Bari went on hesitantly: “I’d have to get it cleared first. And the Black Buddha won’t be here for another hour. Or more.”

Lieutenant Jason Washington-the highly respected, articulate, superbly tailored, and very black detective who stood six-foot-three and 225 pounds-was known in Homicide, usually behind his back, as the Black Buddha.

Harris shook his head, more in disappointment than disgust. The clock already was ticking on the first forty-eight hours; outside that window, homicides got harder and harder to solve.

“I understand, Al. Look, the call itself probably won’t come in for at least another hour, anyway. I just need someone to wind up the machine-get the paperwork started for a search warrant, run the pair who’re in Temple Hospital for priors, get their backgrounds. You know, the usual. I just want to get moving on this while it’s fresh.”

Aldo Bari now did indeed check his watch. And he thought: With any luck, that call won’t come till after eight, and then it won’t be my problem.

It’ll belong to the next guy up on the Wheel.

Bari cleared his throat and said, “Yeah, sure. Let me get back to you when either the Black Buddha gets here or the call comes in on the job. We’re talking only an hour, right?”

Tony Harris shook his head again.

Jesus! He’s stalling, which means he’s playing by the rules and avoiding the job.

What a chickenshit.

After a moment, he said, “Okay, Al. Just let me know either way, right away, okay?”

“Absolutely,” Bari said a little too eagerly.

Tony Harris shook his head a final time as he looked at the phone and angrily broke off the call with a stab of his thumb.

I won’t hear from him again for a month of Sundays…

To hell with it. And him.

Tony Harris decided to proceed as if he had the job, if only by starting with making notes on the small spiral-top pad he kept in his blazer’s inside pocket.

He put his phone back in its belt clip, then pulled out the pad.

As he looked up and glanced across the parking lot, he saw a familiar face approaching the POLICE LINE yellow tape from the direction of the diner.

“And so the mystery thickens…”

[TWO] The Philly Inn Wednesday, September 9, 6:15 A.M.

Matthew Payne was carrying two foam cups of black coffee and sipping from one’s top. When the uniform from the Fifteenth Police District standing behind the tape saw him coming toward the motel, the uniform started to hold up his hand to stop him. But then Payne pulled back his shirt to flash his badge on his belt. He pointed toward Tony Harris at the back corner of the motel, indicating that that was where he was headed. The blue shirt nodded his understanding. Then, no doubt remembering that Harris had told him to pass Payne, he went so far as to hold up the tape for him to duck under it.

“Hey, Tony,” Payne said as he walked up to Harris.

Harris stood on the sidewalk in front of Room 44, scribbling furiously on his spiral-top pad.

Having written his share of them, Payne recognized what Harris was doing-making notes for a “White Paper.” It was an unofficial memorandum for internal use in Homicide, and since it was unofficial, it would not be available to defense counsel as a “discoverable document.” The White Paper was a report that was less formal and less precise than the “Activities Sheet.” This latter document listed every move that the Homicide detectives made in the case; it was discoverable, which meant it would be made available to the defense counsel of anyone brought to trial in the case. The two documents together would present the details of the case as it developed.

Harris did not respond for a moment as he finished what he was writing.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t want to lose my train of thought.” Then he looked at Matt and smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you, Matt.”

“Thanks, Tony. You, too.” Payne held out the cup with the lid. “Don’t say I never gave you anything. Coffee, black.”

Harris tucked the pad under his right armpit, took the coffee, and sipped from its plastic lid.

“I knew there was a reason why I missed having you around the office,” he said with a smile. Then he squeezed Matt’s shoulder. “It really is good to see you, and not just for the coffee. You look good. Relaxed. That time off has been good for you.”

Payne shrugged, and forced a smile. “I guess.”

“So, not that I’m not glad to see you, but what the hell are you doing here? And you said you had some information on this?”

As Harris sipped his coffee, he saw Matt’s eyes were pained.

“Kind of a long story, Tony. A lot of it I don’t know, and what I do know I don’t fully understand.”

Harris nodded appreciatively. “I probably could say the same about this job.” He looked at Payne and thought he detected some interest. “You want to see it?”

Payne immediately nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do, Tony.”

Harris thought, That’s not just morbid interest on his part.

It’s professional.

And maybe something more…

“The guys from the Medical Examiner’s Office are working the scene. It’ll be called in to Homicide anytime now.”

“It’s not your job?”

“No. At least not yet.”

Payne considered that, then asked: “How’d you wind up here?”

“I live over off Ryan. Across from the middle school?”

Payne nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

“When the room went boom, it about blew me out of bed.”

“No shit,” Payne said, then after a long moment: “So, who’s on the Wheel?”

“Bari.”

Payne frowned and shook his head.

Harris thought, And that damn sure was a professional assessment.

Great minds think alike, which explains why I’ve always liked Payne.

“I hear you, Matt.”

Harris motioned for Payne to follow him.

“C’mon. Let’s go have a look. Maybe you’ll see something I didn’t.”

When Payne had approached Harris standing in front of Room 44, he’d noticed that all the rooms from there to the front of the motel had appeared more or less normal. But now, as they walked down the sidewalk and turned the corner, he had a clear view of the back side of the motel.

It looks like a war zone.

Debris was strewn-blown out from the building in an irregular semicircular pattern-all through the parking lot. Everything was coated either in water or what remained of the foam that the firefighters had sprayed to suffocate the flames. One room eight doors down from the corner looked to have taken the brunt of the damage-its broken and burned door hung outward at a great angle, only the bottom hinge holding it to the door frame. And both the plate-glass window and its frame were missing from their place in the masonry wall.

They followed the sidewalk that ran the length of the back side of the motel. The doors to all of the rooms they passed were wide open, and Matt knew that the rooms had been cleared by the first responders. By the look of the interior of the rooms, though, no one had occupied them recently, and certainly not in the last night.

The acrid odor of burned plastic, fabric, wood, and more hung heavily in the air. And it got heavier as they moved toward the middle of the building.

There were two cars and three pickup trucks, all showing various amounts of body damage, all with their windshields either shattered or completely blown inward.

Almost exactly in the middle of the vehicles, where clearly another vehicle had been parked before forcibly being removed-Becca’s Mercedes, Matt thought-there was a white Ford panel van backed up to the scene, doors open. A blue and gold stripe ran the length of the vehicle, with a representation of a police department shield on the door and, to the right of the driver’s window, MEDICAL EXAMINER in blue block lettering.

Harris saw Payne looking at that and gave him an overview of what he’d seen that morning, including the rescuers pulling the girl from the Mercedes and the white male who had run out from the burning room.