"Who's the lead detective, you, Joe?" Lowenstein asked.

"Yes, sir," D'Amata said.

"What are the chances for that?"

"Not good, sir," D'Amata said.

Lowenstein gestured with both his hands:Give me more.

"We have no idea who he is, other than he's a four-star psychopath," D'Amata said. "We have only one thing that might lead us to him."

"Which is?"

"He left his camera behind, and Matt Payne-"

"How do you know it's his camera?" Lowenstein interrupted.

"He took pictures of the victim, sir."

"How do you know that?"

"It's a digital camera, sir," Matt Payne said. "I downloaded the images from the flash memory card into my laptop."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about. You're saying you have pictures the doer took of the victim?"

"Yes, sir," Matt said, and pushed his way through everybody jammed into the kitchen, and brought the pictures up on the screen of the laptop.

"My God," Dennis V. Coughlin said.

"How long have you had these?" Lowenstein demanded.

"Not long, sir," Matt said. "I was calling Lieutenant Washington to tell him when he said you were all headed here."

"And how can you locate the doer by his camera?" Lowenstein challenged.

"I'm not sure I can, sir. But I know that type camera. It comes with a program that…" He stopped, trying to think of a way to explain simply the Kodak camera replacement program.

"That what?"

"The camera has a serial number," Matt said. "If we can get Kodak to tell us where they shipped it-"

"Who the hell are you?" Lowenstein demanded, nastily, interrupting him.

"Detective Lassiter, sir. Northwest."

Matt turned and saw her standing in the doorway. She looked a little stunned by Lowenstein's greeting.

"And what is so important that you felt you could just barge in here like this?"

"I just left the victim's mother," Olivia said. "She understands why the uniforms couldn't take the door. I thought I should tell Sergeant Payne. I heard about Philadelphia Phil- or whatever his name is-on my way back here."

"The victim's mother understands why the uniforms couldn't take the door?" Dennis V. Coughlin asked, and then, before she could answer, asked another question. "What were you doing with the victim's mother?"

"I sent her with the victim's brother when he went to tell the mother," Matt said.

Matt happened to be looking at Washington, whose expressive eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Yousent her?" challenged the lieutenant from Northwest Detectives who had been standing with Smith and others when they first had gone outside.

"Yes, sir."

"You gave one of my detectives orders?"

"Not now," Lowenstein said, sharply, then turned his attention to Detective Lassiter. "You're sure the victim's mother understands about the door?"

"Yes, sir. I told her how that works," Olivia said. "She seemed to understand. She even calmed the brother down about it. All she wants is for us to catch the doer."

"What's in the envelope?"

"A picture of the victim, sir," Olivia said, and handed it to him. "I borrowed it from the mother."

Lowenstein looked at it, then handed it to Coughlin.

"It'll come in handy," Lowenstein said. "You know about the doers' camera?"

"No, sir."

"You ever been on television, Detective?" Lowenstein asked.

"No, sir."

"Well, unless I'm mistaken, when Commissioner Coughlin goes outside in a couple of minutes, to tell the press why the officers couldn't take the door, he's going to want you to go with him, to repeat what you just said about the mother understanding. Could you handle that?"

"I'd rather not-"

"That's not what I asked," Lowenstein snapped.

"Yes, sir, I can handle that."

"I haven't said I'm going outside to talk to the press," Coughlin said.

"Oh, excuse me, Commissioner, I thought you had."

"I just had a brilliant idea, Chief Lowenstein," Coughlin said. "Since you're so good at it, I'll reassign you to Public Relations."

"Unless we do something, we'll all look as stupid as the mayor thinks we are," Lowenstein replied, unabashed. "You got a better idea, Denny?"

"No," Coughlin said. "As a matter of fact, I was trying to think of a way to thank you that wouldn't go directly to your head."

"You're welcome," Lowenstein said. "Can I make another suggestion?"

"How can I stop you?"

"Detective Lassiter has dealt very well with the mother and the brother. We don't know that possible problem has gone away permanently…"

"And you want to detail her to Homicide for this job so she can sit on them?" Coughlin asked.

"That, too, but what I was thinking was that you could say, 'Detective Lassiter, who has been detailed to Homicide for this investigation, has spoken to Miss Williamson's brother and her mother. They have found no fault with police procedures, isn't that right, Detective?' "

"I don't know," Coughlin said, doubtfully.

"You have any problems with Northwest detailing Detective Lassiter to Homicide for this job, Captain Quaire?" Lowenstein asked.

"No, sir," Quaire said.

"Lieutenant Washington?"

"No, sir."

"You, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," the lieutenant from Northwest Detectives said.

"Okay, done," Lowenstein said.

He gestured toward the kitchen door.

"You're on, Commissioner," he said.

Coughlin exhaled audibly, straightened his shoulders, and marched through it. Captain Frank Hollaran and Detective Lassiter followed him.

"There's a TV in the living room," D'Amata said. "There's aChannel Six Live camera out there."

D'Amata got it turned on and tuned to Channel Six by the time Coughlin, Hollaran, and Lassiter appeared on the screen as they came out of the walkway between the two buildings.

Coughlin marched to the massed press, with Olivia Lassiter following him. When he stopped, just inside the crime scene tape, she moved to his side.

There were shouted questions from a dozen reporters, to which Coughlin, his arms folded on his stomach, paid no attention whatever. Finally, almost in confusion, the questions died out.

"I'm Deputy Commissioner Coughlin," he said, finally. "I will take a few questions, one at a time."

Most of the reporters raised their hands; several shouted questions.

Coughlin pointed at one of the reporters who had raised her hand.

"If you can get thesegentlemen to behave, I'll take your question."

One of the reporters who had been shouting a question said, disgustedly, "Oh, for Christ's sake!"

Another voice, female, very clearly answered her colleague with, "Why don't you shut the fuck up, you asshole? Some of us have deadlines."

Coughlin pointed to a reporter holding a microphone with aChannel Six Live sign on it.

"I don't want to tell you your business," he said, very politely, "but I really hope someone bleepedthat question before it got on the air."

That brought laughter. When it died down, he pointed to the reporter he had selected before.

"Commissioner, what's happened here?"

"A murder," Coughlin said, "of a young woman named Cheryl Williamson."

"Not a rape and murder?"

"We don't know that yet. The medical examiner will make that determination."

"Is it true that somebody called 911, the cops came, and then refused to enter the apartment, while the murderer was inside?"

"A few minutes before two this morning, Miss Williamson's neighbor called 911, reporting that her mirror had fallen off the wall. Two patrol cars-not just one-of the Thirty-fifth District responded, and were here in just under four minutes. They listened to what the neighbor said, that she suspected that something had happened in Miss Williamson's apartment that had caused her mirror to fall off the wall. The officers rang Miss Williamson's doorbell and knocked at the door. They did that at both the front and rear doors. And they looked for signs of a forced entry and found none. There were no lights on in the apartment, and they could hear no sounds. They concluded there was no one in the apartment."