He walked out of the room and into the interview room.

Wordlessly, he took a dozen eight-by-ten-inch photographs from it and spread them on the table before Mr. Ronald R. Ketcham.

Ketcham did his best to appear to be confused by the photographs.

"Where's my clothing?" he asked. "You said someone had gone for my clothing."

"Would you please examine the photographs, Mr. Ketcham, and identify the police officer who committed oral rape upon the person of Miss Cynthia Longwood?"

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"The time has come, Mr. Ketcham, for you to disabuse yourself of the notion that you are intellectually equipped to parry with me, and that you will somehow be able to dig yourself out of the hole you dug for yourself."

"I want my lawyer."

"We know, Mr. Ketcham. All you are doing is wasting time."

"You know what?"

"Please examine the photographs, Mr. Ketcham, and identify the police officer who, following your detention in connection with illegal trafficking in controlled substances, committed oral rape upon the person of Miss Cynthia Longwood."

"I have never been arrested in my life, and neither has Cynthia. Where the h.e.l.l are you coming from?"

"If you are willing to cooperate with us in the prosecution of this police officer, which would require your testimony in a court of law, on our part we will do whatever is necessary to protect you, and additionally will not bring narcotics charges against you."

"Protect me from what? Who?"

"The same persons who took you to the NIKE site and left you there to die of starvation."

"Oh, come on. I told you the whole thing is a case of mistaken ident.i.ty."

"You don't believe that any more than I do," Washington said. "Mr. Savarese knew precisely whom he ordered be taken to-and left to die a painful death by starvation at-the NIKE site."

"Mr. who?"

"Mr. Vincenzo Savarese."

"The gangster?"

"It has been alleged that Miss Longwood's maternal grandfather has a connection with organized crime."

"You're not actually trying to tell me that gangster is Cynthia's grandfather?"

"You seem surprised. You really didn't know?"

"No. I didn't know, and I don't believe it now."

"In other words, you decline to identify the rapist and cooperate with us in his prosecution?"

"I don't know what the h.e.l.l you're talking about."

"We all must make decisions in our lives," Washington said. "I must in all honesty tell you I think you have just made the wrong one. But I'm sure you have your reasons. If you will wait here, Mr. Ketcham, I'll inform the FBI agent that we're through with you. Perhaps they're finished with your clothing by now."

"What does the FBI want with me?"

"Your being taken to the NIKE site against your will const.i.tutes kidnapping. That's a federal offense. They will ask your help in identifying the people who committed this crime against you."

"And I will tell them the same thing I told you. I have no idea. It was obviously a case of mistaken ident.i.ty."

"You don't really believe that will make any difference to Vincenzo Savarese, do you?" Washington asked. "You are the man who not only introduced his beloved granddaughter to the use of cocaine, but put her in a dangerous situation where she was brutally raped."

Washington walked to the door, put his hand on the k.n.o.b, and then turned to look at Ketcham.

"Shortly after the FBI releases you-Mickey O'Hara of the Bulletin Bulletin is outside, convinced that his many readers will be fascinated to learn about the stockbroker who was found in a deserted NIKE site wearing nothing but an overcoat-Mr. Savarese will learn you are still alive. The next time he abducts you, it will be to a place where no one will find you." is outside, convinced that his many readers will be fascinated to learn about the stockbroker who was found in a deserted NIKE site wearing nothing but an overcoat-Mr. Savarese will learn you are still alive. The next time he abducts you, it will be to a place where no one will find you."

Mr. Ronald R. Ketcham looked at Detective Jason Washington, licked his lips, and announced, "The b.a.s.t.a.r.d that did that to Cynthia is the one on the top."

Washington said nothing.

Ketcham picked up the photograph of Officer Herbert Prasko of the Five Squad of the Narcotics Unit of the Philadelphia Police Department and held it up for Washington to see.

"He was dressed like a b.u.m when he did it, but that's the son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"You're quite sure?"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, of course I'm sure. He handcuffed me to the toilet, and then did that to Cynthia. The filthy b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Ketcham said, and then self-righteous outrage overcame his discretion. "And he stole twenty thousand dollars from me!"

"Nice job, Jason," Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin said to Sergeant Washington when Washington came back into the room adjacent to the interview room.

"The question, Chief," Washington said, not quite able to convincingly pretend he was not interested in the compliment, "is now that we know, what are we going to do?"

"Who did he pick out?" Inspector Wohl asked.

"Officer Prasko," Washington said as if he had something distasteful in his voice.

"What do we have on Prasko?" Wohl asked.

"The pertinent personnel doc.u.ments are in my briefcase," Washington said. "If memory serves, there was nothing significant-"

He stopped in midsentence when the door opened.

