At one-thirty when the call came in there had been quiet for an hour. The whore was in the women’s jail and the stickup suspect had been identified. The sex offender watched them all interestedly, entertained and calmed. Six men were on duty, three in a whispered conversation by the windows, Schoenstein, Leland’s partner and second lowest in seniority, handling the calls, and Leland juggling the schedule for April, when Quillan, one of the senior men, was taking his vacation to get married again after three years of widowerhood. He was marrying his son’s mother-in-law, variously “to give my kid a break,” “to keep my feet warm,” and “to give myself a heart attack.” He had the good humor of a man who considered himself lucky.

Schoenstein took a call, listened, and reached for his pad. “Yes, Robbie. All right. Forty-seven Forster. Right. Thanks, Robbie.” He hung up. “Joe?” He looked at Leland as if stricken. “Murder. It’s a mess.”

Leland was getting up. “Put on your coat. That was Robbie Loughran?” Schoenstein, a handsome blond young man, nodded. Over his shoulder, to the men at the window, Leland said, “Reynolds, take over the phone. Curran, get the camera, the lights, plenty of film.” He looked to Schoenstein for more information.

“Robbie was pretty upset.”

“Never mind that stuff. Get the kit. Reynolds, start calling from the bottom of the roster. Get four men. Leave the Captain alone. If he checks in, give him what we have. Unless I tell you otherwise, we’re on top of it. Get a medical examiner over to Forty-seven Forster. As we need men, start with Tanner and Maule. You stay on the phone no matter what happens.”

Downstairs, they picked up a uniformed officer to drive. In the car, Schoenstein reported that Robbie Loughran had said that he had never seen anything like it. Loughran was not a very emotional man but he had been doing his best to control himself. He had touched nothing and he had called from the landlady’s apartment. The landlady had discovered the body. Leland took it in, trying to clear his mind for all the jobs he had to do. After a while Danny Curran suggested that they pin their shields on their lapels. It was a little thing, but it showed that he was getting ready, too.

There were two prowl cars nosed in at the curb on Forster Street, and a crowd stood buffing on the sidewalk. The red flashers on the cars swept the first-floor windows on both sides of the block. Inside the red brick building, the landlady’s apartment door was open and she could be heard crying within. Loughran was waiting for them.

“Hiya, Robbie,” Leland said. “Making work for us?”