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When they went back in the kitchen, Officer McFadden was being nauseous in the sink. Coughlin put out his hand and stopped Matt from going in, then gestured for Sergeant Lenihan to come along with them.

When they were in the car, moving north on South Broad Street, Coughlin reached forward and touched Matt Payne’s shoulder. Matt turned and looked at him.

“Still think you want to be a cop, Matt?” he asked.

“I was just wondering how I would react in a situation like that,” Matt said, softly.

“And?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “I was wondering. But to answer your question, yes, I still want to be a cop.”

Coughlin made a grunting noise.

“Tom,” he ordered, “when you get to a phone, call Pekach and tell him I want that boy and his partner at the funeral tomorrow. And then find out who’s in charge of the seating arrangements and make sure they have seats in Saint Dominic’s.”

“Uniform or plainclothes?”

Coughlin thought that over a moment. “Uniforms,” he said. “I think uniforms. Tell Pekach to make sure they get haircuts and are cleaned up.”

****

“I’ve got to check my machine,” Peter said, when he and Louise had returned from dinner and put the Jaguar into the garage. “It won’t take a minute.”

“I’ll go with you,” she said, and caught his hand and held it as they walked up the stairs. Inside the apartment, as he snapped on the lights, he saw that she was standing very close, looking at him.

She wants to be kissed, he realized. Jesus, that’s nice.

But when he put his arms around her, and she pressed her body against his, and he tried to kiss her, she averted her face.

“I’ve got some Lavoris,” Peter said.

She chuckled.

“No,” she said. “That’s not it. But I’ll be on the air at eleven, and I don’t want everybody in the Delaware Valley thinking, ‘That dame looks like she just got out of bed.”’

“You really think it shows?” he asked, smelling her hair.

“Once might not,” she said. “But we seem to have a certain tendency to keep going back for seconds.”

“God, you feel good,” Peter said, giving in to an urge to hug her tightly.

“Duty calls,” Louise said, freeing herself. “Yours and mine. See what your machine says.”

There were a number of messages. Barbara Crowley had called.

“Peter, your mother called and asked me if I was going to the wake. I told her that I expected to hear from you. Please call me. I’ll go over there with you, if you want me to.”

And Detective Jason Washington had called:

“This is Jason Washington, Inspector,” his recorded voice reported tinnily. “It’s five-thirty. In a manner of speaking, we have Gerald Vincent Gallagher. McFadden, the kid from Narcotics who identified the girl, went looking for him, and found him at the Bridge Street Terminal. The reason I say ‘in a manner of speaking’ is that Gallagher got himself run over by a subway train. After he hit the third rail. Hell of a mess. McFadden knew Gallagher, of course, and so did a couple of guys from the Fifteenth District. But under the circumstances, I think, and so does Lieutenant Natali, that they’ll probably want Miss Dutton to identify the body as that of the man she saw in the Waikiki. They just took the body to the medical examiner’s. Do you think you could get in touch with her, and take her down there around seven, seven-thirty? I’d appreciate it if you could call me. I’ll either be here at the office, or at the M.E.’s, or maybe home. Thank you.”

And Lieutenant Louis Natali had called:

“Inspector, this is Lou Natali. Jason Washington said he called and left a message on your machine about an hour ago. It’s now quarter to seven. Anyway, it’s now official. Captain Quaire requests that you get in touch with Miss Dutton, and bring her by the M.E.’s to identify Gallagher as the guy she saw in the diner. You better warn her he’s in pieces. The wheels cut his head off, intact, I mean. I’ll try to have them cover the rest of him with a sheet, but it’s pretty rough. And would you call me, please, when you get this? Thank you.”

And Chief Inspector Matt Lowenstein had called:

“Peter, what the hell is going on? I need that woman to identify Gallagher. Nobody seems to know where you are, so I called the TV station. I was going to very politely ask her if I could take her to the M.E.’s myself, and they tell me they don’t know where she is, only that she left there with you. Jesus, it’s half past eight, and I’ve got to get over to Marshutz & Sons for the damned wake.”