"I've taken my walk," Mickey O'Hara said, "and am not in a receptive mood for a suggestion to take another one."

"Mickey, what would it take for you to go home and call me in the morning?" Chief Coughlin replied. "With the understanding that I would fill you in completely then?"

"A blare of celestial trumpets, and a voice even deeper than Jason's saying, 'Mickey, my son, do what the nice old man asks you to do.' Failing that . . ."

Wohl and Washington chuckled, which earned them a dirty look from Chief Coughlin.

"You agree to sit on it, right?" Coughlin said.

O'Hara nodded.

"Where's Amy . . . Dr. Payne?" Coughlin asked.

"She has a rather touching faith in you to do the right thing," O'Hara said. "But she is showing signs of impatience."

Coughlin went to the door, located A. A. Payne, M.D., and waved her into the room.

"Amy, honey, you realize that you really have no business here-" Coughlin began.

"Uncle Denny, you know I love you," Amy interrupted. "But right now, I think it had better be 'Chief' and 'Doctor.' "

"Uncle Denny," O'Hara said highly amused, "what the good doctor means is 'cut the c.r.a.p.' " O'Hara said highly amused, "what the good doctor means is 'cut the c.r.a.p.' "

"That man wouldn't be in there if it wasn't for me," Amy said gesturing through the one-way mirror at Ronald R. Ketcham. "I need the answer to two questions, and then you'll be rid of me."

"Fair enough," Coughlin said after a just-perceptible pause. "What are the questions?"

"Did that man tell you what happened to my patient?"

"Yes, he did," Coughlin said. "The information in your message is apparently the fact."

"Do you have the name of the animal who did that to her?"

"What animal?" O'Hara asked. "Did what to who?"

Coughlin held his hand out to indicate Mickey should wait.

"Yes, we do," Coughlin said.

"Can I tell my patient that he is about to be arrested?"

"No. Not yet."

"Why not?" Amy snapped. "And don't even think of telling me I've had my two questions."

"Honey," Peter Wohl began, and instantly realized that Coughlin and everybody else had instantly picked up on the term of endearment. He plunged ahead. "There are several investigations going on here . . ."

"You can call me 'Doctor,' too, Inspector Wohl," Amy said.

"Look at him blush," O'Hara said. "I will be d.a.m.ned. Cupid's finally managed to-"

"Shut up, Mickey," Coughlin said.

"And the doctor, too," O'Hara went on, unabashed. "It's not every day you see a doctor doctor blush-" blush-"

"G.o.dd.a.m.n it, Mickey," Coughlin flared. "For once in your G.o.dd.a.m.n life, put a lid on it."

O'Hara, recognizing genuine anger, fell silent.

"As you were saying, Inspector Inspector?" Amy said.

"Honey," Wohl replied, heard himself with disbelief and horror repeating the term of endearment, and then decided to h.e.l.l with it. "Everybody in this room wants to see Officer Prasko in a cell. But what we've got right now is just one person who can testify in court against him."

"What exactly did Officer Prasko do?" O'Hara asked.

Wohl glowered at O'Hara, then looked to Coughlin for guidance.

Coughlin shook his head in resignation.

"Okay, Mickey," he said. "This is what you sit on. Prasko committed the act of oral rape upon a young woman during a drug bust. The boyfriend, the man in the interview room, just identified him from a selection of photographs. He said that Prasko first handcuffed him to a toilet and then attacked the girl."

"Nice fellow," O'Hara said. "Where does Officer Prasko work?"

"Narcotics. Five Squad," Coughlin said.

"If you know who he is, have a witness, and know where he works, why don't you arrest him?" Amy demanded.

"I'm coming to that," Wohl said somewhat impatiently. "And that witness, if we manage to keep him alive until we can get him into court, is not going to be a credible witness."

"Keep him alive?"

"We have every reason to believe . . . the girl's grandfather-"

"Who is?" O'Hara asked.

Wohl didn't reply.

"Somebody important," O'Hara went on. "Or you wouldn't have danced around using his name. Who is he, Peter?"

Wohl again looked at Coughlin for guidance, and again Coughlin chose to answer the question himself.

"Vincenzo Savarese," he said.

"Holy Christ! And Savarese knows the name of this dirty cop?"

"Not yet. Or at least we don't think so. You're getting the idea, Mickey, why this is sensitive?"

"I'm getting the idea," O'Hara said. "So where does that guy fit in?" he asked, gesturing toward Ketcham.

"He's the girl's boyfriend," Wohl explained. "Sava rese-this is the theory we're working under-suspected he might know something about what had happened to his granddaughter, scooped him up from his apartment, and took him to a deserted NIKE site for a little talk. We think the story came out."

"And that guy's still alive?"