"Which, Sergeant," Summers said, "will not be lost on the two who think they're going directly to the slam, do not pa.s.s Go, do not collect two hundred bucks. They will wonder what they're missing out on."

"I think three minutes will be sufficient time for Mr. Brownlee to inform Mr. Williams of the deal he was offered and rejected, and for Mr. Williams to conclude that Mr. Brownlee made a gross error in judgment in not accepting it."

"You really think that will work?" the sergeant asked, smiling.

"Are you a betting man, Sergeant?" Detective Summers asked. "I'll give you three-to-one that it will. I've seen this guy at work before."

TWENTY-THREE.

Thank you, Jason," Peter Wohl said, his voice very serious, even disappointed. "It was worth a try."

Wohl dropped the telephone handset into its cradle and looked, not smiling, at Dennis Coughlin.

He shook his head sadly, but said nothing.

"You might as well tell me, Peter," Coughlin said.

"Mr. Amos J. Williams and Mr. Marcus C.-also known as 'Baby'-Brownlee," Wohl began, and smiled broadly before going on, "either having recognized the error of their sinful ways, or perhaps in the misguided belief that the charges against them will be dropped, have given statements to Sergeant Washington indicating that the amount of narcotics seized as evidence from them at the motel was approximately twice the amount Officer Grider and the rest of Five Squad turned in to the evidence room."

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" Coughlin said. "You had me going."

"I'm not finished," Wohl said. "Additionally, Mr. Williams has given a sworn statement that he had approximately three thousand dollars in his possession at the time of his arrest, which is fifteen hundred more than was turned in, and Baby Brownlee is about to sign his statement, in which he says he had approximately two thousand dollars more in his possession than Five Squad turned in, and and was wearing a Rolex wrist.w.a.tch which seems to have disappeared between the time it was taken from his person at the place of arrest and Central Lockup. He actually was wearing a Rolex wrist.w.a.tch which seems to have disappeared between the time it was taken from his person at the place of arrest and Central Lockup. He actually bought bought the watch, and is sure Bailey, Banks and Biddle has a record of the transaction, including the serial number. Do you suppose we'll get really lucky and find one of these-" the watch, and is sure Bailey, Banks and Biddle has a record of the transaction, including the serial number. Do you suppose we'll get really lucky and find one of these-"

"Forget it, Peter. These characters didn't get this far by being stupid."

"I suppose . . ."

"And Washington didn't have to make a deal?"

"He a.s.sured both of them he would personally go to the judge and tell him, or her-it's a shame that won't be Hanging Harriet-how cooperative they have been."

"They didn't give him anything that can tie Prasko to what he did to the Longwood girl?"

Wohl shook his head, "no."

"When do we lock them up, Peter?"

"The statements will be enough to get warrants for their arrest, which I think we should do as soon as we can, but I'd rather wait and see what happens in Harrisburg before we actually bring them in," Wohl said.

"And what if there's nothing in Harrisburg?"

"If Matt says he saw Calhoun go into the bank, I think he did."

"And what if Savarese is two steps ahead of us and already knows it was Prasko who raped the girl?"

"As angry as he is, I don't think he'll get reckless," Peter said.

"This is his granddaughter. All bets are off."

Wohl shrugged.

"Let's talk about Harrisburg," Coughlin said.

"Okay," Wohl said, "what are you thinking?"

"I always look for the black cloud inside the silver lining," Coughlin said. "For the sake of discussion, Matt was wrong. The guy he saw go into the safe-deposit box was really a shoe salesman from Shamokin."

"Chief, I don't think Matt would make that kind of mis-"

"Indulge me," Coughlin shut him off.

Wohl nodded.

"Sorry."

"But we have enough to arrest Officer Calhoun anyway."

"And we know he's there," Wohl said. "Or at least his car is parked at his uncle's house."

"I wonder what kind of favor Chief Mueller owes Walter Davis?" Coughlin said. "That didn't take us long to find out, did it?"

"No. Maybe there is a role for the FBI in law enforcement, after all."

"Don't get carried away," Coughlin said. "And say something you'll regret later."

"Maybe I'm just carried away with the Jason Washington style of psychological interrogation-but I was thinking this before he called just now."

Wohl waited for him to go on.

"Let's say I'm right. For whatever reasons, we can't tie Calhoun to the safe-deposit box, but we arrest him anyway. Matt Matt would arrest him anyway, on the warrant here. This guy is not stupid. He's not going to say a word until he talks to a lawyer, and he'll figure out that if we had something on him about the safe-deposit box, we would have used it." would arrest him anyway, on the warrant here. This guy is not stupid. He's not going to say a word until he talks to a lawyer, and he'll figure out that if we had something on him about the safe-deposit box, we would have used it."

"I don't see where you're going, Chief," Wohl said.

"And Matt has no idea what's happened here," Coughlin said.

"So?"

"McFadden and Martinez go to Harrisburg now, with the warrant. They're with Matt when Lieutenant Deitrich tells Matt what, if anything, he's come up with. If zilch, finding the black cloud, Deitrich has the Harrisburg police pick up Calhoun. After he's been in the holding pen an hour or so, here come McFadden and Martinez-who used to be undercover narcs themselves, and who Calhoun knows. That should upset Calhoun a little. McFadden and Martinez transport Calhoun here, and en route, they convince him how much trouble he's in. I would like to have Officer Calhoun in a very disturbed state of mind when Washington talks to him."

"That makes sense," Wohl said.

