"Which any public defender six months out of law school will contend was obtained by mental duress…" Eileen said.

"Jesus," Lowenstein said.

"… or worse. And I don't think we can count on these two being defended by an incompetent from the Public Defender's Office. This is Murder Two, and they will assign the best man they've got. Or, worse than that, some really competent defense lawyer will take itpro bono because this trial's going to be all over the papers and TV."

"You've got their sheets?" Mariani asked.

Lowenstein shoved a folder across the conference table to him.

"There's not much," he said. "A couple of shoplifting charges, car burglaries, that sort of thing."

Mariani read the records of previous encounters with the law of the two suspects, shrugged, and then looked at Eileen Solomon.

"Okay, Eileen. What do you think we should do?"

"I don't think we should rush to arrest these two until we have a better case."

"Matt told me he was concerned that these two, having gotten away so far with the Roy Rogers job, and knowing you can only be executed once, might do the same sort of thing again, just as soon as they spend what they took from the Roy Rogers," Mariani said, but it was a question.

"That's a valid concern, and I share it," Eileen said.

"So you're suggesting we just sit on these two until we can make a really tight case?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Now that we know who they are, maybe we can get something from snitches," Lowenstein said. "For example, whether or not they still have the.38."

Mariani nodded.

"And we could run their mug shots before some of the witnesses and see if it jogs their memory," Coughlin said.

"Taking great care with that, so the defense can't claim we suggested whom the witnesses should pick out," Eileen said.

"How soon could you start surveillance of these two?" Mariani asked.

"I can have detectives from Southwest outside their door in however long it takes them to get there. I'd rather use undercover cars, which means I would have to have your permission to take a couple-five or six would be better-undercover cars away from the Impact Unit or Internal Affairs. With a little luck, I could have them in place in probably under an hour," Lowenstein said.

"You've got my permission, of course," Mariani said, then had a second thought. "No, you don't. Because you don't need it. Peter Wohl's already got the authority. The mayor ordered the formation of a Special Operations task force for this job, remember?"

"I remember," Lowenstein said.

"That's right," Coughlin said.

"He's already got authority to request support from everybody, right?" Mariani asked.

Coughlin and Lowenstein nodded.

"The mayor gave Wohl the job," Mariani said. "Let him do it. You better put the arm out for him."

"He's downstairs in Homicide with Quaire and Washington, " Lowenstein said.

"You already called him?" Mariani asked.

"I didn't have to. We were all having dinner at Augie Wohl's house when Quaire called me," Coughlin said.

"Okay, then, Denny," Mariani said, and then his voice changed as he added, formally, "Under your supervision, Commissioner Coughlin, the Special Operations task force, paying cognizance to the suggestions of the district attorney, will proceed with the investigation. So inform Inspector Wohl."

"Yes, sir," Coughlin said.

"Then that's it," Mariani said. "Eileen, we all appreciate your support."

"Let's do this right," Eileen said. "We need to get those two off the street permanently."

[THREE] When the district attorney of Philadelphia started to get off the Roundhouse elevator at the first floor, where the Homicide Division had its headquarters, she saw the surprise on the faces of Deputy Commissioner Coughlin and Chief Inspector Lowenstein.

"Why not?" she asked. "I'm here. And the last I heard, I was welcome in Homicide."

"The last I heard, there was no place in the department where you are not more than welcome at any time," Coughlin said, and waved her off the elevator. "But I thought I detected a tone of annoyance in Ben's voice."

"We have a deal," she said. "I keep my mouth shut when the hospital calls Ben, and he keeps his shut when I have to work." She chuckled.

"What?" Lowenstein asked.

"One time when the hospital called, I said, 'Oh, hell, Ben, not now,' and he replied, 'You knew what you were getting into when you married a doctor.' "

Coughlin looked confused.

"Isn't that what you cops tell your wives when they complain about the odd hours you have to keep?" the D.A. asked.

Lowenstein chuckled.

"I don't have a wife. I wouldn't know," Coughlin said.

They got off the elevator and walked down the corridor to Homicide.

Coughlin was not surprised that a lot of people would be in Homicide, but he was surprised at how many were actually there. The suite of offices was crowded with a number of non-Homicide white shirts, detectives, and uniforms.

In, or standing around the doorway of, Captain Quaire's office were Quaire, Inspector Peter Wohl; Lieutenant Jason Washington; Detective Tony Harris; Captains Frank Hollaran and Mike Sabara-Wohl's deputy-both in plainclothes; Captain Stuart Jenkins, the commanding officer of the Twelfth District, which covered the Paschall Homes Housing Project, where, according to the addresses on their last arrest sheets, both Lawrence John Porter and Ralph David Williams lived; and Captain Dave Pekach, the Highway Patrol commander. Jenkins and Pekach were in uniform.

In, or standing around the doorway of, the lieutenant's office-the three Homicide lieutenants, who were rarely on duty at the same time, shared an office-were Lieutenant Robert Natali, who was the tour lieutenant, and Sergeants Zachary Hobbs and Ed McCarthy.

Scattered around-in some cases, sitting on-the desks in the main area were Detective Al Unger; Sergeant Harry McElroy, Chief Lowenstein's driver; Sergeant Jerry O'Dowd, Pekach's driver; Sergeant Charley Lomax, Sabara's driver; and Sergeant Paul Kittinger, Captain Jenkins's driver.

Kittinger and O'Dowd were in uniform.

The term "driver" is somewhat misleading. Although all of these people did actually drive the cars assigned to their superiors, they were far more than chauffeurs. Their official job was to relieve their bosses of what administrative details they could, in addition to driving them around.

But it was actually more than that. They had all been recognized as having both the ambition and the ability to rise higher in the police hierarchy, and their assignment as drivers gave them a chance to see how their supervisors recognized and dealt with the problems that came their way. In many ways-except they never passed canapes-drivers were the police version of military aides-de-camp.

Coughlin marched across the outer office to Quaire's office and stood for a moment in the doorway.

"It looks," he said, smiling, "as if everybody's here but Homicide's newest sergeant. Where's Payne?"

"He was here, Commissioner," Captain Quaire said. "With Stan Colt."

"Oh, God!" Coughlin said.

"So I ran him off with the girl from Northwest. She is-I told her to do it thoroughly and slowly-bringing him up to speed on the Williamson job."

"Clever," Coughlin said, approvingly. "Give us a minute alone with Inspector Wohl, will you, please?"

Everybody filed out of Quaire's office. When only Coughlin, Lowenstein, Solomon, and Wohl were left, Coughlin closed the door.

"I've got a suggestion, Eileen," he said.

"Shoot."

"You tell Peter what your concerns are, I'll tell him what his orders from the commissioner are, and then the three of us leave."

She didn't reply, and waited for him to go on.

"The point will be made to everybody out there that there's a lot of interest in what's going on from us. That's all that's really necessary, and if we hang around it will look like we're all going to be looking over his shoulder. I don't want any question in anybody's mind about who has the responsibility and the authority in this."