"Another unnecessary question."

"The pictures are in 'Wilifoto,' " Matt said.

O'Hara turned the laptop on and started the Photo Smart program.

"This fellowis a bit odd, isn't he?" Mickey said, looking at the first picture, and then, as he ran through the images, twice added: "Jesus H. Christ!"

"May I see those?" Olivia asked.

"No," Mickey said. "You really don't want to see them."

"I'm a cop, Mr. O'Hara," she said.

"Of that I have no doubt, my beauty," O'Hara said, as he turned the computer off and closed the lid, "but you are also indisputably a very nice young woman. My sainted mother would never forgive me if I showed those images to a very nice young woman."

He slid the laptop back across the table.

"You going to get him?" he asked.

"Still off the record?" Washington asked. O'Hara nodded. "All we have right now is the camera. They're serially numbered, and we're going to try that."

"Good luck," O'Hara said, getting to his feet. "This guy needs bagging, and soon."

"I'll keep you posted, Mick," Washington said.

"I'm counting on that," O'Hara said. He looked at Olivia. "Remember what I said about the Casanova of Center City, my beauty."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Mickey!" Matt said.

"Parting is such sweet sorrow," O'Hara proclaimed, and walked out of the diner.

"We have a transportation problem," Washington said. "I rode out here with Captain Quaire. I have to get back…"

Matt reached into his pocket and handed him the keys to his unmarked car.

"I'll ride with Lassiter," he said.

"I'm going to have to give my car back to Northwest," she said.

"You are very bright youngsters," Washington said. "I'm sure you'll be able to sort this out." He slid across the banquette and stood up, and added: "You can have your car back later-sometime after I meet with Tony, O'Hara, and the kid from the Roy Rogers. Okay if I leave it at the Roundhouse, the keys with the uniform in the lobby?"

"Fine," Matt said.

"Welcome to Homicide, Detective Lassiter," Washington said. "And I wouldn't worry too much about Sergeant Payne. His Lothario reputation is really far darker than the facts justify."

He walked away from the table.

After a moment, Olivia asked, "Special Victims?"

"I'm thinking," Matt said. "Sometimes that takes a little time."

"And I'd like to see those pictures."

He didn't reply.

"I'll be right back," he said.

She watched as he walked to a pay telephone booth in the front of the diner and looked in the yellow pages telephone book. He punched at the keys of his cellular for a moment, then returned to the table.

"What?" Olivia asked.

"Watch," he said, and pushed the Call button on his cellular phone.

"Center City Photo? I need to talk to someone about Kodak digital cameras."

Getting the correct number at Kodak from Center City Photo was like pulling teeth. The Eastman Kodak Company in Rochester, New York-once Matt had identified himself as Sergeant Payne of the Philadelphia police department Homicide Unit-was very cooperative. It would take them a little time to run the serial number down-was there a number where he could be reached?

Their call came as Olivia was pulling up before the Special Victims building at the Frankford Arsenal.

Their records indicated that a digital camera with that serial number had been shipped, as part of an order for a dozen identical cameras, five months before, to Times Square Photo amp; Electronics, 17 West Forty-second Street, New York City.

"That camera comes with an overnight FedEx replacement, right?"

"That's right, Sergeant, it does. And I checked to see if that program had been activated for that camera. It hadn't."

Oh, shit. But what did I expect? That this critter was going to leave a trail for me?

"But that sometimes happens," the lady from Kodak went on. "People sometimes don't activate the program until they have problems with the camera."

Am I going to get lucky?

"You don't have a phone number of Times Square Photo, by any chance, do you?"

She gave it to him.

"Thank you very much," Sergeant Payne said. "I really appreciate your cooperation."

The two people at Times Square Photo with whom Sergeant Payne spoke on his cellular were not nearly so cooperative. The first person, a male, spoke only a few words of English, and the second, a female he finally managed to get on the line, had only a few more words of English than did her male colleague.

These were sufficient, however, to make Sergeant Payne understand that she couldn't do nothing like consult her records of sale for just anybody, that she was trying to run a business, for Christ's sake, and at that moment she had customers she had to take care of. For Christ's sake.

"Did you understand me when I said this is Sergeant Payne of the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department? "

"No shit? Good for you. Good luck. Have a nice day."

And at that point she hung up.

"Sonofabitch!" Matt said, then, to Olivia, "Sorry."

"I have heard the expression before," Detective Lassiter said.

Matt held the key that automatically dialed the office of Amelia S. Payne, M.D. He was informed that Dr. Payne was with a patient.

"This is Sergeant Payne. This is official police business. Get her on the phone, please."

Dr. Payne came on the line thirty seconds later.

"Matt, this had better really be police business."

"It is. I'm working a murder."

"Not the one where the cops stood around outside her apartment shooting the breeze while the girl was murdered and raped?"

"I didn't know you listened to Philadelphia Phil, Amy."

"My secretary does. And it'sPhil's Philly."

"That's not exactly the way it happened, Amy."

"Of course not," she said, sarcastically.

"Are you scrapping with Peter again, or is there some other reason you're being such a bitch?"

"What do you want, Matthew?"

"The doer left his digital camera at the scene. With pictures of the act. Chief Lowenstein wants you to look at them."

"Just Chief Lowenstein?"

"Me, too, Amy, okay?"

"Okay. Bring them by. I'll take a look."

"I'm about to print them. I'll be there in thirty, thirty-five minutes."

"Okay," Amy said, and hung up.

[THREE] The Special Victims Unit did not have a color printer the quality of the one Mickey O'Hara had had theBulletin buy for him. It was slow, there were eight images, and Matt made what he quickly realized was an error when he pushed the button that caused the printer to make three prints of each image.

He needed a set for Amy, of course. And the price of using their printer was a set for Special Victims, and a third set was necessary for Jason Washington, both for his edification and to make sure there was no screwup when the Forensics lab finally got the flash memory card and made the official prints.

The result of this was that it took thirty-six minutes for the printer to do the job, and as they came slowly out of the printer Detectives Lassiter and Domenico had the opportunity to take good, long looks at all of them. Matt didn't give a damn about Domenico, but he was made uneasy by Detective Lassiter's reaction. Her face made it evident that she was trying and failing to examine the photographs with calm professionalism.

When they were finally outside, in Detective Lassiter's more than a little beat-up unmarked car, she looked at him for orders.

"We're a little pressed for time-What do I call you? 'Olivia' all right?"

"Fine, Sergeant."

"We're a little pressed for time, Olivia. I think you should meet my sister; you'll probably have to see her again, so we'll go to the university first. Then, since Washington grabbed my car, we'll go to my place so I can pick up my car. I'm going to New York. Then I want you to drop a set of pictures off at Homicide. If Lieutenant Washington is there-or Captain Quaire-give them to one of them. If not, seal the envelope and give it to the man on the wheel for Washington. Then I think you'd better go call on the Williamsons again. Get their statements."