"And it leaves Matt in Harrisburg," Coughlin said. "I figure we owe Davis that."

"Martinez and McFadden will be curious about that," Wohl said. "If Matt doesn't come back with them."

"Yeah. Let me think about that," Coughlin said. "But let's suppose we get lucky again, and Deitrich can tie Calhoun to the safe-deposit box, and and there's something in it. Same scenario, in spades. Calhoun will know we have him, and then spending two hours, handcuffed, in the back of McFadden's car on the way to Philadelphia, while those two inform him of all the nice things that are going to happen to him in the slam, and Calhoun will beg Jason for a chance to tell him everything he knows." there's something in it. Same scenario, in spades. Calhoun will know we have him, and then spending two hours, handcuffed, in the back of McFadden's car on the way to Philadelphia, while those two inform him of all the nice things that are going to happen to him in the slam, and Calhoun will beg Jason for a chance to tell him everything he knows."

"That makes sense, Chief," Wohl said.

"So why will Matt stay in Harrisburg? To tie up loose ends? It's none of their business?"

"When all else fails, tell as little of the truth as possible," Wohl said. "Matt is working on another case. Not specified. None of their business."

"I'm a little afraid of that," Coughlin said. "You ever hear 'a little knowledge is a dangerous thing'?"

"You mean, tell them everything?"

Coughlin nodded.

"Yeah. I think that would be safer in the long run. And have them bring Matt up-to-date on what's happened here."

"Including the rape? The connection to Savarese?"

"I don't like that, frankly. But I'm at the stage where I don't know who knows what. That's a bad situation, Peter. I can't see where these three knowing everything is going to cause any trouble, and I can see something going wrong if they don't. You agree?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because you agree, or because you're afraid to disagree?"

"A little of both," Wohl said.

"Okay. Decision's made. Get them in here, tell them everything, and send them to Harrisburg."

Wohl reached for one of the telephones on his desk, punched a b.u.t.ton, and told Officer Tiny Lewis, who answered the Investigations Section telephone, to send Detectives McFadden and Martinez to his office right away.

It was five minutes to seven when Detective Charles McFadden pulled his unmarked Plymouth up in front of the Penn-Harris Hotel.

He looked at Detective Jesus Martinez.

"I think we just broke the Philadelphia-Harrisburg speed record," he said.

"Oh, s.h.i.t!" Detective Martinez replied.

"I mean it, Jesus," Charley said. "I mean, think about it. Who else has a chance to come all the way all the way from Philly out here to the sticks like we did and f.u.c.k the speed limit?" from Philly out here to the sticks like we did and f.u.c.k the speed limit?"

"Grow up, for Christ's sake, Charley. You almost got us killed, the way you was driving!"

Martinez got out of the car and walked toward the revolving door.

They had been stopped twice for speeding on their way to Harrisburg. The first time, on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Detective McFadden had been at the wheel. In the rather pleasant conversation he had had with the state trooper, the state trooper told him, before waving a friendly farewell, that he had clocked him at eighty-seven miles per hour.

The second time, shortly after they had turned off the turnpike onto 222 and made a p.i.s.s stop at a diner, Detective Martinez had been at the wheel. In the rather unpleasant conversation he had had with the local cop, Detective Martinez had been told that he had been clocked at sixty-four miles per hour in a fifty-five-mile per hour zone, and that the local cop personally didn't give a d.a.m.n for professional courtesy, and that unless he could come up with a better reason for Martinez having exceeded the posted limit than having to get to Harrisburg in a hurry, he was going to write him a ticket.

Charley asked the local cop if he could talk to him a minute, took him behind the car, and managed to talk him out of writing Jesus a ticket, but only on condition that he get back behind the wheel.

Detective Jesus Martinez had thereafter been in a rather nasty mood.

A doorman came out and told Charley he couldn't leave the car where he'd stopped, and directed him to a parking garage.

Jesus was waiting, impatiently, slumped in an armchair, when, maybe five minutes later, Charley finally walked into the hotel lobby.

He got to his feet when he saw Charley, and motioned toward the bank of elevators.

"Where the h.e.l.l have you been?" he demanded when Charley had joined him there.

"I stopped to get laid, okay? Where the f.u.c.k do you think?"

"He's 'not taking calls.' Can you believe that s.h.i.t?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I tried to call him," Martinez said, and then, in falsetto, quoted the hotel operator: " 'I'm sorry, Mister Payne is not taking calls until seven forty-five. May I ask you to call back then?' "

Charley was amused-by Jesus's indignation, his accurate mimicry of the telephone operator's voice, and by Matt "not taking calls."

He smiled, which was the wrong thing to do.

"Who the f.u.c.k does he think he is?" Jesus demanded indignantly.

"What's the big deal, Jesus? He wants his sleep."

"f.u.c.k him and his sleep."

They rode the sixth floor and got off.

McFadden consulted a well-battered pocket notebook and came up with the room number Inspector Wohl had given him.

"Six twelve," he said. "To the right."

There was a room-service cart with breakfast remnants in the corridor outside Suite 612.

"What the f.u.c.k is that?" Jesus asked. "He's too good to eat breakfast in the f.u.c.king dining room, right?"

"If it feels good, Jesus, do it," Charley said. "He can afford it, okay?"

"Knowing your buddy, he's probably figured some scam to get the department to pay for it."

There was a bra.s.s knocker on the door. Jesus thumped it, several times, and much harder than Charley thought was necessary to attract the attention of someone inside.