“Story like that is going to get out,” Payne said. “It’s too sensational.”

“Agreed,” Byrth said. “And it’s just what we don’t want. It’d be better if the doer thinks she’s still at the bottom of the river.”

“Jason,” Payne then said, “I’ve been giving Jim background on what a typical boring day it’s been around here today-”

Washington grunted.

“-and,” Payne went on, “I’d planned on giving him an overview of what we have in the way of working cases and of assets he might find helpful. I thought that part of that would be showing him the Executive Command Center. Now, with this news, that seems essential. You see any problem with us using the ECC?”

Washington was quiet a moment as he considered that.

Then he picked up the phone and punched a short string of numbers.

“Commissioner Walker? Jason Washington. Sorry to bother you, sir, but I have what I fear may be an unusual request.” He paused to listen. “Yes, sir. I do appreciate that. But I thought it best to ask, if only to give you a heads-up. Commissioner Coughlin has Sergeant Matthew Payne-” He paused again, having apparently been interrupted. Washington’s eyes glanced at Matt as he went on: “Yes, sir, that Payne. As I was saying, the commissioner has Payne working a special project. And Payne has requested access to the ECC.” He paused to listen, then added, “Understood, sir. He would of course relinquish control if it were needed by the police commissioner or others.” He listened, then finished by saying, “I will indeed tell him, sir. Thank you for your time and your help.”

Washington hung up the phone and looked at Payne.

“Okay, Matthew, the ECC’s laid on for you. All you need to do is call up there first to make sure that either Corporal Rapier or his assistant is available to run the machines. And in the event something comes up, you’re to relinquish use to whoever needs access.”

“Got it,” Payne said as he began to stand. “Thank you, Jason.”

“Just stay out of trouble, Matthew.” He looked at Byrth. “You do realize you’re running with dangerous company, Jim?”

Byrth smiled.

“I’ll take my chances,” he said as he stood up. “Thanks again for your hospitality, Jason.”

Washington leaned back in his chair as he watched Payne lead the Texas Ranger across Homicide. Payne stopped at an unoccupied desk and used the phone to call Corporal Rapier.

That Byrth is an interesting man, Washington thought.

But there was something in his eyes when he said, “I want this guy bad.”

What could that be about?

Or am I projecting something on him that’s not really there?

Because I also really want this doer bad.

Corporal Kerry Rapier was at his electronic control console when Sergeant Payne and Sergeant Byrth entered the Executive Command Center on the third floor.

“Hey, Matt!” Rapier said. “So you’re coming to play with my toys?”

“I’ll let you play with them, Kerry. We’ll just watch.” He looked to Byrth. “Sergeant Jim Byrth, this is Corporal Kerry Rapier.”

The big Texan held The Hat in the crook of his left arm as he nearly crushed the right paw of the tiny blue shirt.

“Pleasure,” Byrth said with a nod.

When they had finished, and Rapier was flexing his hand to get the blood flowing again, Rapier said, “You’re not from around here, are you, Sergeant?”

Payne said, “Jim’s a sergeant with the Texas Rangers.”

Byrth shifted The Hat under his arm and looked around the room. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Corporal?”

Rapier grinned.

“Glad you noticed,” he said. Then, with a tone that showed professional pride, he began: “We have one of the finest command centers in the country-”

“For which we have you in part to thank, Jim,” Payne interrupted.

“How so?”

“Your tax dollars. The fine folks in Washington sent us all kinds of federal funds to ramp up for the protection of the Democrats’ national convention here.”

“How damned kind of them,” Byrth said dryly.

Rapier went on officiously: “We have approximately four million dollars invested in all of the electronics. That is just in this room and what’s on the roof. There’s another couple million worth of commo equipment-cameras to radios-in the field. We can accommodate fifty-two officers at these conference tables, and another forty in the seating along the walls.”

“That’s one helluva crowd,” Byrth said.

Rapier nodded. “That’s capacity, from Philly cops to the feds. We generally run with maybe half that many people, all Philly cops. The Secret Service, FBI, and DHS have their own war rooms in Philly, of course.”

“Of course,” Byrth said, shaking his head.

Rapier waved at the banks of frameless flat-screen TVs. They were dark.

“Sixty-inch high-definition LCDs, nine to a bank, with the capability of up to twenty-seven unique video feeds. We can have live feeds from all sorts of unclassified and classified sources, everything from our helos in the sky down to the bomb squad robots. All absolutely secure.”

He moved his hands over the control console.

“Let me show you the various live video feeds,” he said.

He threw a bank of switches. The darkened flat-screen TVs all blinked to life.

When the main screen of nine flat panels lit up with a single huge image, Payne could not help but let out a laugh. He thought he was going to wet his pants.

Rapier looked up from the console-and his face lost all color.

“Dammit!” Corporal Kerry Rapier said. “I’m, uh, I’m really sorry about that, Sergeant Payne. Particularly it happening in front of a Texas Ranger.”

“What is that?” Byrth said.

Rapier looked somewhat nervously at Payne.

Payne grinned. He turned to Byrth and said, “Looks to me like an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Right, Kerry?”

“Yeah,” Rapier said, clearly embarrassed. He gestured to a notebook computer on the console. “I’ve got the series saved on my personal laptop’s hard drive. It’s wired to the console here. When you called just now, I was on my afternoon break and watching…”

“No harm done, Kerry,” Payne said, still grinning. “I’m actually a fan, too. Especially of Sweet Dee.”

The sitcom revolved around a boneheaded crew of schemers trying to run an Irish bar called Paddy’s Pub-the worst bar in South Philly, if not all of Philly. Corporal Kerry Rapier glowed at Payne’s mention of the name of the white-hot but dim-witted blond main character.

Payne described her to Byrth.

“Ah,” Byrth said. “She’d be what a buddy of mine would call ‘a radio station.’”

“A what?”

“One anyone can pick up, especially at night,” Byrth said with a grin. “You know, naturally horizontal.”

Payne and Rapier chuckled.

Rapier punched a button on the console and the main bank of TVs with the show on it went dark.

Payne then said: “How about punching up whatever you have on the girl they pulled out of the Schuylkill.”

“So, you heard about that?” Rapier said. “They’ve put that case on a need-to-know basis.”

“I know,” Payne said. “And we’re on that need-to-know list.”

Rapier considered that a moment, then nodded. There was no need to call and have it confirmed. Everyone knew Sergeant Payne was Homicide-and with friends in high places. Even if he wasn’t on the list, Rapier figured he’d probably have quietly honored Payne’s request anyway.

Rapier then manipulated switches on the console, and the aerial image of the river with the Marine Unit’s Boston Whaler came up. The shot was frozen.

In the lower right-hand corner of the screen, a block of text popped up:

Schuylkill River at Grays Ferry Avenue Bridge 1158 hours, 24 Sept “As you can see by the time stamp,” Rapier said, “this is from earlier, during the recovery of the body.”

He threw another switch, and the image went into motion. The silver twenty-four-foot-long Boston Whaler, its light bar flashing red and blue, slowly moved backward. A shoal in the river became visible. The vessel then turned. The camera captured images of the officers onboard the boat pulling in a very full and very large black trash bag.