The investigators

NINE

Special Agent Jack Matthews, who had been sitting in one of the two armchairs in the outer office of SAC Walter Davis, got to his feet when Davis walked in, in the process of taking off his topcoat.

Davis believed that an important key to leadership was to have one's subordinates believe that you were concerned about them, and that a splendid way to do this was, under certain circumstances, to address them by their Christian and/or nicknames.

Yesterday, he could not have told you this nice young man's first name if his life depended on it. He remembered it now, most likely because of his late-afternoon conversation with him vis-fnbsp;-vis the recruitment of Detective Payne of the Philadelphia Police Department.

"Good morning, Jack," Davis said with a smile.

"Good morning, sir."

"You're waiting to see me, Jack?" Davis asked, now just a shade annoyed. He had told Matthews to let him know what happened, but he hadn't really requested a first-thing-in-the-morning report, before he'd even had a chance to have a cup of coffee.

"If you can spare me a few minutes, sir."

"A few, Jack," Davis said, waving at him to indicate he had his permission to follow him into his office.

Davis went behind his desk, took a quick glance at his In basket to see if anything interesting had come in overnight, then glanced up at Matthews.

"Have a seat, Jack," he said. "Tell me, how did it go?"

"Well, sir, Payne doesn't seem to be very interested in joining the Bureau. But…"

"If at first you don't succeed, et cetera. What exactly did he say?"

Matthews smiled uneasily.

"I don't think you want to know, sir," he said.

"Of course I want to know. What exactly did he say, Jack?"

"He said that some of his best friends are FBI agents, but he wouldn't want his sister to marry one."

My God, what an insulting, outrageous thing to say! With obvious racial overtones!

"That remark, Matthews, was in particularly poor taste, wouldn't you say?"

"Sir, the way he said it… sort of took the bite out of it. But…"

"Well, perhaps it's a good thing this attitude of his came out so soon. There is no room in the Bureau for racial prejudice, Matthews, no room for a racist."

"Sir, Payne isn't a racist. I know that."

"How do you know that?"

"Well, I know him, sir. And he's very close to a sergeant named Jason Washington…"

"I know Washington. Unless I'm wrong, he's Payne's supervisor."

"Yes, sir, he is. But Payne is also very close to Officer Lewis, who is also black."

"I believe the preferred term is 'African American,' Matthews," Davis said. "And I am personally acquainted with an African American lieutenant named Lewis, who told me his son is also a policeman. Would that, do you think, be the Officer Lewis with whom Payne is so friendly?"

"Yes, sir. Lewis's father is a lieutenant."

"Well, there, under those circumstances, I don't think we can be assured that Detective Payne is color-blind, can we?" Davis said.

Matt, you really pissed the old fart off with that crack.

"Sir, with respect, I cannot agree that Payne is any way a bigot," Matthews said.

Davis glowered at him for a moment.

"Did he offer any explanation for his contempt for the FBI?"

"I don't think he holds us in contempt, sir-"

"That's what it sounds like to me!"

"Sir, that's really why I came to see you first thing."

"What is?"

"Sir, Payne told me he had had an unpleasant encounter with two special agents. Two days ago."

"An 'unpleasant encounter'? What sort of an 'unpleasant encounter'? Who were the agents?"

"Payne told me their names were Leibowitz and Jernigan. "

"I don't have anybody with those names."

"Yes, sir, I know."

"Payne must be mistaken. We don't have agents by those names, and if any of our people were going to be dealing with a Philadelphia police department officer, I would know about it. That's standard operating procedure. "

"Yes, sir."

"Possibly, your friend Payne had this 'unpleasant encounter ' with some other federal officer. A postal inspector, a Secret Service agent."

"Sir, Payne insists he saw FBI credentials."

"What was the nature of this 'unpleasant encounter'? Did he say?"

"Yes, sir. He said the agents were investigating a kidnapping that didn't happen."

"A kidnapping?"

"Yes, sir. Payne said that there was no kidnapping."

"Was there or wasn't there?"

"Payne said the FBI agents believed there was a kidnapping; he knew for sure there was not."

"Do you think your friend Payne was pulling your leg, Matthews? He has a strange sense of humor."

