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“You should see that, Sherlock,” Amy said. “You didn’t earn your promotion to sergeant . . .”

“Bullshit,” Matt blurted.

“. . . And go into Homicide,” she went on. “You instead got a meritorious bump because of your connections. And if you don’t believe it, just ask any cop.” She paused, stared at him, then added, “That’s the perception, Matt, and perception more times than not is stronger than reality. It becomes reality. And, like Jason, you may soon hit your ceiling, too.”

Payne thought about that as he drained his beer.

“Where did you get that?” he said. “Not from Peter?”

Peter Wohl, at thirty-seven, was the youngest inspector in the department. After chief inspector, which was the next-highest rank, came the one- to four-star commissioner ranks.

It was no secret in the department that Wohl had been Matt Payne’s “rabbi,” his mentor. The function of rabbis was to groom a young police officer for greater responsibility—and rank—down the line.

Wohl’s rabbi had been Inspector, then Chief Inspector, then First Deputy Police Commissioner Dennis V. Coughlin. And Denny Coughlin’s rabbi, as he rose in rank, had first been Captain, then the Honorable Jerome H. “Jerry” Carlucci, Mayor of the City of Philadelphia.

Carlucci liked to boast that before answering the people’s call to elective public office, he had held every rank in the department except that of policewoman.

And Hizzoner had had a rabbi—one Chief Inspector Augustus Wohl, whose only son, Peter, would later enter the police academy at age twenty, two weeks after graduating from Temple University.

Peter and Amy had an on-and-off relationship.

“Yes,” Amy said, “from Peter. But he simply was repeating it. He does not subscribe to it.”

“Probably because people said the same about him,” Matt said. He paused, then added, “So, what’s the professional shrink term for him confiding in you? Pillow talk?”

Amy shook her head, clearly restraining herself from rising to the bait.

“You know, Matt,” she said, “Penn Law and the Wharton School now have an accelerated course that combines JD and MBA programs. You can get both degrees in half the time it would take if you earned each separately.”

“Is that so?” Patricia Payne said. “Business and law together. Interesting.”

Matt’s eyes darted toward his mother, and he fought back the urge to say, Jesus! Not you, too?

“Thanks, Amy,” Matt said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That’s nice to know. Duly noted.” He paused, then added, “Is there a reason you’re butting into my business?”

“Would you believe—as much as I right now want to smack you on the back of the head with one of those damn cast-iron pans—that I care about you? That we care about you?”

Matt did not respond.

“I know what’s going on with you,” Amy said. “I know the reason you’re on edge. And, trust me, getting that place in The Rittenhouse really ain’t going to cut it.”

“What do you mean?” Matt said, his tone sharp.

“Amanda called this morning. I had to pry it out of her.”

Matt saw his mother quickly turn her head at that.

He thought, Shit! And you would.

“Pry what, exactly?” he said.

“She told me she was taking that monthlong visiting teaching position in San Antonio.”

“She say anything else?”

“About you two? No. She’s never been the type who would do that. But, then, she didn’t have to.”

Matt was not surprised. Amanda and Amy, suitemates in college before going on to med school, had kept up with each other ever since. They both had an uncanny sixth sense.