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“What developments?” Matt asked, and then had a second thought: “Vis-à-vis which bad guys?”

“Five Squad,” Wohl said. “Calhoun may be the key. Bring me up-to-date on that.”

At the least the sky is not about to fall in on Susan. Or at least Peter Wohl isn’t about to drop it on her. On us.

“Not much to report, beyond what I already have. I saw him go into the safe-deposit vault.”

“You’re sure it was Calhoun?”

“Either him or his twin brother,” Matt replied. “And then when I got my contact here to ask discreet questions, he reported that the safe-deposit vault lady—her name is Adelaide Worner—had no record of anybody going into any box. As far as I’m concerned, that eliminates the possibility that I thought I made the wrong guy; if I had, she would have had a name. She denied anyone had been into a box. Ergo sum, she’s lying, and I saw Calhoun.”

“And what happens next?”

“I went to Lieutenant Deitrich with it. He’s going to see what he can turn up for me. He said he’d get back to me at eight.”

“Where?”

Matt was looking down at Susan. He felt her body tense, and then she turned her face on his chest so that she could look at him. He put his finger in front of his lips. She nodded, then sat up and looked at him.

All I want to do is put my face between her breasts and have her hold me there and caress the back of my head.

“Here.”

“What do you think he might have?”

“I think I know what he’s looking for—a connection between Adelaide Worner and Timothy J. Calhoun—but I have no idea if he’ll find one. Or what else he might come up with.”

“Best possible world, Matt. Your Lieutenant Deitrich comes up with a strong enough connection so that you—I mean you, there—can go to a judge and get a search warrant for the box. You serve the search warrant and find something—drugs would be best, but a large amount of cash would also work—in the box . . . Wait a second . . .”

Matt heard what he presumed was the sound of a hand covering the microphone.

He looked down at Susan again. His hand reached out and he touched, almost reverently, her right nipple with the balls of his fingers. She looked down to see what he was doing, and then looked into his eyes. Her hand covered his and pressed it against her breast.

“Walter Davis just said . . .”

Christ, the FBI guy. What’s going on down there?

“. . . that if you have anything at all, he’ll call Chief Mueller, who probably knows the right judge to go to for the search warrant.”

“Okay.”

“Hold it again,” Wohl said and went off the line for almost a minute.

Susan moved close to Matt and kissed him tenderly, then touched his face with her hand.

Wohl came back on the line: “Chief Coughlin just decided it would be better if you didn’t go to Deitrich tonight. But Mr. Davis will call Chief Mueller, as soon as I get off the phone, and call in a favor about the warrant.”

“Okay.”

“So. Leave it this way. At eight o’clock, you will learn from Deitrich if he’s come up with a connection. Or something else. Either way, you call . . . wait a second. . . . Okay. You call Washington as soon as possible after eight, and tell him what’s happened to that point. He’ll tell you either to go get the warrant and serve it, or something else. Do you happen to know if Calhoun is still out there?”

“I have no idea.”

“Maybe Walter can ask Chief Mueller to have an RPC discreetly check if his car is parked at one of his relatives’ houses. If that happens, Washington will let you know when you speak with him. If you learn, for sure, that he’s in Harrisburg, or has left, you call Washington.”

“You mean in the morning?”

“I mean whenever you find out. We’re going to arrest Calhoun in any event. The question is when, and whether you will do it up there, based on what you find in the safe-deposit box,