"No, sir. I feel sure he wasn't."

"But there are no agents with those names."

"Not here, sir. I was going to ask for permission to check with the Bureau-"

"Do that right now," Davis ordered, pointing to one of his telephones. "Call the Bureau, tell them you're calling for me, and see if there are agents with those names."

"Yes, sir," Matthews said, and picked up the handset.

"There are several possibilities," Davis went on. "One, that your friend is pulling your leg. Two, that someone is in possession of fraudulent credentials, which is a felony, you know. Three, that these people are legitimate FBI agents of another jurisdiction, operating in our area of responsibility-"

"Sir," Matthews interrupted him. "I checked that with ASAC Williamson. Neither of those names is familiar to him."

Glenn Williamson, a well-dressed man of forty-two, who took especial pains with his full head of silver-gray hair, was the Philadelphia FBI office's assistant special agent in charge for administration. As such, he would be aware not only of the names of every FBI agent assigned to Philadelphia, but of the names of FBI agents assigned to other offices who might be working temporarily in Philadelphia 's area.

"— without checking in with Williamson. I won't have that, Matthews. That's a clear violation of standard operating procedure, having other people's agents running around like loose cannons in your area of responsibility."

"Yes, sir."

Two minutes later, Special Agent Matthews was informed that the FBI agents he was asking about were more than likely Howard C. Jernigan and Raymond Leibowitz.

"They're with the Anti-Terrorist Group, working out of the Bureau. But they go all over, of course," he was told.

"Thank you very much," Matthews said. "We may have to get back to you."

"Well?" Davis asked.

"According to the Bureau, sir, there are agents named Jernigan and Leibowitz. They're assigned to the Anti-Terrorist Group working out of headquarters."

"What?" Davis exclaimed, but before Matthews could repeat what he had told him, he picked up his telephone and issued an order to his secretary: "Helen, would you please ask Mr. Towne, Mr. Williamson, and Mr. Young to come in here immediately?"

He put the telephone back in its cradle and looked at Matthews.

"There is very probably a very reasonable explanation for all of this, Matthews," he said. "Which we shall probably soon have."

"Yes, sir."

"When this meeting is over, I want an official report of your meeting with Detective Payne. If what I suspect has happened is what has happened, I'm going to the assistant director with this, and I want everything in writing."

"Yes, sir."

"Good morning," Amelia Payne, M.D., said as she entered Cynthia Longwood's room.

"What's good about it?" Cynthia replied, tempering it with a smile.

"I've been wondering the same thing. It's still raining and I didn't get enough sleep. When I was in medical school, and an intern, they told us when we entered practice, we could expect to get some sleep. They lied."

"When were you an intern? Last year?"

"I will take that as a compliment. I don't look old enough to have been a doctor very long?"

"Not even in your doctor suit," Cynthia said, making reference to the stethoscope hanging around Amy's neck and her crisp white smock, onto which was pinned a plastic badge reading, "A. A. Payne, M.D."

"When I finish here, I'm going to make what they call rounds. We take medical students with us. I wear my doctor suit so that the visiting firemen don't mistake me for one of them."

"Visiting firemen?"

"Visiting distinguished practitioners of the healing arts," Amy said. "Who, when I offer an opinion, take one look at me and decide I couldn't possibly be an adjunct professor of psychiatry, and therefore are dealing with an uppity young female who doesn't know her place."

Cynthia giggled.

"You don't look old enough to be a doctor, much less a professor."

"I'm getting perilously close to thirty," Amy said. "I got my M.D. at twenty-two."

"Twenty-two?" Cynthia asked incredulously. "I thought it took six years after you got out of college to be a doctor."

"When I got my M.D., I already had a Ph. D.," Amy said. "I was what you could call precocious."

"You're a genius?"

"So they tell me."

"I'm impressed," Cynthia said.

"On one hand, that's good," Amy said. "I'm smart and I am a good doctor. Statement of fact. Keep that in mind when you get annoyed with me."

"Am I going to be annoyed with you?"

"If you extend my temporary appointment as your physician, if you want me to try to help you, we can count on that happening sooner or later."

"Why's that?"

"Because what we're going to have to do is get your problem out in the open, and you're not going to like that."

