"It's how the FBI can help you, Sergeant," Special Agent Bendick said. "A telephone call would have saved you a trip all the way down here. But no real harm done. We'll handle it from here."

"Jesus Christ!" Mickey O'Hara said. "You guys really have no shame at all, do you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, J. Edgar Junior. Anything to get the FBI favorable notice in the papers, right? You can already see the headline, right? 'FBI Apprehends Philadelphia Murderer.' "

"Who are you, sir?" Special Agent Bendick asked.

"O'Hara's my name."

"And are you some sort of law enforcement officer?"

Mickey shook his head, "no."

"I couldn't get on the cops. My parents were married," Mickey said. He took out his digital camera and aimed it at Special Agent Bendick, Sergeant Payne, and Lieutenant Washington.

"I'd rather not have my photograph taken, if you don't mind," Special Agent Bendick said, holding his hand out in a vain hope-Mickey nimbly dodged around it-of covering the lens so that a photograph would be impossible.

"Jesus, didn't they tell you about the freedom of the press at the Quantico School for Boys?" Mickey asked.

"Sir," Washington said, "if we feel that any assistance from the FBI would be useful to us in this investigation, I will seek same through the appropriate channels."

"And you are?" Special Agent Bendick demanded.

"My name is Jason Washington. I'm a lieutenant with the Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia police department."

"I'm Special Agent Bendick of the Mobile office of the FBI, Lieutenant…"

"So you said."

"And inasmuch as this case crosses state lines, the FBI-"

"I don't believe this case meets the necessary criteria for the unsolicited involvement of the FBI, Mr. Bendick," Steve Cohen said.

"And may I ask who you are?"

"My name is Steven Cohen. I'm an assistant district attorney in Philadelphia."

"I don't really understand your attitude," Special Agent Bendick began.

"They're understandably a little pissed, J. Edgar Junior, that you tried to steal their pinch for the glory of the FBI. Unfortunately, you picked the wrong guys," Mickey said.

He quickly snapped another photograph.

"If you will excuse us, Mr. Bendick," Washington said. "We have an appointment with the chief."

"Right this way, Lieutenant," Sergeant Kenny said, waving them toward one of the steel doors.

"Mr. O'Hara," Washington said. "This is official police business, to which, unfortunately, I cannot make you privy at this time. Perhaps you'd like to stay here and continue your conversation with Mr. Bendick?"

Sergeant Kenny waited until Cohen and Matt had gone through the steel door, then followed them through it.

Special Agent Bendick looked at the closed door, then at Mickey O'Hara, who was again raising his camera, and then, mustering what dignity he could, marched out of the building.

"I have a confession to make," Washington said. "I was not overjoyed when Commissioner Coughlin told me Mickey was coming with us. But now?"

"He was magnificent," Cohen said.

"What did Mickey call him, 'J. Edgar Jr.'?" Matt asked, laughing.

"I don't think we've heard the last of him," Cohen said.

"Fuck him," Washington said, coldly.

Matt was surprised. Washington very rarely used vulgar language.

Washington turned to Sergeant Kenny and offered his hand.

"My name is Washington, Sergeant," he said.

"How are you?" Kenny said. "Payne said you were about as big as me."

"And this is Mr. Cohen, an assistant district attorney." They shook hands.

"Detective Lassiter was supposed to tell you we would be here as soon as we got ourselves settled…"

"She's in with the chief. Come on, I'll take you in."

"Thank you."

"You got any kin down this way, Lieutenant?" Kenny asked.

"Not so far as I know, but a first glance at the genetic evidence does seem to make that a distinct possibility, doesn't it?"

[FIVE] Mr. Walter Davis, a tall, well-built, well-dressed-in a gray pin-striped, three-piece suit-man in his middle forties, who was the special agent in charge (the "SAC") of the Philadelphia office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, sensed his secretary's presence at his office door and raised his eyes to her from the documents on his desk.

"Yes, Helen?" he asked, a slight tone of impatience in his voice. He had asked not to be disturbed if at all possible.

"I know, I know. But it's Burton White, the SAC in Mobile…"

"Put him through. Thank you, Helen."

Walter Davis had known Burton White since they had been at the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, and they had crossed paths often since. They had risen through the ranks together. Not quite as high together, as Philadelphia was a more important post than Mobile.

It is always pleasant, Davis thought, as he waited for the light on his telephone to illuminate, to touch base with a peer who has not risen quite as far as oneself.

The light came on, and Davis grabbed the phone.

"Burton, you old sonofabitch! How are you, buddy? How's things down there in the sunny South?"

"It's raining, and this is the Heart of Dixie, Walt. It says so on our license plates."

"Well, it's good to hear your voice, buddy. What can Philadelphia do for our outpost in the Heart of Dixie?"

"I'm having a little problem with the local cops.Your local cops. I thought you might be able to help me-the Bureau- out on this."

"Do whatever I can, you know that. My local cops? What are they doing way down there?"

"You had a murder up there…"

"We have a lot of murders up here."

"This one was of a young woman raped and murdered in her apartment. It was on the NCIC, looking for a similar modus operandi."

"That one made the front pages. It seems like the cops were actually on the scene, but couldn't take the door because there was no sign of forced entry. They took a beating for a while in the press."

"Well, one of my agents heard about the case, and then there was a similarmodus operandi in a little village across the bay from here, and he went to check it out…"

"And it was the man the locals here are looking for? Good for you, Walt! A little favorable publicity never hurts the Bureau, does it? You're sure you've got the right man?"

"When he got over there, your locals were already there."

"You don't say. That's odd. I had lunch with the Commissioner-Commissioner Ralph J. Mariani-yesterday, and he didn't say anything to me."

The sonofabitch! There's no way Philadelphia cops would go all the way to Alabama without Mariani knowing all about it. And he didn't say a goddamn word!

"There were Philadelphia Homicide cops there, plus an assistant D.A."

"Well, your man took over, didn't he, Burton?"

"He ran into a stone wall, Walt. I was hoping you could speak to somebody up there."

"You didn't get any names, by chance?"

"There was a Lieutenant Washington, a Sergeant Payne, and a female detective-I don't have a name on her-an assistant D.A. named Cohen, and some wiseass of a reporter named O'Hara, who accused my agent of shamelessly trying to steal the arrest. Do you think you could say a word in the appropriate ear up there?"

Of course I could. And then Mariani would shove it down my throat. With great joy.

"No. I don't think I could, Burton."

" 'No'? Just like that? 'No'?"

"Let me tell you about the locals you're dealing with, Burton," Davis said. "Starting with the sergeant. You remember a couple of months ago, when one of my people had to put down a terrorist?"

"The guy with the machine gun? A real O.K. Corral shoot-out? "

"That's the case. Well, he had with him a local cop who, it has been reliably reported to me, said, 'Some of my best friends are FBI agents, but I wouldn't want my sister to marry one.' "