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“It’s about Josiah Cross.”

“And what about the good reverend?” Badde said, his tone defensive. “He’s an outstanding pillar of the community.”

There was a pause, and then Stein, his voice incredulous, said, “Have you not seen the news?”

Oh, hell—now what happened? Badde thought, looking as Janelle Harper stepped into the shade. She was making a stern face while rapidly tapping on the screen of her cellular phone.

“I saw the news first thing this morning,” Badde said. “Since then, as I said, I’ve been busy with other demands.”

“Then you’re telling me that you’re unaware of today’s murders . . .”

That’s it? Just more murders?

Unless it’s a real bad one, they barely even make the news anymore.

“. . . and that Reverend Cross and his followers are calling the police killers? In particular, that they have declared highly decorated Homicide Sergeant Payne as ‘Public Enemy Number One’?”

Badde thought: What is that all about? That would definitely make the news.

He did not respond.

“Hello?” Stein said.

“I’m here. Look—”

“What about Cross,” Stein went on, “recklessly telling a TV reporter that Sergeant Payne is ‘a trigger-happy cop’ and that his ‘contributing to the bloodshed of citizens in the city was despicable’?” He paused, then added, “Would you say that’s what one expects to hear from ‘an outstanding pillar of the community’?”

“Look,” Badde said, “I hadn’t heard that. But I don’t see how it could be my problem. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the last I heard, it’s your boss, the mayor, who hires the police commissioner, who reports directly to him.”

“Actually, the city managing director does the hiring, with the mayor’s approval.”

“Same difference. That makes Payne the mayor’s problem.”

“But we’re not talking about Sergeant Payne,” Stein said, hearing his voice rise. He paused, collected himself, and added, “Who, incidentally, Mayor Carlucci doesn’t consider a problem. It’s Reverend Cross.”

“And?”

“And you’re on the Public Safety Committee—”

“Yes,” Badde interrupted, “but I’m not a senior member. I have much greater responsibilities on other committees, which, actually, are what I’m dealing with today. So, can we get to the point of this?”

“. . . and you’re telling me that you haven’t heard that Reverend Cross, whom you appointed to CPOC, is leading marches protesting Philadelphia’s murder rate—”

“What’s wrong with that?” Badde interrupted again.

“Are you serious? I have to spell it out?”

Stein waited for a response, and when none came, went on: “What’s wrong is that the chairman of CPOC is declaring that the police his committee oversees are killers! And if that wasn’t outrageous enough, apparently you have agreed to speak at his rally this afternoon to build support of that!”

What rally?

I didn’t agree to nothing.

“As a rule, I do try to support my constituents and colleagues,” Badde said, looking out across the airfield and at the Caribbean Sea beyond the palm trees in the distance. “But even if I wanted to attend this rally, today just wouldn’t be possible. There must have been some confusion with one of my office assistants.”

Stein was silent a long moment.

“Councilman Badde,” he said, in a measured tone, “I just left an urgent message asking for Cross to call me as soon as possible, preferably before this rally. I have, unfortunately, absolutely no faith that that’s going to happen. Which is why I’ve called you. It is critical that this situation be contained before it gets out of hand. Can I count on you, as a responsible elected official, to arrange for that call to happen? Even better, can you set it up for the three of us to meet today?”