Cynthia considered that.

"No, I wouldn't."

"It's your call, Cynthia. First, you're going to have to face the fact that something happened in your life that's made you ill. Next, that you can't deal with it yourself and need help. And finally, whether or not you really believe that Amy Payne-Dr. Amy Payne-can help you."

"When do I have to decide?"

"First answer that will annoy you: right now. Putting off decisions is something you can't do. That sort of thing feeds on itself."

Cynthia considered that for fifteen seconds.

"Okay," she said. "Okay."

"Okay," Amy said. "Your mother and father are outside. "

"Oh, God!"

"I called her last night and asked her to bring you some clothes, your makeup, et cetera. You're going to have to deal with them. You don't have to tell them anything that makes you uncomfortable-tell them I said that, if you like-but I think it would help them, and you, if you told them you think I can help."

"You must have been pretty sure I'd… make you my doctor last night," Cynthia challenged.

"No, I wasn't. Last night, when I called your mother, that was one young female taking care of another. I hate those damned hospital gowns myself."

"Thank you."

"I'm going to keep you in here for at least of couple of days," Amy said. "But that doesn't mean in bed. If you'd like, put some clothes on, and we can have lunch in the cafeteria. The food isn't any better, but it's not on a tray."

"Thank you," Cynthia said.

Amy smiled at her and walked out of the room.

When Inspector Peter Wohl walked into the Investigations Section of Special Operations, he found just about the entire staff, plus Staff Inspector Mike Weisbach and Captain Dave Pekach, in the former classroom. Pekach, in the unique uniform-breeches and boots-of the Highway Patrol, was the only one in uniform.

"Am I interrupting anything important?" Wohl asked.

"A suitable description of our present labors," Sergeant Jason Washington announced in his deep, sonorous voice, "would be 'spinning our wheels.' "

"What are you doing?" Wohl asked.

"Trying to make sense of Matt's transcriptions of the Kellog tapes," Pekach explained. "And getting nowhere. "

"They're useless?"

"They've made me change my mind about nothing dirty going on in Five Squad," Pekach said. "But what, nobody seems to be able to figure out, at least from the tapes. And as far as using them as evidence-"

"Is Payne essential?" Wohl asked.

Matt picked up on Wohl calling him by his last name; he suspected it might suggest he was in disfavor.

What did I do?

Shit, those FBI clowns did report me!

"I fear that all those hours our Matthew put in transcribing the tapes were a waste of time and effort," Washington said.

"Not a waste, Jason," Weisbach said. "Finding nothing we can use, so to speak, has taught us they are (a) up to something and (b) rather clever about whatever it is."

"I stand corrected, sir," Jason said.

"I can have Payne?" Wohl asked.

"He's all yours," Weisbach said. "See me later, Matt."

"Yes, sir," Matt said.

Matt stood up and followed Wohl out of the room. Wohl walked quickly, and Matt almost had to trot to catch up with him.

"What's up?" Matt asked.

Wohl ignored him.

They went down the stairs and then up the corridor to Wohl's office. Matt followed him inside.

Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin-a tall, heavyset, large-boned, ruddy-faced man with good teeth and curly silver hair-was sitting on the couch before Wohl's coffee table in the act of dunking a doughnut in a coffee mug.

For all of Matt's life, Coughlin had been "Uncle Denny" to him. He had been his father's best friend, and Matt had come to suspect that Denny Coughlin, who had never married, had been in love-secretly, of course-with Patricia Stevens Moffitt Payne, Matt's mother, for a very long time.

He also suspected that this was not an occasion on which Chief Inspector Coughlin should be addressed as "Uncle Denny."

"Good morning, Chief," he said.

Coughlin looked at him for a long moment, expressionless, before he replied.

"Matty, what's with you and the FBI?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"I asked you a question," Coughlin said evenly.

"I suppose I shouldn't have taken them on the wild-goose chase like that, but they're-"

"Start at the beginning," Wohl shut him off. "And right now, neither the Chief or I are interested in what you think of the FBI."

