There were two or three of them he thought he would like to get to know, in the biblical sense, but he had painful proof when he was at the University of Pennsylvania that"hell hath no fury like a woman scorned" was more than a cleverly turned phrase. A woman scorned who worked where he lived, he had concluded, was too much of a risk to take.

Matt Payne drove to Peter Wohl's apartment via the Schuylkill Expressway, not recklessly, but well over the speed limit. He was aware that he was in little danger of being stopped (much less cited) for speeding. The Schuylkill Expressway was patrolled by officers of the Highway Patrol, all of whom were aware that Inspector Wohl's administrative assistant drove a silver Porsche 911.

Wohl was waiting for him when Payne arrived, leaning against one of the garage doors.

"Funny, you don't look celibate," Wohl said as he got in the car.

"Good morning, sir."

"Let's go somewhere nice, Matt. I know I'm buying, but the condemned man is entitled to a hearty meal."

"I don't think I like the sound of that," Matt replied.

"Not you, me. Condemned, I mean. They want me in the commissioner's office at ten. I'm sure what he wants to know is how the Magnella job is going."

Officer Joseph Magnella, twenty-four, had been found lying in the gutter beside his 22^nd District RPC (radio patrol car) with seven.22 bullets in his body. Mayor Carlucci had given the job to Special Operations. A massive effort, led by two of the best detectives in the department, to find the doers had so far come up with nothing.

"Nothing came up overnight?" Matt asked softly.

"Not a goddamned clue, to coin a phrase," Wohl said bitterly. "I told them to call me if anything at all came up. Nobody called."

Payne braked before turning onto Norwood Street.

"How about The Country Club?" he asked.

The Country Club was a diner with a reputation for good food on Cottman Avenue in the Northeast, along their route to Bustleton and Bowler.

"Fine," Wohl said.

Wohl bought a copy of theLedger from a vending machine as they walked into the restaurant, glanced at the headlines, and then flipped through it until he found what he was looking for.

"Somewhat self-righteously," he said, handing the paper to Matt, " theLedger comments editorially on the incompetence of the Police Department, vis-a-vis the murder of Officer Magnella."

The waitress appeared and handed them menus.

"Breakfast steak, pink in the middle, two fried eggs, sunny side up, home fries, an English muffin, orange juice, milk, and coffee," Payne ordered without looking at the menu.

"If you're what you say you are, where do you get the appetite?" Wohl said, and added, "Toast and coffee, please."

"I have high hopes," Payne replied. "You have to eat, Inspector."

"Who do you think you are, my mother?"

"Think of the starving children in India," Payne said. "Howthey would love a breakfast steak."

"Oh, Jesus," Wohl groaned, but after a moment added, "Okay. Do that twice, please, miss."

Payne read the editorial and handed the newspaper back.

"You didn't expect anything else, did you?" Payne asked.

"I can ignore those bastards when they're wrong. But it smarts when they're right."

"Harris and Washington will come up with something."

"He said, not really believing it."

"I believe it."

"As a matter of fact, the longer they don't come up with something, the greater the odds are that they won't," Wohl said.

The waitress delivered the coffee, milk, and orange juice, sparing Payne having to respond. He was grateful; he hated to sound like a cheerleader.

Wohl ate everything put before him, but absently. He volunteered no further conversation, and Payne decided he should keep his mouth shut.

They were halfway between The Country Club and Special Operations headquarters when Wohl decided to tell Payne about Lieutenant Jack Malone.

"We're getting a new lieutenant this morning," he said. "And Lucci's being transferred out."

"That sounds like bad news-good news."

"Lieutenant Malone used to be Commissioner Cohan's driver. Cohan is behind the transfer."

"Then it's good news-good news?'

"Not necessarily," Wohl said. "Cohan sprung this on me at Commissioner Czernick's reception. Malone's had some personal problems, and in a manner of speaking has been working too hard. Cohan wants to take some of the pressure off him. He's had the Auto Squad in Major Crimes; that's where Lucci's going. It's a good job. Cohan's afraid that Malone will think he's been shanghaied to us. Which means that I have-"

"Has he?" Payne interrupted. "Been shanghaied to us?"

"I used the wrong word.Punished would be better. He's been shanghaied in the sense that he didn't ask for the transfer, and probably doesn't like the idea, but I'm not really sure if he just needs some of the pressure taken off, or whether Cohan is sending him a message. Cohan made it plain that he expects me to put him to work doing something worthy of his talent."

"What did he do?" Payne asked.

Why the hell did I tell him any of this in the first place?

"He caught his wife in bed with a lawyer and beat them up."

"Both of them?"

"Yeah, both of them. But that's not why he's being sent to us, I don' t think. The pressure began to affect his work."

"I don't think I understand."

And aside from that, the problems, personal or professional, of a lieutenant are really none of the business of a police officer. But I started this, didn't I? And Payne is really more than a run-of-themill young cop, isn't he?

"He's got a wild idea that Bob Holland is involved in auto theft," Wohl said.

"Holland Cadillac?" Matt asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"Yeah."

"Is he?"

"I don't know. It strikes me as damned unlikely. If I had to bet, I'd say no. Why should he be? He's got a dealership on every other corner in Philadelphia. Presumably, they're making money. He sold the city the mayor's limousine. Hell, my father bought his Buick from him; he gives a police discount, whatever the hell that is. And Commissioner Cohan obviously doesn't think so; he thinks that the pressure got to Malone and his imagination ran away with him."

"He was at the club yesterday. I saw him in the bar with that congressman I think is light on his feet."

"Holland?" Wohl asked, and when Payne nodded, he went on, "Which club was that?"

"We played at Whitemarsh Valley."

"So Holland has friends in high places, right? Is that what you're driving at?"

"It would explain why the commissioner wants him out of the Auto Squad."

"Yeah," Wohl agreed a moment later. "Well, if Holland is doing hot cars, that's now Lucci's concern, not Malone's."

And I will make sure that Lieutenant Jack Malone clearly understands that.

"What are you going to do with him?" Payne asked.

"We now have a plans and training officer," Wohl said. "His name is Lieutenant John J. Malone."

"What's he going to do?"

"I haven't figured that out yet," Wohl said.

When Payne pulled into the parking lot, it was half past seven. The cars of Captain Mike Sabara, Wohl's deputy, and Captain Dave Pekach, the commanding officer of Highway Patrol, were already there. Payne wondered if Wohl had sent for them-the normal duty day began at eightor whether they had come in early on their own.

Once inside the building, Wohl, Sabara, and Pekach went into Wohl's office and closed the door. Payne understood that his presence was not desired.

He told the sergeant on the desk that if the inspector was looking for him, he had gone to park his car and to get the inspector's car.

When he came back and sat down at his desk, Wohl's phone began to ring.

"Inspector Wohl's office, Officer Payne."

"My name is Special Agent Davis of the FBI," the caller said. " Inspector Wohl, please."