Matt met her eyes. It made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't look away.

After a long moment, he said, "I guess that makes us even."

And then he looked away, and unwrapped his knife and fork from its napkin wrap and attacked the sandwich.

Olivia took a healthy swallow of her drink, and when the bartender delivered the second round, emptied what was left of hers into the new glass.

She was astonished at the speed with which Matt emptied his plate of the roast beef, the potatoes, and the beans. She had taken only her third bite when she saw him lay his knife and fork on the empty plate and slide it across the bar toward the bartender.

"Very nice," Matt said.

"Glad you liked it."

"Did you know Cheryl Williamson?" Matt asked the bartender.

"I guess you heard?" the bartender replied.

Matt nodded.

"Goddamned cops," the bartender said. "I guess you heard what those bastards did? Or didn't do. Pardon the French."

"What did you say your name was?" Matt asked.

"Charley," the bartender said.

"Mother, show Charley your badge," Matt said.

She looked at him in surprise.

"Detective Lassiter, show Charley your badge," Matt ordered.

Olivia pulled her oversweater far enough to one side so the bartender could see her badge, which she had pinned to the waistband of her skirt.

"Sorry, I didn't know… " Charley the bartender said, uncomfortably.

"No problem," Matt said. "The reason we don't wear uniforms is so people can't spot us as cops right off. By the way, I'm Sergeant Payne. My friends call me 'Matt.' "

He extended his hand across the bar until Charley the bartender took it.

"Tell me, Charley," Matt said, as he slipped back onto his stool. "Have you made up your mind for all eternity, or would you be interested in the facts about what those goddamned bastard cops did or didn't do?"

"Hey, Sergeant, I said I was sorry…"

"If we're going to be friends, call me Matt," Matt said. "And that wasn't the question, Charley. Are you interested in the facts, or have you made up your mind, and don't want the facts to get in the way?"

"Okay. Let's have the facts," Charley said.

"Mother, give Charley the facts," Matt said.

"Is that your name?" Charley blurted.

"I call her that to remind myself not to make a pass at her," Matt said.

"Really?"

"Really," Matt said. "Tell Charley what really happened, Mother."

"Okay. From the top… " Olivia began.

"… so at the end, what you have are two decent young cops who feel guilty as hell for not breaking into her apartment," Olivia finished. "Even though they did exactly what they were supposed to do."

"Jesus," Charley the bartender said, and turned away, to return in a moment with the bottle of Famous Grouse.

"On me," he said, as he started pouring. "Not on the house, on me. I feel bad about what I said before."

"That's absolutely unnecessary and we shouldn't," Matt said. "But we will."

"Are they going to catch this guy?" Charley asked.

"We're going to get him," Matt said. "The question is when. The sooner they get him, the sooner they'll be able to be sure he won't be able to do something like this to somebody else."

"Maybe I get this from the movies," Charley said, "but those Homicide detectives seem to know what they're doing."

"I know two that don't," Matt said. Charley looked at him in surprise. "These two," Matt finished.

"You're Homicide?"

Matt nodded.

"And that's what we're doing here. Trying to run this guy down. We understand Cheryl used to come in here."

"Who told you that?" Charley asked.

"Her mother," Olivia said. "And she gave me a list of people Cheryl hung out with." She handed him the list. "Do you know any of these people?"

"Most of them," Charley reported after a minute.

"Any of them in here right now?"

Charley looked down the bar, then looked through the doors of two adjacent rooms and came back to report that none of them were.

"Well, we'll run them down," Matt said.

"It would help if you could tell us anything about Cheryl," Olivia said. "What kind of a girl was she?"

"Let me say something unpleasant," Matt said. "It's okay to say unkind things about the dead if the purpose is to find out who killed them."

Charley considered that a moment.

"I take the point," he said. "Okay, so far as I know, she was really a nice girl. If she were a bimbo, I'd say so, okay? You want my gut feeling?"

"Please," Olivia said.

"I think she came in here hoping that Mr. Right, the guy on the white horse, you know what I mean, would walk in and make eyes at her. And I don't think he ever did. She was good-looking. Guys hit on her. But she wasn't looking for a one-night stand, and I never saw her leave here with a guy. Sometimes, when she was in here with her girlfriends, a couple of them would leave together with a couple of guys. Never alone. You know what I mean?"

"I get the picture," Matt said.

Matt's cell phone went off.

"Payne."

"D'Amata, Matt. Where are you?"

"Halligan's Pub."

"Yeah. Lassiter said you'd be going there. She with you?"

"Yeah."

"You eat yet?"

"Just finished."

"I'm in Liberties," D'Amata said. "I figured you might want to compare notes."

He's taking care of me. That's nice.

"Okay."

"The Black Buddha's going to want to know what's going on, and he'll be finished with that artsy thing pretty soon. If you don't want to come to Center City, I could meet you someplace. "

"I'll come there. I've got to pick up my car at the Roundhouse anyway. Thirty minutes?"

"Thirty minutes," D'Amata said, and hung up.

Matt looked at Olivia.

"We have to meet D'Amata, Mother," he said.

She nodded.

"Can I ask you a favor?" Matt asked the bartender.

"Name it."

"I'm going to give you a card-a bunch of cards-with my number on it. If any of the people on the list Mother gave you come in, would you hand them one and ask them to call?"

"Sure."

"Give one to anybody who might have an idea," Matt said. "Okay?"

"You got it."

Matt took a small, stuffed-to-capacity card case from his pocket.

"These are old," Matt said. "They say Special Operations. But the number I write on them will be Homicide. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Tell them to ask for me or Detective Lassiter, but if neither of us is there, to talk to any Homicide detective, and leave a phone number and an address."

"Got it."

It took Matt and Olivia about five minutes to write her name and the Homicide number on all of the cards.

Then Matt asked for the check.

"On me," Charley the bartender said.

"No," Matt said, firmly, handing over his American Express card. "The one drink-between friends-we'll take with thanks. The rest we pay for."

Charley shrugged, but took the card.

Matt signed the receipt, looked at it, and said, "Mother, your half comes to fifteen-fifty, with tip."

She dug in her purse and came up with a five and a ten and handed it to him.

"I owe you fifty cents."

"I'll remember," he said.

He put out his hand to Charley.

"Thanks a lot," he said. "You've been more helpful than I think you understand. I'll probably come by again tomorrow, or Mother will. Okay?"

"Any time," Charley said.

"What we'll do, Mother, is go by the Roundhouse. I've got to get a property receipt for the sales slip I got in New York, and I want to pick up my car," Matt said when they were in the Porsche. "You can take it home after we meet with Joe D'Amata."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Olivia said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not sure I should be driving. I'm not used to three drinks of scotch in forty-five minutes, and that third drink was really a double."