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When Staff Inspector Peter Wohl drove into the Emergency entrance at Nazareth, five minutes later, he was not surprised to find three other police cars there, plus the Second District wagon. One of the cars, except that it was light blue, was identical to his. One was a well-worn green Chevrolet, and one was a black Ford.

When he went inside, it was easy to assign the cars to the people there. The blue LTD belonged to Captain Charley Gaft of the Civil Disobedience Squad. New, unmarked cars worked their way down the hierarchy of the police department, first assigned to officers in the grades of inspector and above, and then turned over, when newer cars came in, to captains, who turned their cars over to lieutenants. Exceptions were made for staff inspectors and for some captains with unusual jobs, like Gaft’s assignment, who got new cars.

Wohl wasn’t sure what the exact function of the Civil Disobedience Squad was. It was new, one of Taddeus Czernick’s ideas, and Gaft had been named as its first commander. Wohl thought that whatever it did, it was inaptly named (everything, from murder to spitting on the sidewalk, was really “civil disobedience”) and he wasn’t sure whether Gaft had been given the job because he was a bright officer, or whether it had been a tactful way of getting him out of his district.

The well-worn, unmarked Chevrolet belonged to Lieutenant Louis Natali of Homicide, and the black Ford with the outsized high-speed tires and two extra shortwave antennae sticking up from the trunk deck was obviously that of Lieutenant Mike Sabara of the Highway Patrol. Now that Dutch was dead, Sabara, the ranking officer on the Highway Patrol, was, at least until a permanent decision was made, its commanding officer.

Lieutenant Sabara’s face showed that he was surprised and not particularly happy to see Staff Inspector Wohl. He was a Lebanese with dark, acne-scarred skin. He was heavy, and short, a smart, tough cop. He was in uniform, and the leather jacket and puttees added to his menacing appearance.

“Hello, Peter,” Captain Gaft said.

“Charley,” Wohl said, and smiled at the others. “Mike. Lou.”

They nodded and murmured, “Inspector.”

“You just missed the mayor, the commissioner, and Chief Coughlin,” Captain Gaft said. “Plus, of course, poor Jeannie Moffitt.”

The conversation was interrupted as Officers Foley and Mason rolled a cart with a sheet-covered body toward them.

“Just a minute please,” Wohl said. “Where are Captain Moffitt’s personal things? And his pistol?”

Natali tapped his briefcase.

“What’s on your mind, Inspector?” Lieutenant Sabara asked.

“Natali,” Wohl asked. “May I have a look, please?”

“What does that mean?” Sabara asked.

“It means I want me to have a look at what Dutch had in his pockets,” Wohl said.

“Why?” Sabara pursued.

“Because I want to, Lieutenant,” Wohl said.

“It sounds as if you’re looking for something wrong,” Sabara said.

“I don’t care what it sounds like, Mike,” Wohl said. “What it means is that I want to see what Dutch had in his pockets. Dutch and I were friends. I want to make sure he had nothing in his wallet that his wife shouldn’t see. Let me have it, Natali.”

Natali opened the briefcase, took out several plastic envelopes, and laid them on a narrow table against the wall. Wohl picked up one of them, which held a wallet, keys, change, and other small items, dumped the contents on the table and went through them carefully. He found nothing that made a connection with Miss Louise Dutton. There were three phone numbers without names, one written on the back of a Strawbridge & Clothier furniture salesman’s business card, and two inside matchbooks.

Wohl handed the card and the matchbooks to Natali.

“I don’t suppose you’ve had the time to check those numbers out, Natali?” he said.

“I was going to turn them over to the assigned detective,” Natali said. “But it wouldn’t be any trouble to do it now.”

“Would you, please?” Wohl asked.

Natali nodded and went looking for a phone.

Wohl met Sabara’s eyes.

“What about the bimbo, Peter?” he asked. “Is that what this is all about?”

“What ‘bimbo,’ Mike?” Wohl replied, a hint of ice in his voice.

And then he felt a cramp. He urgently had to move his bowels.