"No, sir."

"Jason, I'd like to hear your wild hairs," Larkin said. "I think we all would."

"Yeah," Wohl agreed.

"This chap is going to be hard to find," Washington said. "He's the cla.s.sic face in the crowd. Law-abiding. Respectable. Few, if any, outward signs of his mental problems."

"We know that," Wohl said, a touch of impatience in his voice.

"Possibly a rude question: How wide have we thrown the net?" Washington asked.

"Meaning?" Toner asked.

"Wilmington, New Jersey, even Baltimore. For that matter, Doylestown, Allentown? Is there a record that matches the profile right over the city border in Cheltenham?"

"Our people, Sergeant," Toner said, somewhat coldly, "have taken care of that. Plus seeking cooperation from other federal agencies, making that profile available to them."

"It was a question worth asking, Jason," Wohl said, flashing Toner an icy look.

"Please ask whatever pops into your mind," Larkin said.

"What about the Army? For that matter, the Navy, the Marines? Coal companies, whatever? Have there been any reports of stolen explosives?"

"Not according to Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms," Larkin said. "Or the State Board of Mines, in Harrisburg."

Washington shrugged.

"I don't even have any more wild hairs," he said.

"In that case, there is obviously only one thing to do," Larkin said, and waited until the others were all looking at him. "Consult with John Barleycorn. It would not be the first time in recorded history that a good idea was born in a saloon."

Supervisory Special Agent Toner, Wohl thought, looks shocked at the suggestion. But Larkin means that, and Christ, he may be right. looks shocked at the suggestion. But Larkin means that, and Christ, he may be right.

"I'll drink to that," Wohl said, and pushed himself up off the couch.

"We don't have any luggage," Matt said as he drove up the curving road to the Oaks and Pines Lodge Resort. "That's going to look funny."

"Yes, we do," Penny replied. "And neither the bellhop nor the desk clerk will suspect that there's nothing in there but my clothes, including, incidentally, a rather risque negligee."

Matt remembered Jensen saying he would put her bag in the car. He looked in the back seat. There was a fairly large suitcase, made out of what looked like a Persian rug.

"You really came prepared, didn't you?" he asked.

"Life is full of little surprises," Penny said. "What's wrong with being prepared?"

A bellman came out to the Mercedes in front of the lodge.

"Good evening, sir," he said. "Checking in?"

"Yes."

"I'll take the luggage, sir, and I'll take care of the car. If you'll just leave the keys?"

Penny took his arm as they walked across the lobby to the desk.

"My name is Payne," Matt said to the man behind the desk. "I have a reservation."

"Yes, sir, I spoke to you on the phone."

Matt handed him his American Express card.

"I have to be in Philadelphia at eight," he said. "Which means I-we-will have to leave here in the middle of the night. Is that going to pose any problems?"

"None at all, sir. Let me run your card through the machine. And then just leave, whenever you wish. We'll mail the bill to your home."

He pushed a registration card across the marble to him, and handed him a pen. At the very last moment, Matt remembered to write "M/M," for "Mr. & Mrs.," in front of his name.

"Thank you," the desk man said, and then raised his voice. "Take Mr. and Mrs. Payne to the Birch Suite, please."

They followed the bellman to the elevator, and then to a suite on the third floor. The Birch Suite consisted of a large, comfortably furnished sitting room, a bedroom with a large double bed, and a bath, with both a sunken bathtub and a separate tile shower.

Matt tipped the bellman and he left.

"The furniture's oak," Matt said. "They should call it 'the oak suite.' "

"Don't be critical," Penny called from the bedroom.

"I'm not being critical. It's very nice."

"The food's good too."

"How do you know that?"

"I've been here before, obviously."

With Tony the Zee? Is this where that Guinea gangster brought you? Why not? It's supposed to have a Mob connection.

"With my parents," Penny said. "Not what you were thinking."

"How do you know what I was thinking?"

"I usually know what you're thinking," Penny said. "Come look at this."

If you're referring to the double bed, I've seen it.

He walked to the bedroom door. Penny pointed at a bottle of champagne in a cooler, placed conveniently close to the bed.

"For what they're charging for this, a hundred and a half a night, they can afford to throw in a bottle of champagne," Matt said.

"How ever do you afford all this high living on a policeman's pay, Matthew?"