Matt related, in detail, his entire encounter with Special Agents Jernigan and Leibowitz. When he came to the part of leading them up and down the narrow alleys of North Philadelphia before finally parking in the Special Operations parking lot, Chief Inspector Coughlin had a very dif ficult time keeping a straight face.

"Okay," he said finally. "Now let me tell you what's happened this morning. I had a telephone call from Walter Davis. You know who he is?"

"Yes, sir."

"Davis said that he would consider it a personal favor if I would set up a meeting, as soon as possible, between himself, the two agents you got into it with, Peter, and me. And that he would be grateful if I kept the meeting, until after we'd talked, under my hat. Do you have any idea what that's all about, Matty?"

"No, sir."

"Somehow, I think there's more to this than you being a wiseass with his agents," Coughlin said. "I think if that's all there was to this, the Polack would have gotten a formal letter complaining about the uncooperative behavior of one of his detectives."

The Polack was Police Commissioner Taddeus Czernich.

"Yeah," Inspector Wohl said thoughtfully.

"And he wants me to keep this under my hat until after we have a meeting," Coughlin went on. "Which makes me think of something else. Did either of the FBI guys do anything they shouldn't have done, Matty?"

"Well, they should have been sure there was a kidnapping before they started asking a lot of questions," Matt said.

"That's not what I mean. Did they violate any of your civil rights? Push you around? Brandish a pistol? Anything like that?"

"No, sir."

"Maybe Matt's onto it with what he said," Wohl said. "Maybe Davis is embarrassed that he had people running around investigating a nonkidnapping. And doesn't want Matt to tell the story to an appreciative audience at the FOP Bar. The FBI is very image conscious."

Detective Payne was enormously relieved that he had become "Matt" again.

"Could be," Chief Coughlin said. "But I have a gut feeling there's more to this than that. I have been wrong before."

Coughlin heaved himself off the couch with a grunt, walked to Wohl's desk, consulted a slip of paper he took from his pocket, and dialed a number.

"Chief Inspector Coughlin for Mr. Davis, please," he said to whoever answered, and then, a moment later: "Dennis Coughlin, Walter. Sorry it took so long to get back to you. I've had a chance to speak with Peter Wohl. The best I have been able to set up is half past four at the Rittenhouse Club. Would that be convenient?"

Davis's reply could not be heard.

"Look forward to seeing you, too, Walter," Coughlin said, and hung up. He looked at Wohl and Payne. "Pay attention, you two," he said, smiling. "Write this down. When dealing with the enemy, never meet him on his own turf-Davis wanted us to come to the FBI office-and, if possible, keep him waiting."

Walter Davis, trailed by Special Agents Howard C. Jernigan and Raymond Leibowitz, walked up to the porter's desk in the Rittenhouse Club at 4:15 and announced, "I'm Mr. Davis. I'm expecting a gentleman named Coughlin."

The porter turned and examined the membership board.

I'll be damned. Coughlin is a member. Of course. He would have to be. He suggested this place to meet. Why didn't I think of that?

"Chief Coughlin is in the bar, sir," the porter said, his tone suggesting that life would be much easier if stupid members took a look at the membership board themselves.

Coughlin, Peter Wohl, and Matt Payne were sitting at a large table-with room for six chairs-and had been there, Davis saw, at least long enough to get bar service.

The three of them stood up as Davis approached.

"You're looking well, Walter," Coughlin said, offering his large hand.

"As you do, Dennis," Davis said, and offered his hand first to Wohl-"Thank you for making time for me, Peter "-and then to Matt. "How are you, Payne?"

"Very well, thank you, sir," Payne said.

"You've met these fellows," Davis said. "But let me introduce them to Peter and Dennis. Raymond Leibowitz and Howard Jernigan."

The men shook hands.

A waiter appeared. Davis ordered a Jack Daniel's on the rocks, Leibowitz the same, and Jernigan ginger ale.

"I'd really like to be somewhere where we won't be overheard," Davis said. "Is there somewhere…"

"Matty's father told me they spent a lot of money designing this room," Coughlin said, gesturing at the high, paneled ceiling, "as someplace where people could have discreet conversations. But if you're uncomfortable, Walter, there are private rooms."

"No. I'm sure this will be fine," Davis said.

"You're the commanding officer of Special Operations, I understand, Inspector," Jernigan said, oozing charm.

