Then, after shaking hands a final time, Mr. Colt, again preceded by the fat photographer moving backward and frantically snapping pictures, left the cardinal's office.

Mr. Colt stopped when he saw Terry Davis.

"Where's the homicide detective?" he demanded.

Terry pointed at Matt.

Mr. Colt's eyebrows rose in surprise, or disbelief, and then he moved on.

As the procession went back through the lobby, Matt heard the engines of the Highway bikes roar to life.

The mayor of Philadelphia shook Mr. Colt's hand a final time, said he looked forward to seeing him a little later, and then walked back to the mayoral limousine.

Mr. Colt paused as he was about to enter the limousine, spotted Terry Davis, and called: "He's going to be at the hotel, right?"

"Right, Stan," Terry called back.

Mr. Colt nodded, then got in the white limousine.

The fans who had somehow learned that Mr. Colt would be staying at the Ritz-Carlton and had waited there in hopes of seeing him, and perhaps even getting his autograph, touching him, or perhaps coming away with a piece of his clothing, were disappointed.

All they got was a smile and a wave, as-preceded yet again by the fat photographer running backward-Colt went quickly into the hotel and through the lobby to a waiting elevator.

Stan Colt was sprawled on a couch in the sitting room of his suite, taking a pull from a bottle of beer from the Dock Street Brewery, when Lieutenant McGuire, Sergeant Payne, and Miss Terry Davis were ushered into his presence by the gray-haired, stylishly dressed woman Matt had seen carrying luggage from the Citation.

The stylishly dressed young man from the airport was talking on a telephone on a sideboard.

"With that out of the way, Terry, what's next?" Stan Colt greeted them.

"There's a cocktail party at the Bellvue-Stratford-it's right around the corner…"

"I know where it is, sweetheart. I'm from here."

"… at six-thirty. Black tie. The limo will be here at six-fifteen. "

"Where the hell did that virginal white one come from?"

"You want another color?" Terry asked.

Colt pointed to the young man on the telephone.

"That's what Lex is doing," he said. "Getting a black one."

"The cocktail party will be over at seven-thirty, which leaves the question of dinner open. I think you can count on at least one invitation."

"Let me think about that," he said.

He recognized Lieutenant McGuire for the first time.

"You're the security guy, right?"

"I'm Lieutenant McGuire of Dignitary Protection, Mr. Colt."

Mr. Colt's somewhat contemptuous shrug indicated he considered that a distinction without a difference.

"And you're the Homicide detective, right?"

"I'm Sergeant Payne."

"But Homicide, right? You're the guy that was in the gun battle in Doylestown Monsignor Schneider told me about?"

Matt nodded.

"No offense, but you don't look the part."

"Perhaps that's because I'm not an actor," Matt said.

"You look-and for that matter sound like-you're a WASP from the Main Line."

"Do I really? Maybe that's because I am indeed a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant who was raised in Wallingford; that's not the Main Line, but I take your point."

Matt saw that Lieutenant McGuire was being made very uncomfortable by the exchange.

"Why am I getting the feeling, Sergeant," Colt asked, "that you would rather be somewhere else?"

"You're perceptive?"

Colt chuckled.

"You want to tell me what you'd rather be doing?"

"I was working a Homicide before the commissioner assigned me to sit on you."

" 'Sit on' me? That sounds a little erotic. Kinky. You know?"

"It means that my orders are to see that you don't do anything while you're here that will embarrass in any way anybody connected with this charitable gesture of yours."

"For example?"

"Payne!" Lieutenant McGuire said, warningly.

"Let me put it this way, Mr. Colt," Matt said. "As long as you're in Philadelphia, the virtue of chastity will have to be its own reward for you."

Terry Davis giggled.

"You telling me, I think, that I don't get to fool around?" Colt asked.

"That's right."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little."

"You understand who I am?"

"That's why you don't get to fool around, even a little."

Colt turned to Terry Davis.

"You think this is funny, don't you?"

"You're the one who said you wanted to hang out with a real, live Homicide cop."

"And I do. I do. And I really like this guy! This is better than I hoped for." He turned to Matt. "I am going to get to watch you work, right?"

"The commissioner said I was to show you as much about how Homicide works as I think I can."

"Which means what?"

"I will show you everything I can, so long as doing so doesn't interfere with an investigation."

"And you make that call?"

"Right."

"And what if I complain to him?" Colt asked, pointing to McGuire. "He's a lieutenant, right? And you're a sergeant?"

"The lieutenant's job is to protect you," Matt said. "Mine is to ensure your chastity."

Colt was now smiling.

"That may be harder than you think," he said. "You think you can stay awake twenty-four hours a day?"

"No. But there's two detectives in the corridor who've also been assigned to the Chastity Detail."

Colt glanced at the stylishly dressed young man who had just hung up the telephone.

"Well?" he asked, curtly.

"You'll have a black limo in the morning, Stan, but not tonight. It's the best I could do."

"Not good enough, Alex," Colt snapped. "Call somebody else, for Christ's sake. I don't want to arrive at this place looking like Tinkerbell." Then he had another thought. "You going to the cocktail party, Sergeant Payne?"

Matt looked at McGuire, who nodded, and then nodded himself.

"You must have a police car. Any reason I can't ride with you?"

"No."

"Will there be room for everybody?" Alex asked.

"Who's everybody?" Matt asked.

"Me, Jeanette, Terry, and Eddie."

Jeanette, Matt decided, must be the gray-haired woman.

"Eddie's the character with the pageboy?" he asked.

"My personal photographer," Colt furnished.

"No," Matt said.

"Eddie goes everywhere with me," Colt said. "They all do."

"They don't go everywhere with you when you're with me," Matt said. "Your call, Mr. Colt."

"You're a real hardass, Payne," Colt said, admiringly. "I'm going with Payne. The rest of you can go in the wedding limo." He turned to Matt. "And after this party thing, you'll show me stuff, right?"

"If you like," Matt said.

[SEVEN] "We're here," Sergeant Payne said to Mr. Colt after they had rolled up to the Broad Street entrance of the Bellvue-Stratford Hotel, third in line behind Lieutenant McGuire's unmarked and the white Lincoln limo. Behind them were three unmarked cars, one belonging to Dignitary Protection and the other two to Detectives Martinez and McFadden.

Matt had taken a leaf from the uniforms who had kept Colt's fans from leaving the North Philadelphia Airport and had ordered McFadden and Martinez to keep Eddie the photographer, and anybody else, from following Matt's car when it left the hotel.

"Don't get your balls in an uproar. I'm waiting for Eddie to get out of the limo."

Eddie the photographer got quickly out of the limo, sort of knelt, and prepared to photograph Mr. Colt's arrival at the Bellvue-Stratford.

"Come on, Payne," Colt said.

"I'll catch up with you inside," Matt said. "I've got to park the car."

"No, first you let Eddie take our picture, and then you park the car."

"I don't think so," Matt said.

"If you don't let him take our picture now, I'll tell him I changed my mind, and he gets to go with us when we leave here."