Each of the badges had a narrow, black "mourning band"-sliced from the elastic cloth around the bottom of old uniform caps-across it.

The mayor spotted Deputy Commissioner Coughlin at almost the end of the corridor. Commissioner Mariani had told him that Coughlin knew Mrs. Charlton, and would escort him into the "viewing room" where Charlton's body was laid out, wait until the mayor paid his respects at the casket, then introduce him to Mrs. Charlton, and finally lead him out of the viewing room.

Coughlin was in the center of a group of seven men. Mayor Martin recognized first Mr. Michael J. O'Hara of theBulletin- no camera, and in a suit. What the hell is he doing here? And with these people?-and then Captain Hollaran, Coughlin's executive assistant- or whatever the hell his title is-and Lieutenant Jason Washington. The others he could not remember having met-or, for that matter, even seen- before.

One was in the special uniform of the Highway Patrol, and as Martin drew closer, he saw the insignia of a captain. That made him the Highway Patrol's commanding officer.That little fellow is the head of Highway Patrol? There was another captain, a large man with an imposing, even somewhat frightening, mien- Jesus, I'd hate to get on the wrong side of him!-in a standard police captain's blue tunic and white shirt uniform.

The other two men-young men, one in his twenties, the other maybe ten years older-in Coughlin's group didn't look like policemen. Both were wearing gray, single-button suits very much like the suit the mayor was himself wearing- I'll give three to two that they get their clothes in the same place, and that place is Brooks Brothers. They look like lawyers. I'll give even money that's what they are.

Well, I would have lost that one, he thought, as the older of the lawyers turned toward Commissioner Coughlin- probably to tell him he spotted me-and in doing so, his previously concealed breast pocket came into view. There was a black-banded badge hanging from it.

Martin extended his hand and smiled just a little as he reached Coughlin.

"A sad occasion, Commissioner," he said.

"Indeed it is," Coughlin said. "Mr. Mayor, I don't believe you know any of these officers?"

"Aside from Captain Hollaran and Lieutenant Washington, I'm really sorry to say I don't," Martin said. "Good to see you, Jason, Captain."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Mayor," they said, almost in unison.

"This is Inspector Peter Wohl, of Special Operations," Coughlin said, and the older lawyer put out his hand.

"How do you do, sir?"

"Captain Sabara, his deputy," Coughlin went on, "and Captain Pekach of Highway Patrol."

When the mayor had shaken their hands, Coughlin gestured toward the "other lawyer."

"And this is Detective Payne, Mr. Mayor."

"Is it indeed? Congratulations on the exam, Detective Payne."

"Thank you."

What I'm looking at here is the police establishment. A politically correct police establishment. Coughlin and Hollaran, the Irish cops of fame and legend; God only knows what the rough-looking one is, Eastern European, maybe; Wohl sounds German; Payne looks like a WASP. And Jason Washington representing the Afro-Americans- what did Washington say, "all cops are blue?" All we're missing is a Jew.

As if on cue, a large, stocky, ruddy faced, barrel-chested man with a full head of curly silver hair, a badge with a mourning strip on it hanging from his pocket, walked up to the group. He was Chief Inspector of Detectives M. L. Lowenstein.

"Afternoon," he said.

"Thank you for coming, Chief Lowenstein," the mayor said. "I really wanted you here when I make the announcement. "

Lowenstein nodded at him, then put out his hand to Detective Payne.

"I saw The List, Matt," he said. "Congratulations."

He knows Payne, too? That young man really gets around.

"Thank you."

"Have you seen Denise?" Coughlin asked Lowenstein.

"Sarah and I went to the house Monday evening," Lowenstein said, and looked at Commissioner Mariani. Neither the commissioner nor the mayor had trouble translating the look: I've already expressed my condolences, so there's no reason for me to be here again, except for this political bullshit about a task force.

"Anytime you're ready, Mr. Mayor," Coughlin said. "I'll take you in."

"Right," the mayor said, and nodded, and followed Coughlin into the viewing room.

It was a large room, with an aisle between rows of folding chairs. Up front, the first row of chairs on the right was upholstered. Mayor Martin saw the heads of two children on either side of a gray-haired woman-the widow and their kids-and of several other adults- -family members, probably.

Officer Kenneth J. Charlton was laid out in a gray metal casket in the center of the room. As he walked down the aisle behind Charlton, the mayor could see his face, and then enough of the body to see that Charlton was to be buried in his uniform.

Coughlin stopped in the aisle next to the first row of chairs, and the mayor realized he was expected to approach the casket alone.

There was a prie-dieu in front of the casket, which made the mayor uncomfortable. So far as he was concerned- he had learned this from his father, the Rev. Dr. Claude Charles Martin, now pastor emeritus of the Second African Methodist Episcopal Church-prie-dieux were a Roman Catholic device, or maybe Catholic/Episcopal device, of which he did not approve.

So what the hell do I do now? Ignore it, as Pop would have me do, and stand by the casket looking thoughtfully down at the body? Or use the damn thing, and feel- and perhaps look- hypocritical?

He dropped to his knees onto the padded prie-dieu and bent his head. And looked at the face of Officer Charlton.

You poor bastard. Goddamn the animals that did this to you!

The anger took him by surprise.

Lord, forgive my anger. But what we have here is a good man who put his life on the line to protect other human beings. And lost it.

Lord, take him into Your arms, and give him the peace that passes all understanding.

He's wearing his badge. Will they take it off? Or bury him with it?

Probably take it off.

Give it to his family?

Or is there some sort of memorial with the badges of the other cops who've been killed in the line of duty?

They have their pictures hanging in the lobby of the Roundhouse, but I can't remember if their badges are there, too. 1 Lord, protect this man's wife and children, and give them the strength to get through this ordeal.

Make them wise in Your ways, Dear Lord, and grant them Thy peace.

Give the police the wisdom to find the people who did this to this Thy servant, Lord.

And quickly, before they kill someone else.

Lord Jesus, guide my steps with Thy almighty hand.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

The mayor took one more look at the face of Officer Kenneth J. Charlton, and then got somewhat awkwardly off the prie-dieu.

Then he turned and walked toward the widow and the children.

Mrs. Charlton stood up, then urged the boy and the girl to their feet.

"Mrs. Charlton, I'm Alvin Martin…"

"It was good of you to come, Mayor."

"… and you have my most sincere condolences, and my…"

"This is Kenny Jr., and this is Deborah."

"Kenny, Deborah, your father was a brave man who died a hero. You can be very proud of him."

There was no response.

"If there is ever anything I can do for you, I want you to call me. You understand?"

Kenny Jr. and Deborah nodded their heads but didn't look at him.

The mayor nodded at Mrs. Charlton, then turned and walked to the aisle and then down it.

His press relations officer was waiting for him in the corridor outside the viewing room.

He led the mayor to another viewing room where the press was waiting for him. The press relations officer had arranged Mariani and the other police department brass in a line against the wall, and he handed the mayor two three-by-five cards on which the essence of the announcement had been printed in large letters.