"Yes, I am," Peter said, and added mischievously, "I understand you've seen our headquarters."

Jernigan colored.

Coughlin laughed, and after a second, somewhat artificially, Davis joined in.

"Let's clear the air," Coughlin said. "Detective Payne should have told your people he was a police officer, and he should not have taken them on-what should we call it? — a tour of the scenic attractions of North Philadelphia, and he is prepared to apologize, isn't that so, Matty?"

"Yes, sir. We just got off on the wrong foot. I'm sorry."

The waiter appeared with the drinks.

"I propose a toast to peace, friendship, and cooperation between the Philadelphia Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation," Coughlin said, and raised his glass.

"A very appropriate toast, one I quickly agree to, under the circumstances," Davis said.

"What circumstances would those be, Walter?" Coughlin asked.

"I think I'll let Raymond get into that," Davis said. "But first let me tell you that Raymond and Howard aren't in my office. They operate out of FBI Headquarters in Washington; they're members of the Anti-Terrorism Group."

"Anti-Terrorism?" Matt blurted.

Coughlin and Wohl frowned at him.

"Before we came to see you, Detective Payne," Leibowitz said, "there just wasn't time to check in with the Philadelphia office. If there was, we would have known who you were. Are."

"I thought you were investigating the kidnapping of Susan Reynolds," Matt said. "Actually, the nonkidnapping. "

" 'Kidnapping'?" Leibowitz said, visibly surprised. "Where'd you get that?"

"Well, then, what the hell were you investigating? She's rich; rich people get kidnapped; she was missing-the FBI knew she was missing. Her father is a very important man; I figured that was why the FBI was working on a weekend."

"Jesus Christ!" Leibowitz said. "You really thought we were investigating her kidnapping?"

"I had the feeling you thought I had done it," Matt said. "Understandably, I was a little annoyed."

"Well, I'll tell you what we were investigating, what we are investigating," Leibowitz said. "But it can't go any further than this room."

"I'm sure, Leibowitz," Davis said pointedly, "that we can trust the discretion of Chief Coughlin, Inspector Wohl, and Detective Payne."

Special Agent Leibowitz's face showed that he was more than a little uncomfortable trusting the discretion of Detective Payne.

"Does the name Bryan C. Chenowith mean anything to you, Detective Payne?"

Matt searched his memory, then shook his head, "no."

"Eloise Anne Fitzgerald?"

Matt shook his head again.

"Jennifer Ollwood?"

Matt shook his head.

"Edgar L. Cole?"

Matt held up both hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"Never heard of any of them," he said.

"They're all wanted by both the federal government and the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania on a number of charges-"

"University of Pittsburgh?" Chief Coughlin interrupted.

"Right," Leibowitz said.

Matt looked at Coughlin curiously

"So far as we're concerned," Leibowitz went on, "we want them, and some others, on-among other federal charges-unlawful flight to avoid prosecution."

"Prosecution for what?" Wohl asked.

"Murder."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Coughlin said. "They're the people who blew up the Biological Sciences building at the University of Pittsburgh?"

"Thereby causing the unlawful deaths of eleven persons, according to the indictments handed down by the grand jury in Allegheny County-Pittsburgh."

"As a gesture of their displeasure with the use of monkeys in medical research, right?" Coughlin said, now bitterly. "Eleven innocent people were blown up!"

"Yes, sir," Leibowitz said.

"What's this got to do with Susan Reynolds?" Matt asked, unable to easily accept the accusation that Daffy's friend had been involved in blowing anything up.

"We have reason to believe Miss Reynolds has in the past, and is now, aiding and abetting these fugitives in their unlawful flight," Leibowitz said. "Sufficient reason for us to have obtained permission in federal court for a wiretap on her parents' residence and, for that matter, wherever she happens to be."

"I'm more than a little confused," Wohl said. "How did you guys get to Matt?"

"Well, we'd like to have enough people to surveille her around the clock, but we don't," Leibowitz said. "But we listen to her phone calls, and when something interesting comes up-her mother getting excited that Susan didn't make the usual 'Good night, Mommy dear' phone call and calling Mrs. Nesbitt to find out where Susan was, for example-we act on it."

