"Why?"

"Because I have to go home and change my clothes," she said. "Something I didn't think about last night."

"Okay. I'll take you, and we can get some breakfast someplace. "

"I'm going to take a cab," she said. "I should have taken one last night and gone home."

"So we won't be seen together, and someone will suspect what's going on?"

"Exactly."

"That cow, I have to tell you, is really out of the barn."

"What does that mean?"

"Mr. Colt somehow got the idea-you saw that-that you and I have become something more than professional associates…"

"And?"

"… and decided to share this perception with Mickey O'Hara, Peter Wohl, and Jason Washington."

"My God, I hope you denied it!"

"Of course," Matt said, "whereupon Stan showed his acceptance of my denial in the following manner."

He winked broadly, mimicking Colt, and demonstrated the balled-fist, thumb-up gesture Colt had used.

"That sonofabitch!"

"Honey, he thought he was being funny."

"His being funny blew my chances of getting in Homicide, " she said, bitterly.

"Realistically, honey, there doesn't seem to be much chance of that," Matt said.

"Thanks a lot!"

"Well, there doesn't," he insisted. "At least right now."

"I'm going to take a shower," she snapped. "And then a cab."

He watched her enter the bathroom.

After a moment, he reluctantly concluded that-however delightful an idea it was on the surface-there was not room in the shower for the both of them.

And besides, she's already pissed that our shameful secret has become public knowledge.

He swung his legs out of bed, got fresh underwear, and went down the stairs to get the newspaper.

He started to read it as he climbed the stairs back to his apartment, and just as he reached the top, he saw that the picture that Eddie the photographer had taken of him and Stan Colt outside the Bellvue-Stratford was on page one of the Bulletin.

There was a rather lengthy caption:

Stan Colt, movie detective, in Philadelphia to raise money for West Catholic High, found time in his busy schedule to meet with the real thing. He is shown here arriving at the Mayor's Reception at the Bellvue-Stratford with Sergeant M. M. Payne of the Phila. PD Homicide Unit. Payne will be showing Colt what police work is really like whenever Colt has a spare minute. (The full schedule of the Colt Fund-raising Visit can be found on page 2 of Section Four of today'sBulletin.) Matt remembered that Colt had said that the picture was the only one that would get printed.

Olivia was toweling herself by the side of the bed, which he found to be an interesting sight.

"I'm famous," he said, showing her the newspaper.

Olivia glanced at it very quickly.

"Put your clothes on. You can drive me home," she said.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"I have three choices: putting on wet underwear, getting in a cab without my underwear, or you."

"With or without underwear?"

"My God! Get dressed."

[FIVE] The Swedish philosopher/theologian Emmanuel Swedenborg believed that there is sometimes an unspoken communication between loved ones. That one loved person knows what the other loved one is thinking.

This may or may not have had anything to do with what Detective Olivia Lassiter said to Sergeant Matthew Payne when he pulled to the curb in front of her apartment.

"You wait in the car. I know what you're thinking."

Sergeant Payne had in fact been thinking, all the way from Rittenhouse Square, that there was something wonderfully erotic having Olivia sitting beside him, with nothing beneath her dress but Olivia, and that with just a little bit of luck he might get lucky when they got to her apartment and they went inside while she changed clothing.

"What am I going to do out here?" he asked.

"That's up to you. You're not coming in," Detective Lassiter said, and got out of the car.

He watched her enter the apartment, shrugged, and then reached for thePhiladelphia Bulletin, which had his picture on the front page, and which he had dropped onto the floor.

When he saw the picture, he smiled, remembering what Stan Colt had said when he got out of the car to pose for Eddie the photographer: "Look serious, but think of pussy!"

Then he started looking through the rest of theBulletin. Ten minutes later, on page 4 of Section Three, "Living Today," he saw a picture of an old geezer with an over-and-under crooked over his arm standing with a bunch of cops and with half a dozen patrol cars of various law enforcement agencies in the background.

Then he read the caption, and then looked very carefully at the picture again, at the handcuffed man in black coveralls on the ground.

"Jesus Christ!" he said aloud, and reached for his cellular.

"Police department," a female voice with a thick southern accent announced.

"I'd like to speak to whoever's handling the case of that Peeping Tom you bagged last night."

"So would everybody else from New Orleans to Destin," the woman replied.

"My name is Matthew Payne. I'm a sergeant in Homicide in Philadelphia…"

"Yeah, I bet you are."

"Excuse me?"

"How do I know that?"

"Because I just told you. Now get me some supervisor on the phone, and right now."

"You don't have to bite my head off!"

A male voice with an equally heavy accent next came on the line.

"Can I help you?"

"With whom am I speaking. Please?"

"I'm Sergeant Kenny."

"Sergeant, I'm Sergeant Payne. Philadelphia Homicide."

"So Barbara-Anne said. How can I help you?"

"That Peeping Tom you bagged last night? Was there a knife involved? A great big knife?"

There was no response.

"Hello?" Matt asked after what seemed like a long time.

"What can I do for you?" a new southern-accented male voice inquired.

"Was I just talking to you?"

"No. You were talking to Sergeant Kenny. I'm the chief. How can I help you?"

"Chief, my name is Payne. I'm a Philadelphia Homicide sergeant."

"So Sergeant Kenny said. What can we do for you, Sergeant?"

"This a long shot, Chief, but that Peeping Tom you bagged last night may be a man we're looking for in connection with a homicide here."

"You don't say?"

"Can you tell me if there was a knife involved? Did your guy have a great big knife?"

"Sergeant, I don't know for sure you're who you say you are, and even if I did, I'm not sure if I could answer that question. This is an ongoing investigation, and there's some things we don't want to get out, you understand."

Which means, of course, that he did have a knife, otherwise you would have said "no."

"How about a camera? A digital camera? Could you tell me that?"

"What part of I'm-Not-Going-To-Answer-Any-Questions-About -This-Investigation don't you understand, Sergeant?" the chief asked.

"Certainly, Chief, I understand. But if you don't think it would interfere with your investigation, could you tell me if the window he was peeping through was that of a young woman? And was he just looking, or maybe trying to open the window?"

There was a long pause.

"No, I don't think I'd better get into that," the chief said, finally.

This sonofabitch isn't going to tell me a goddamn thing!

"Chief, I'll probably be in touch with you again," Matt said, politely. "In the meantime, if you'll give me your police teletype address, I'll have the department confirm who I am."

"That sounds like a good idea, Sergeant," the chief said, and gave it to him.

"I'll get that out as soon as I get to the Round… police headquarters," Matt said. "And thank you for taking the time to talk to me, Chief. I can imagine how busy you are."

"My pleasure," the chief said, and hung up.

[SIX] "You don't look so happy, boss," Captain Frank Hollaran said as Deputy Commissioner Dennis V. Coughlin slipped beside him into the front seat of the car.