"Yes, sir. Lewis's father is a lieutenant."
"Well, there, under those circumstances, I don't think we can be assured that Detective Payne is color-blind, can we?" Davis said.
Matt, you really pissed the old fart off with that crack.
"Sir, with respect, I cannot agree that Payne is any way a bigot," Matthews said.
Davis glowered at him for a moment.
"Did he offer any explanation for his contempt for the FBI?"
"I don't think he holds us in contempt, sir-"
"That's what it sounds like to me!"
"Sir, that's really why I came to see you first thing."
"What is?"
"Sir, Payne told me he had had an unpleasant encounter with two special agents. Two days ago."
"An 'unpleasant encounter'? What sort of an 'unpleasant encounter'? Who were the agents?"
"Payne told me their names were Leibowitz and Jernigan. "
"I don't have anybody with those names."
"Yes, sir, I know."
"Payne must be mistaken. We don't have agents by those names, and if any of our people were going to be dealing with a Philadelphia police department officer, I would know about it. That's standard operating procedure. "
"Yes, sir."
"Possibly, your friend Payne had this 'unpleasant encounter ' with some other federal officer. A postal inspector, a Secret Service agent."
"Sir, Payne insists he saw FBI credentials."
"What was the nature of this 'unpleasant encounter'? Did he say?"
"Yes, sir. He said the agents were investigating a kidnapping that didn't happen."
"A kidnapping?"
"Yes, sir. Payne said that there was no kidnapping."
"Was there or wasn't there?"
"Payne said the FBI agents believed there was a kidnapping; he knew for sure there was not."
"Do you think your friend Payne was pulling your leg, Matthews? He has a strange sense of humor."
"No, sir. I feel sure he wasn't."
"But there are no agents with those names."
"Not here, sir. I was going to ask for permission to check with the Bureau-"
"Do that right now," Davis ordered, pointing to one of his telephones. "Call the Bureau, tell them you're calling for me, and see if there are agents with those names."
"Yes, sir," Matthews said, and picked up the handset.
"There are several possibilities," Davis went on. "One, that your friend is pulling your leg. Two, that someone is in possession of fraudulent credentials, which is a felony, you know. Three, that these people are legitimate FBI agents of another jurisdiction, operating in our area of responsibility-"
"Sir," Matthews interrupted him. "I checked that with ASAC Williamson. Neither of those names is familiar to him."
Glenn Williamson, a well-dressed man of forty-two, who took especial pains with his full head of silver-gray hair, was the Philadelphia FBI office's assistant special agent in charge for administration. As such, he would be aware not only of the names of every FBI agent assigned to Philadelphia, but of the names of FBI agents assigned to other offices who might be working temporarily in Philadelphia 's area.
"-without checking in with Williamson. I won't have that, Matthews. That's a clear violation of standard operating procedure, having other people's agents running around like loose cannons in your area of responsibility."
"Yes, sir."
Two minutes later, Special Agent Matthews was informed that the FBI agents he was asking about were more than likely Howard C. Jernigan and Raymond Leibowitz.
"They're with the Anti-Terrorist Group, working out of the Bureau. But they go all over, of course," he was told.
"Thank you very much," Matthews said. "We may have to get back to you."
"Well?" Davis asked.
"According to the Bureau, sir, there are agents named Jernigan and Leibowitz. They're assigned to the Anti-Terrorist Group working out of headquarters."
"What?" Davis exclaimed, but before Matthews could repeat what he had told him, he picked up his telephone and issued an order to his secretary: "Helen, would you please ask Mr. Towne, Mr. Williamson, and Mr. Young to come in here immediately?"
He put the telephone back in its cradle and looked at Matthews.
"There is very probably a very reasonable explanation for all of this, Matthews," he said. "Which we shall probably soon have."
"Yes, sir."
"When this meeting is over, I want an official report of your meeting with Detective Payne. If what I suspect has happened is what has happened, I'm going to the assistant director with this, and I want everything in writing."
"Yes, sir."
"Good morning," Amelia Payne, M.D., said as she entered Cynthia Longwood's room.
"What's good about it?" Cynthia replied, tempering it with a smile.
"I've been wondering the same thing. It's still raining and I didn't get enough sleep. When I was in medical school, and an intern, they told us when we entered practice, we could expect to get some sleep. They lied."
"When were you an intern? Last year?"
"I will take that as a compliment. I don't look old enough to have been a doctor very long?"
"Not even in your doctor suit," Cynthia said, making reference to the stethoscope hanging around Amy's neck and her crisp white smock, onto which was pinned a plastic badge reading, "A. A. Payne, M.D."
"When I finish here, I'm going to make what they call rounds. We take medical students with us. I wear my doctor suit so that the visiting firemen don't mistake me for one of them."
"Visiting firemen?"
"Visiting distinguished practitioners of the healing arts," Amy said. "Who, when I offer an opinion, take one look at me and decide I couldn't possibly be an adjunct professor of psychiatry, and therefore are dealing with an uppity young female who doesn't know her place."
Cynthia giggled.
"You don't look old enough to be a doctor, much less a professor."
"I'm getting perilously close to thirty," Amy said. "I got my M.D. at twenty-two."
"Twenty-two?" Cynthia asked incredulously. "I thought it took six years after you got out of college to be a doctor."
"When I got my M.D., I already had a Ph. D.," Amy said. "I was what you could call precocious."
"You're a genius?"
"So they tell me."
"I'm impressed," Cynthia said.
"On one hand, that's good," Amy said. "I'm smart and I am a good doctor. Statement of fact. Keep that in mind when you get annoyed with me."
"Am I going to be annoyed with you?"
"If you extend my temporary appointment as your physician, if you want me to try to help you, we can count on that happening sooner or later."
"Why's that?"
"Because what we're going to have to do is get your problem out in the open, and you're not going to like that."
Cynthia considered that.
"No, I wouldn't."
"It's your call, Cynthia. First, you're going to have to face the fact that something happened in your life that's made you ill. Next, that you can't deal with it yourself and need help. And finally, whether or not you really believe that Amy Payne-Dr. Amy Payne-can help you."
"When do I have to decide?"
"First answer that will annoy you: right now. Putting off decisions is something you can't do. That sort of thing feeds on itself."
Cynthia considered that for fifteen seconds.
"Okay," she said. "Okay."
"Okay," Amy said. "Your mother and father are outside. "
"Oh, God!"
"I called her last night and asked her to bring you some clothes, your makeup, et cetera. You're going to have to deal with them. You don't have to tell them anything that makes you uncomfortable-tell them I said that, if you like-but I think it would help them, and you, if you told them you think I can help."