"Your loyalty is commendable…"

"Is that what it is, 'loyalty'?" Mickey said.

"Mickey," Washington said, coldly angry, "sometimes, as now, you don't know when to stop." He turned to Matt. "As for her staying in Homicide, that, I'm afraid, is self-evidently out of the question. And you should know it is."

Matt couldn't think of a reply.

"And I just thought of something else," Washington said. "When I spoke with Commissioner Coughlin, he suggested that your father might like you to call. And I had the feeling that the commissioner would not consider a call from you to be an unwelcome intrusion on his time."

"Well, I guess I'd better do that right now," Matt said. "Before I become incoherent."

He got up from the table and went through a plate-glass door to an area between the hotel building and the bay. They could see him taking out his cellular.

"I think what we have here is raging testosterone," Cohen said. "And I'm not making fun of him."

"For that reason, I was deaf to his insolence," Washington said. He looked between Chief Yancey and Sergeant Kenny.

"I think a word of explanation is in order. Sergeant Payne is carrying his father's badge. Shortly before Matt was born, his father was killed on duty, answering a silent alarm. Deputy Commissioner Coughlin was his father's best friend. He is Matt's godfather."

"Being a cop's in his blood, huh?" Sergeant Kenny said.

"Prefacing this by saying I am-perhaps too obviously- fond of our young sergeant, I sometimes wonder if he's not flying a little too high for his experience."

"He did a good job with Daniels, Jason," Steve Cohen said. "Absolutely professional."

"And now he knows it. That's my point, Steve. Our Matty is not burdened with over-modesty."

"And he's going to be money in the bank on the stand," Cohen pursued. "If we're taking a poll, I'd say Matt is a hell of a good cop."

"I associate myself with the shyster," O'Hara said. "Now, can we get something to drink, for Christ's sake?"

[FOUR] "The Nesbitt residence," the Nesbitt butler answered the call.

"Brewster Payne, Porter. Is Mr. Nesbitt available?"

"I'm sure he will be at home for you, Mr. Payne. One moment, please."

Several moments later, Chadwick Thomas Nesbitt III, Chairman of the Executive Committee of Nesfoods International, Inc., who had been practicing with a new putter on the practice green behind the left wing of his home, came on the line.

"If you weren't my lawyer, I'd be happy to hear from you. What's the bad news you really hate to have to tell me this time? IRS, or something else?"

"Actually, Tom, this does have a certain IRS connection."

"Oh, God, now what?"

"Your assets have been seized and you may have to go to prison."

"I don't think that's funny."

"I had drinks with Denny Coughlin at the Rittenhouse just before I started home."

"Jesus, I didn't even say the appropriate things about Matty, did I? It was all over the TV. You must be proud as hell of him. Hell, we all are."

"I am. I just spoke to him. He confirmed what Denny Coughlin told me. There's no doubt this is the fellow who killed the Williamson girl."

"And now what happens to him? He pleads he had an unhappy childhood, and they award him damages?"

"I don't think that's going to happen. As a matter of fact, the only thing Denny seemed worried about is how to get him back to Philadelphia."

"He's going to fight extradition? Do we have diplomatic relations with Alabama?"

"The problem is one of transportation, Tom. Bringing him back on the airlines poses a number of problems, as you can well imagine. The press, for one. The restrictions on even policemen carrying firearms on airplanes, for another."

"Cut to the chase, Brewster. Your pal Denny Coughlin would like to use Nesfoods's Citation to bring this character back here, right? And suggested you call me?"

"No, he did not. I really don't think using your airplane has ever entered his mind."

"This is your idea?"

"Which I had moments ago, just before I called."

"After drink number what?"

"Four, possibly five."

"You're my legal counsel- counsel me. Why should I?"

"Well, for one thing, all expenses would be fully deductible."

"As you have so often pointed out to me, you have to spend money before you can claim it was spent for business purposes and is thus deductible from income. You know how much it costs to operate that airplane."

"It would have undeniable good public relations aspects, Tom."

"And your pal Denny had nothing to do with this idea of yours, right?"

"I told you he didn't, Tom," Payne said. There was a chill in his tone.

"So you did. And I'm still listening."

"My thought is that there would be benefits to both parties if you were to telephone Alvin Martin and say it has come to your attention-you may use my name, if you like-that the police are having a problem transporting this fellow back here, and that Nesfoods International, as concerned, good, corporate citizens of our fair community…"

"And you just happen to have the mayor's unlisted number, right?"

"No, but I have one he gave me in case I ever wanted to get in touch with him, day or night."

"Let's have it."

[FIVE] Homer C. Daniels looked up as the door to his cell slid open. A moment later, the enormous black sergeant and the nearly-as -big white cop who followed him around appeared at the entrance, carrying the prisoner restraint system.

"You want to stand up, please?" Kenny ordered.

"Is all of this necessary?" Daniels asked. "I'm cooperating. I'm not going to try to get away."

"It's procedure," Sergeant Kenny said, gesturing with his finger for him to turn around.

If I had my way, you white trash pervert, you'd spend the rest of your life in this thing.

"If you have to go to the john, do it now," Kenny ordered. "You won't have another chance for a while."

"Where am I going?"

"You agreed to waive extradition to Philadelphia, right?"

Daniels nodded.

"That's where you're going."

Daniels relieved his bladder.

Sergeant Kenny and Officer Andrew Terry put the belts on Daniels. Then each put a hand on his arms and led him, shuffling, out of the detention area, down a corridor, and through another door.

They were now outside.

There was a line of police patrol cars, two with Daphne police department insignia on their doors, two with STATE TROOPER lettered largely on their trunks, and two black sedans-a Ford and a Mercury-with several antennae on their trunks and roofs but without police insignia. There were also, incongruously, both a red Ford Mustang convertible and a Lincoln Town Car in the line of cars.

A flash went off and Daniels saw that a redheaded man in a loud sports coat had taken his picture with a digital camera.

The rear door of the Daphne police department car nearest to the door was open, and Sergeant Kenny led him to it, taking care that he didn't bump his head, and then got in beside him, pulled the seat belt over Daniels's lap and then closed the door. The big white cop got behind the wheel.

When he looked out the window, Daniels saw the young homicide sergeant from Philadelphia, the homicide detective who'd shown up a couple of days before, the assistant district attorney, and four other men in civilian clothing who could have been detectives or lawyers.

As he watched, they distributed themselves among the other cars.

There was another flash, and Daniels saw that the redheaded man had taken his picture again.

Sergeant Kenny spoke to the microphone pinned to his shirt.

"We're ready here."

"Where are we going?" Daniels asked.

"You have to sign the waiver before a judge," Kenny said.

The line of cars began to move, in a sweeping circle, through the parking lot. Daniels saw that the lights on the roof of the state trooper car leading the procession were flashing red and blue, but only on that car.