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Not everyone rushed to take the exam. Detectives could bring home more money in overtime than could sergeants, who clocked fewer hours. But because retirement pay was based on rank, they eventually would take it in hopes of being promoted and, then, retired as a lieutenant or captain.

The first hurdle, however, was passing. And not everyone did. And of those who did, not all were necessarily promoted right away.

After the names of those who passed the written exam were posted, the oral exams were given over the next four months.

In the Sergeant’s Exam, nearly seven hundred detectives, corporals, and patrolmen had passed the oral component. That made them eligible for promotion, of course, but contingent on a number of factors. One was funding. There was money available for only ten percent of The List to be moved up immediately, in the next days or weeks.

The rest had to wait for attrition, a vacancy made by a sergeant who retired or was promoted.

Realistically, that meant if the score of one who passed the exam had them ranked no higher than the top one hundred or so, they would not get promoted. The List would expire after about two years, and the examination process would begin anew.

For those who did score very well, however, the mayor-in a moment of inspiration, thinking it would make for good public relations-had proclaimed that the five who scored the highest on The List would be given their choice of where in the department they wanted to serve.

And when The List had been recently posted, Number One on it was: PAYNE, MATTHEW M., PAYROLL NO. 231047, SPECIAL OPERATIONS.

And newly promoted Sergeant Payne had picked as his choice the Homicide Unit.

Captain Henry Quaire, commanding officer of the Homicide Unit, had not been thrilled with the news of the hotshot young sergeant’s arrival. But putting two and two together, Quaire understood that there was more to it, more to Matt. He quickly had learned that Matt Payne, like his rabbi, Inspector Peter Wohl, was of the very smart sort. The bright ones destined for greater responsibilities and higher ranks.

Once, over drinks one night, Quaire even had heard Denny Coughlin offhandedly say that judging by the speed with which Payne was progressing in the department, Coughlin was worried that it wouldn’t be long till Payne took his job.

Coughlin really hadn’t been worried or serious, of course. No one would be prouder of his godson getting the job than the godfather himself. And, besides, realistically that just was not going to happen anytime soon. It was simply Coughlin’s way of saying Payne was a rapidly rising star in the police department.

“And, Denny,” Henry Quaire now went on, “I don’t think it’s any secret-I sure as hell hope it’s not-that I now am in the camp of those who know Matt to be one helluva cop. I vote with Jason.”

Coughlin looked at Lowenstein.

“I don’t think you have to ask, Denny,” Chief Inspector Matthew Lowenstein said simply. “But, officially, I concur.”

“Ditto, Denny,” Francis Hollaran said.

All eyes were now on Coughlin.

After a long moment that in the absolute quiet seemed much longer, he grunted and then said, “All right. I thank you for your thoughtful opinions. This, as I’m sure you know, is not an easy decision for me, and I appreciate your input. But, making such decisions is the reason that I’m paid the big bucks.” He paused and grinned to show he was being facetious, then added, “Both of those big bucks.”

There were the expected chuckles.

Coughlin glanced at each of them, then said, “Until I order otherwise, I do not-repeat, do not-want Matty anywhere near the street.”

The shocked silence in the room bordered on the awkward.

Coughlin went on, “I have my reasons. For one, he’s had more than enough to deal with lately. Yes?”

There were a couple of agreeable nods.

Coughlin gestured toward the television with his right hand. “And he damn sure doesn’t need to be in the news again anytime soon. What’s it been? Not quite thirty days. The ink’s still wet on the newspaper articles about his shooting at that Italian restaurant-”

“La Famiglia Ristorante,” Hollaran furnished.

“That’s it.”

Hollaran said, “Matt’s a good investigator, right, Jason?”

“A most excellent one,” Washington said. “And supervisor.”

“And I have absolutely no argument with that,” Coughlin said reasonably. “So have him do it from the telephone. If I find out he’s on the street, I’ll put him on the goddamn midnight shift of the School Crossing Guard Unit.”

Hollaran said, “There’s no-”