"Don't start being a b.i.t.c.h, Penny."

"Sorry," she said, sounding as if she meant it. "I'm curious. Have you got some kind of an expense account?"

"Not for this, no," Matt replied. "What were your parents doing here?"

"Daddy likes to gamble here."

Why does that surprise me? It shouldn't. He apparently is no stranger in Las Vegas. But why the h.e.l.l is he gambling? With all his money, what's the point? He really can't care if he wins or loses.

"You didn't say anything, before, when I told you we were coming here."

"I didn't want to spoil your little surprise. You said we were coming here, you will recall, before you made it clear that whatever you had in mind, it was not rolling around between the sheets with me."

"I want to get a look inside the gambling place."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"You still hungry?"

"Always," she said.

"Come on then, we'll go have a drink at the bar and then have dinner."

"And save that for later?" she asked, pointing at the champagne.

"We could have it now, if you would like."

"I'd really rather have a beer," she said. "If you romanced me like this more often, Matt, you'd learn that I'm really a cheap date."

"Economical," he responded without thinking, "not cheap."

"Why, thank you, Matthew."

She walked past him out of the bedroom and to the corridor door.

They sat at the bar where Penny drank two bottles of Heineken's beer, which for some reason surprised him, and he had two drinks of Scotch.

The entertainment was a pianist, a middle-aged woman trying to look younger, who wasn't half bad. Much better, he thought, than the trio who replaced her when they went to a table for dinner.

And Penny was right. The food was first cla.s.s. Penny said she remembered the chateaubriand for two was really good, and he indulged her, and it was much better than he expected it to be, a perfectly roasted filet, surrounded by what looked like one each of every known variety of vegetable. They had a bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon with that, and somehow it was suddenly all gone.

"If you'd like, we could have another," Penny said as he mocked shaking the last couple of drops into his gla.s.s. "And have cheese afterward, and listen to the music. I don't think the gambling gets going until later."

The cheese was good, something the waiter recommended, something he'd never had before, sort of a combination of Camembert and Roquefort. They ate one serving, spreading it on crackers and then taking a swallow of the wine before chewing, and then had another.

Penny said she would like a liqueur to finish the meal, and he pa.s.sed, saying he'd already had too much drink, and instead drank a cup of very black, very strong coffee.

When he'd finished that, Penny inclined her head toward the rear of the room.

"It's over there, if you want to give it a try," she said.

Matt looked and saw a closed double door, draped with red curtain and guarded by a large man in a dinner jacket.

As they walked to it, Penny leaned up and whispered in his ear: "You did remember to bring money?"

"Absolutely," he said, although he wasn't really sure.

The man in the dinner jacket blocked their way.

"May I help you?" he asked.

"We want to go in there," Penny said.

"That's a private party, I'm afraid, madam."

"Oh, come on. I've been in there before."

"Are you a club member?"

"I'm not, but if there's a club, my father probably is."

"And your name, madam?"

"My maiden name was Detweiler," Penny said.

That rang a bell, Matt thought, if widening eyes and raised eyebrows are any criteria. if widening eyes and raised eyebrows are any criteria.

"First name?"

"Richard. H. Richard."

"Just a moment, please, madam," the man in the dinner jacket said. He pulled open a cabinet door in the wall Matt hadn't noticed-it was covered with wallpaper-and spoke softly into a telephone. After a moment, he hung up and pushed the door closed.

"Sorry for the delay, Miss Detweiler," he said as he pulled the door open. "Good luck!"

"Mrs. Payne," Penny corrected him, smiling sweetly at Matt. Penny corrected him, smiling sweetly at Matt.

There were very few people in the room, although croupiers stood waiting for customers behind every table.

Do you call the guys who run the c.r.a.ps games and the blackjack "croupiers" too? Matt wondered. Matt wondered. Or does that term apply only to roulette? If not, what Or does that term apply only to roulette? If not, what do do you call the guy who runs the c.r.a.ps table? The c.r.a.pier? you call the guy who runs the c.r.a.ps table? The c.r.a.pier?

"Roulette all right with you, Penny?"

"It's fine with me," she replied. "But I'm surprised, I thought you would be a c.r.a.ps shooter."

Matt took out his wallet. He had one hundred-dollar bill and four fifties and some smaller bills.