergeant- doesn't need is a reputation as a ladies' man…"

What did he say- "or a new sergeant"?

"… it tends to piss off the wives of the men they're working with," Coughlin finished.

Now there was laughter.

"Congratulations, Matty," Coughlin said. "You're number one on the list."

He stood up, went to Matt, shook his hand, and put his arm around his shoulders.

"I'll be damned," Matt said.

"Damned? Probably, almost certainly," Wohl said. "But for the moment, we're all proud of you."

"Yeah, we are, Matt," Pekach said. "I don't think even our beloved boss was ever number one on a list."

"Yeah, he was," Coughlin corrected him. "Peter was number one on the lieutenant's list."