"She disappeared in the company of a guy named Matt Payne," Jernigan amplified. "Was she really off somewhere passing money, or whatever, to Bryan Chenowith, and his murderous band of animal activists? And who is Matt Payne? Is he part of the animal-activist underground railroad? Just as soon as we got the word from the wire-tappers-and checked the phone book and found only one Payne, Matthew M. in Philadelphia-we drove up from Washington to find out. "

"She told Daffy-Mrs. Nesbitt," Matt said, "that she was in her room at the Bellvue-Stratford all night, and just hadn't answered the telephone. She wasn't in her room all night."

"How do you know that?" Jernigan asked.

"I know."

"She was with you, you mean?" Jernigan pursued.

"No. The last time I saw her-I told you guys this-she was in the Nesbitts' house in Society Hill. I don't know where she was, but she did not sleep in her hotel room that night."

"How do you know that?" Jernigan demanded.

"Forget I said it."

"How do you know that she wasn't in her room?"

"She didn't use the bed. She strikes me as the kind of a girl who would not sleep on the floor."

"I keep asking you how you know all this."

"I decline to answer the question on the grounds that my answer might tend to incriminate me," Matt said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Matty?" Chief Coughlin asked angrily.

"Chief," Matt said after a perceptible pause, "if, hypothetically, someone gained access to premises under conditions that might be considered breaking and entering, wouldn't he be foolish to admit that to the FBI?"

"Jesus, Matty, what the hell were you doing?" Coughlin said.

"Why would this hypothetical person we're talking about, Payne," Davis asked, "break into this hypothetical other person's hotel room?"

"We're out of school, Davis, right?" Denny Coughlin came to Matt's defense.

"Absolutely. You have my word," Davis said.

"Watch yourself, Matt," Wohl said, which earned him a look of gratitude from Chief Coughlin and looks of annoyance from Davis, Jernigan, and Leibowitz.

"The morning after the party, I got a call from Chad Nesbitt, who, like his wife, was under the impression that Susan Reynolds had left the party with me. They thought she had spent the night with me. I told them she hadn't-"

"Who is this guy Nesbitt?" Jernigan asked. "This is the first time that name came up."

"He's in the grocery business," Matt said.

"Matty!" Coughlin warned, and then turned to Jernigan and explained: "Nesbitt's father is chairman of the board of Nesfoods International."

"We have noticed that a number of these people who like to blow things up in the name of love for animals come from the, quote, better families, unquote," Jernigan said. "Is there any chance Mr. Nesbitt might be connected with Chenowith and Company?"

"I think that's very unlikely," Matt said, coldly angry.

"Why?"

"Well, he's an ex-Marine, for one thing."

"So am I," Leibowitz said. "But on the other hand, so was Lee Harvey Oswald."

"I think we can safely proceed on the assumption that Mr. Nesbitt-or his wife-is not in sympathy with these people you're looking for," Wohl said. "Payne was telling us about his telephone call."

"Right. So Nesbitt asked me, since I live only a couple of blocks away from the Bellvue, to go there and see what I could find out."

"As a police officer, you mean?" Leibowitz asked. "Your friend was now concerned with the welfare of the Reynolds woman? Because she was missing?"

"He was concerned because his wife was on his back about her friend," Matt said. "And I went to the Bellvue as a civilian. Not as a police officer."

"And while you were there, you somehow found yourself in her hotel room?" Leibowitz asked.

"I didn't say that," Matt said.

"Payne, we're all on the same side here," Davis said.

"Hypothetically, Matt, how could someone gain access to her hotel room?" Wohl asked.

"Hypothetically, with a master key."

"Apropos of nothing whatever," Wohl said, "Detective Payne recently participated in a surveillance operation at the Hotel Bellvue-Stratford."

Leibowitz and Jernigan exchanged glances suggesting they fully understood the usefulness to a surveillance crew of a master key that might not have been acquired under innocent circumstances.

"The Reynolds girl's bed had not been slept in?" Leibowitz asked.

Matt shook his head, "no."

"You find out anything else that might be useful?"

