"Right."

"Why did you notice, Double-A Zee?" Washington asked.

"Excuse me?"

"You were mopping the floor, paying attention to doing that. Why did you notice these two?"

Amal al Zaid thought that over carefully before replying: "I looked at the clock over the door. They was standing under it."

"And why did you pay attention to them?" Washington asked, softly.

"I could tell they was bad news," Amal al Zaid said.

"How?"

"The way they was standing, looking around. Nervous, you know? And the… I dunno. I just didn't like the look of them."

"Okay. So then what happened?"

"Then they split up. The one stayed in front, and the short fat guy came toward the back, toward here. That was funny."

"You had finished mopping the spill by then?" Harris asked.

"Yeah. Right. So I pushed the bucket back into the kitchen. And then I looked through the window and saw…"

"The window in the right door, the In door?" Harris asked, pointing.

"Yeah," Amal al Zaid said. "And I saw him take off his shade-"

"His glasses?" Harris interrupted. "Double-A Zee, I don't remember you saying anything before about him wearing glasses."

"Not glasses, hisshade."

When he saw the lack of understanding on Harris's face, Amal al Zaid explained patiently, almost tolerantly: "You know, like a baseball cap, without a top."

"Oh," Harris said, understanding.

"The shade part was in the back," Amal al Zaid went on. He pointed at his neck. "I guess it got in his way."

"How was that?" Washington asked, softly.

"The wall," Amal al Zaid said. "He was sitting where you are. That cushion is against the wall." He pointed. "I guess when he sat down, his shade bumped into the wall. Anyway, he took it off."

"Okay," Harris said. "I'm a little dense. Then what happened?"

"Tony, would you hand me Mickey's pictures?" Washington asked.

"Any particular one?"

"Better let me have all of them."

"I thought," Amal al Zaid said, "the last time, youtold me he took only one picture of these guys."

"There was only one image, Double-A Zee," Washington explained. "But they made a number of different prints, trying to see if they could come up with something useful. You know, they blew up different parts of the picture."

"Oh, yeah," Amal al Zaid said.

"I tried that myself," O'Hara said, "and got nowhere."

"What are you looking for, Jason?" Harris asked.

"I want to see if this fellow left the scene wearing his shade," Washington said. "Maybe Mickey's pictures will at least show that."

Tony Harris rummaged through the salesman's case and came out with a manila envelope stuffed with prints. There were, in all, about twenty prints of the one digital image Mickey O'Hara had made as he walked up to the Roy Rogers restaurant. Most were eight by ten inches, and most of them concentrated on the heads and shoulders of the doers, although the process had failed to overcome the bad quality and bring out more details than in the original print.

Washington began to examine each print carefully. After looking at perhaps ten of them, he set one aside.

"You got something?" Mickey asked.

Washington didn't reply.

After a moment, Mickey took the pictures Washington was finished with and started looking at them. As he finished the first one, he slid it across the table to Amal al Zaid, who looked at it and slid it to Harris. When Washington finished, he had set two more prints aside. He slid the rest to Mickey, then patiently waited until they were all through, before handing Mickey the three prints he had set aside.

"So far as I can determine from these," Washington said, "neither of these gentlemen was wearing anything on his cranium as they left the scene."

"I don't think a jury would fall in love with these," Mickey said. "But I do see silhouetted heads, and there ain't nothing on either of them."

Washington again waited until both Amal al Zaid and Tony Harris had examined all three prints.

"So what?" Amal al Zaid asked.

"This poses the question, Double-A Zee," Washington said. "If this fellow came into the restaurant wearing a shade, where is it now?"

Harris went back into the salesman's case.

He came out with a typewritten list.

"Here it is," he said, "On the unclaimed property list. Number fifteen. 'One black sun visor, make unknown, gray cotton-covered visor, plastic headband.' They found it under the table. So far as prints are concerned… 'One partially smudged print, possibly index finger, on rear of headband.' "

"That won't be enough, will it?" O'Hara asked.

"Oh, ye of little faith," Washington said.

He took out his cellular telephone and pushed an autodial key.

"Has Captain Quaire gone for the day?" he asked, and then a moment later, "Would you switch me to him, please?"

There was a brief pause.

"Lieutenant Washington, sir," he said, "with a request."

There was another pause.

"On the list of unclaimed property found in the Roy Rogers, as item fifteen, there is 'One black sun visor, make unknown, gray cotton-covered visor, plastic headband.' We have reason to believe it was left behind by one of the doers. The lab reports one partially smudged print, possibly index finger. I would like to inspire them to greater effort. This might be possible if you took the item down there personally, sir…"

There was another brief pause.

"Thank you very much. And may I suggest that you tell them I will be in later tonight to check on their progress?" Pause. "Thanks, Henry. It's all that we have right now."

He pushed the End key and turned to Amal al Zaid.

"Double-A Zee, I think we're at the point where the doer took off his shade. What happened next?"

[THREE] At twenty after six, just as he turned onto I-95 South, Matt's cellular rang.

"Payne."

"Sergeant, this is Lassiter."

"I have a surfeit of bad news, Detective Lassiter. With that caveat, you may proceed."

He thought he heard her giggle, and found it charming.

"No bad news. I just left the Williamsons'…"

"And?"

"Everything's under control. Their minister is there. I don't think she's going to change her mind about the uniforms being right in not taking the door. And I'm going back in the morning-she asked me to."

"You get a gold star to take home to Mommy, Detective Lassiter," Matt said.

"Sergeant," she said, a tone of exasperation in her voice, "Northwest wants their car back, that's one thing. The second thing is, Mrs. Williamson told me Cheryl used to hang out in a bar called Halligan's Pub. I'd like a look, but thought I'd better check with you first."

"Do they serve food in Halligan's Pub?"

"I don't know. I suppose so."

Matt looked at his watch.

"I'll meet you at Northwest in twenty-five, thirty minutes," he said. "You can give them their car back. Where is this Halligan's Pub?"

"In Flourtown."

"Okay. Then we will go together to Halligan's Pub. And after that, we'll see. Washington called. I can pick up my car at the Roundhouse."

"Fine," she said. "Anything else?"

"Call Joe D'Amata and tell him we're going to check out the saloon."

"Right."

A uniform sergeant put out his hand to stop the silver Porsche as it rolled into the POLICE VEHICLES ONLY parking lot at the Thirty-fifth District Building. Except for a few rooms used by the Inspector for the North Police Division, Northwest Detectives occupied most of the second floor of the building.

The driver of the Porsche rolled down the window.

"I think it'll be all right, Officer," he said. "I'm just here to pick up my date."

He pointed toward Detective Olivia Lassiter, who was leaning against the wall by the entrance.

The uniform sergeant whistled shrilly, attracting Detective Lassiter's attention.