She opened her microphone.

"Six Eleven, northwest corner, 8^th and South, Goldblatt's Furniture, an audible alarm."

RPC 611 was a somewhat battered 1972 Plymouth with more than 100,000 miles on its odometer. When the call came, Officer James J. Molyneux, Badge Number 6771, who had been on the job eighteen years, had just turned left off South Broad Street onto South Street.

He picked up his microphone.

"Six Eleven, okay."

Officer Molyneux turned on his flashing lights, but not the siren, and held his hand down on the horn button to clear the traffic in front of him.

At just about this time, the ringing of the alarm bell had attracted the attention of Police Officer Johnson V. Collins, Badge Number 2662, who was then on foot patrol (Beat Two) on South Street between 10^th and 11^th Streets.

Officer Collins was equipped with a portable radio, and heard Mrs. Grosse's call to RPC 611. He took his radio from its holster and spoke into it.

"Six Beat Two," he said. "That's on me. I've got it."

Mrs. Grosse immediately replied, "Okay, Six Beat Two. Six Eleven, resume patrol."

Officer Molyneux, without responding, turned off his flashing lights, but, having nothing better to do, continued driving down South Street toward Goldblatt amp; Sons Credit Furniture amp; Appliances, Inc.

Officer Collins walked purposefully (but did not run or even trot; audible alarms went off all the time) down South Street to the Goldblatt Building. It was only when he found the doors closed and the Venetian blinds closed that he suspected that anything might be out of the ordinary. Business was slow, but Goldblatt's shouldn't be closed.

He glanced up the street and saw RPC 611 coming in his direction. Now trotting, he went to the corner of South and South Ninth Streets, stepped into the street, and raised his arm to attract the attention of the driver of 611. He recognized Officer Molyneux.

He made a signal for Molyneux to cover the front of the building, and when he was sure that Molyneux understood what was being asked of him, Collins trotted down South Ninth Street to Rodman Street, which was more of an alley than a street, and then to the rear of the Goldblatt Building.

The fire door had an automatic closing device, but it had not completely closed the door. Collins was able to get his fingers behind the inch-wide strip of steel welded to the end of the door to shield the crack between door and jamb and pull the door open.

He took several steps inside the building, and then saw the body lying in the freight elevator and the blood on the elevator's wall.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" he breathed, and reached for his radio.

"Six Beat Two, Six Beat Two, give me some backup here, I think I've got a robbery in progress! Give me a wagon too. I've got a shooting victim!"

Then, suddenly remembering that portable radios often fail to work inside a building, he went back into the alley and repeated his call.

"What's your location, Six Beat Two?" Police Radio replied.

"800 South Street. Goldblatt Furniture."

The first response was from Officer Molyneux.

"Six Eleven, I'm on the scene. In front."

He was drowned out by the Police Radio transmission. First there were three beeps, and then Mrs. Grosse announced, "800 South Street. Assist officer. Holdup in progress. Report of shooting and hospital case."

Then there came a brief pause, and the entire message, including the three beeps, was repeated.

The response was immediate:

"Six A, in." Six A was one of the two 9^th District sergeants on duty. He was responsible for covering the lower end of the district, from Vine Street to South Street. The other sergeant (Six B) covered the upper end of the district from Vine to Poplar Streets.

"Six Oh One, in." Six Oh One was one of the 9^th District's two-man vans.

"Highway Twenty-Two, in on that."

"Six Ten, in," came from another 6^th District RPC.

"Six Command, in," came from the car of the 6^th District lieutenant on duty, who was responsible for covering the entire district.

Officer Collins replace his radio in its holster, drew his service revolver, and, with his mouth dry and his heart beating almost audibly, went, very carefully, back into the building.

Officers Gerald Quinn and Charles McFadden had spent all of the morning hanging around the sixth-floor hallway outside Courtroom 636 in City Hall waiting to be called to testify. The assistant DA sent word, however, that they probably would be, and asked them not to leave the building until he gave them permission or until the court broke for lunch.

That meant that in addition to the lousy coffee served by the concessionaire in the stairwell, they would have to eat lunch in some crowded greasy spoon restaurant nearby.

They went back to Courtroom 636 a few minutes before two. The assistant district attorney told them they would not be needed. By the time they had gone back downstairs and checked out through Court Attendance, it was a few minutes after two.

They went out and found their car. Quinn got behind the wheel and cranked the battered Chevrolet. The radio warmed almost immediately, and came to life:

"BEEP BEEP BEEP. 800 South Street. Assist officer. Holdup in progress. Report of shooting and hospital case.

"BEEP BEEP BEEP. 800 South Street. Assist officer. Holdup in progress. Report of shooting and hospital case.

Quinn had the siren howling and the lights flashing even before McFadden could pick up the microphone.

When he had it in his hand, he said, "Highway Twenty-Two in on that."

Mrs. Janet Grosse's-Police Radio's-second call about the robbery of Goldblatt amp; Sons Credit Furniture amp; Appliances, Inc Beep Beep Beep. 800 South Street. Assist officer. Holdup in progress. Report of shooting and hospital case. was also picked up by one of the several police frequency radios in an antennae festooned Buick, a new one, registered to one Michael J. O'Hara of the 2100 block of South Shields Street in West Philadelphia.

Mr. O'Hara had just a moment before entered the Buick after having taken luncheon (a cheese-steak sandwich, a large side order of french fries, and three bottles of Ortleib's beer) at Beato's on Parrish Street, in the company of Sergeant Max Feldman, of the 9^th District.

When the call came, Mr. O'Hara was filling out a small printed document that he would, on Friday, turn into the administrative office of the PhiladelphiaBulletin, the newspaper by which he was employed. It would state that in the course of business he had entertained Sergeant Feldman at luncheon at a cost of $23.50, plus a $3.75 tip, for a total of $27.25. In due course, a check would be issued to reimburse Mr. O'Hara for this business expense.

Actually, Mr. O'Hara had not paid for the lunch, and indeed had no idea what it had cost. Sergeant Feldman's money was no good at Beato' s, and the management had picked up Mr. O'Hara's tab as a further courtesy to Sergeant Feldman.

But several months before, Casimir J. Bolinski, LLD, had renegotiated Mr. O'Hara's contract for the provision of his professional services to theBulletin. Among other stipulations, the new contract required theBulletin to reimburse Mr. O'Hara for whatever expenses he incurred in carrying out his professional duties, specifically including the entertainment of individuals who, in Mr. O'Hara's sole judgment, might prove useful to him professionally.

Since Casimir had gone to all that trouble for him, it seemed to Mr. O'Hara that it would be ungrateful of him not to turn in luncheon expense vouchers whether or not cash had actually changed hands. Anyway, Mr. O'Hara reasoned, if Beato's hadn't grabbed the tab, hewould have paid it.