"The rent-a-cop in the hotel garage said he remembered a red Porsche with a good-looking blonde in it leaving the garage about half past five the previous afternoon. Where-presuming this was in fact, Susan Reynolds; there really aren't that many good-looking blondes in red Porsches-she was from five-thirty until she went to the Nesbitts' at half past seven or so is anyone's guess. I don't know, but I'll bet she did not put the car into the hotel garage again until a couple of hours after I was there."

"Why did Mrs. Nesbitt tell the suspect's mother the suspect had left with you?" Jernigan asked.

"I think she thought at the time that she had."

"You were friendly with her at the party?"

"I tried to be. She was not interested."

"Pity," Jernigan said.

"Do you think you could change that situation?" Davis asked.

"What do you mean by that?" Matt asked.

"I mean get close to her," Davis said.

"What's the opposite of her being 'overwhelmed' by my charms?" Matt asked.

"What are you driving at, Walter?" Chief Coughlin asked.

"Off the top of my head," Davis said. "And I'm hearing a lot of this for the first time myself, which sometimes cuts through the fog. What I'm hearing is that the Reynolds girl is not all that close to the Nesbitts. But she goes to the Nesbitts' party. And disappears overnight. That suggests she may have had a rendezvous with the fugitives. That suggests they may be here, or near here. Since it worked this time, they may try it again. If Detective Payne could get close…"

"You're suggesting that he work with you on this?" Coughlin asked.

"You would have problems with that?"

"Frankly, Walter, I have a lot of problems with it," Coughlin said. "For one thing, he's up to his neck right now in an important investigation."

"These people have been indicted by the Allegheny County Grand Jury for murder, Chief Coughlin," Leibowitz said. "They're fugitives from a Pennsylvania jurisdiction. They're not just a federal problem."

"Still," Coughlin said, somewhat lamely.

"I see a lot of practical problems," Wohl said, coming to Coughlin's aid. "Presuming Chief Coughlin would go along with this. For one thing, Payne says the Reynolds girl was not… at all receptive to his charms. Even if she was, this is a long way from Harrisburg. Does she know you're a cop, Matt?"

"Yes, sir. Her eyes just sort of glazed over when she heard that."

"You didn't think that was a little odd?" Jernigan asked.

"Unfortunately, it happens to me all the time," Matt said.

"On the other hand," Davis said. "She might decide what better cover could she have when making frequent trips to Philadelphia than a cop boyfriend?"

Wohl thought: He's right. Why am I surprised? You don't get to be the FBI Philadelphia SAC if you're stupid.

Then he saw something on Matt's face.

"What, Matt?" he asked.

"You know why I went to the Roundhouse last night?" Matt asked.

Wohl had to think a moment before recalling that Matt had been sent to Personnel by Staff Inspector Weisbach.

"There was some sort of a Harrisburg connection?" Wohl asked.

Coughlin's face indicated that he was having a hard time holding his questions about that until later.

Matt nodded.

"Something that would justify you being in Harrisburg on police business?" Davis asked.

"What Matt is working on is sensitive," Coughlin said. "There are people we don't want to know he'll be going to Harrisburg."

Walter Davis confirmed Wohl's realization that stupid people do not get to be senior FBI officers:

"An internal matter, eh?" Davis said. "Well, I can probably help you there a little, if you like. The chief of police there is not only an old friend, but he owes me a couple of favors. You tell me what sort of a cover story you'd like for Payne to have, and I'll see that it's leaked from the chief's office."

"That could be very useful," Wohl said, thinking out loud.

"There is something else," Davis said. "Payne can move easily in the same social circles as the Reynolds woman; that could be very useful, I would suspect."

"I'd have to clear Matt working with you on this with the commissioner," Coughlin said. It was his last line of defense.

"I don't think that will pose a problem, Denny," Davis said. "The last time I had lunch with the mayor-here, as a matter of fact-he gave me quite a speech about these people who blow up medical-research facilities because they use animals. He called them something I wouldn't repeat in mixed company. He said they were more dangerous to the country than most people realized. I have the feeling that if he knew about this, he would 'suggest' to Commissioner Czernich that it was a splendid idea."

You may be an ass, Walter Davis, Peter Wohl thought, but you are not a stupid ass.