Halfway across the avenue his left foot caught a pothole. His arms waved wildly as he tried to catch his balance. Then, quickly steady again, he continued. One car roared in front of him and he darted in front of another which abruptly slowed. He crossed the last lane of the avenue and was on the sidewalk of the opposite side, in front of the Thirty-third Street post office, its giant steps and columns.

Neither rain, nor snow ... Everywhere, the Federal government intruding.

He looked south. He saw her enter a building beneath a yellow sign with giant blue letters. PA-R-K. Leslie McAdam had escaped, if that was what she was doing, into a five-story self-service parking lot a block and a half away.

Thomas ran after her. When he crossed Thirty-second Street he was aware again of the three men on the opposite side. They were waiting for the traffic to allow them to cross. They had Thomas in full view and they followed him southward on the opposite side.

The green WALK sign had changed to flashing DON'T WALK.

In fifteen seconds they, whoever they were, would be on his side of Eighth. One of them carried something black in his thick fist.

He fled into the parking lot, stood at a frenzied halt at its entrance way and looked in every direction.

Nothing.

He looked to the man behind a gla.s.s, the man whom a driver would pay on the way out. The man's face was quizzical as he watched Thomas.

"Did you see a girl?" Thomas called frantically.

The quizzical expression creased into a knowing grin.

"I seen lots of girls!" The accent was singsong and Jamaican.

"This Eighth Avenue, mon!" As if that explained everything.

"A woman ran in here ten seconds ago!"

The man laughed and nodded toward the only stairwell.

"She go upstairs, mon. Happy evening!"

Thomas listened. He could now hear the footsteps of someone running-one flight up. Leslie! But he could also hear the footsteps pursuing him.

He turned. The men who were chasing him burst into the parking garage.

They froze, staring at him. First three men, then a fourth.

Thomas Daniels recognized Sha.s.sad, the last to arrive. He whirled again and ran not upstairs but straight to the rear of the garage to a door marked EXIT.

Two of the plainclothes policemen pursued Thomas. Two others slowly took the stairs.

Thomas reached the exit door and pushed it open, stopping, looking out onto Ninth Avenue, and calling Leslie by her first name.

He stood in the exit staring at the empty avenue, as if searching for her. There was no Leslie running in either direction. Sha.s.sad and Hearn were next to Daniels. Hearn was breathing hard, Sha.s.sad wasn't.

Sha.s.sad stepped past Daniels and looked up and down Ninth Avenue. He looked back to the attorney and spoke sourly

"Where is she?"

"You got a h.e.l.l of a nerve! Where's who?"

"Don't get smartta.s.sed," Sha.s.sad grumbled.

"Where is she?"

Thomas Daniels was incensed.

"It's you who owes me the explanation! You frightened away an important client" "My a.s.s, we did!" snapped Sha.s.sad.

There was the sound of a mechanical voice. A walkie-talkie.

Thomas heard the voice say,

"Sergeant, we might have something.

Second floor."

Sha.s.sad smiled slightly.

"Not so smart after all, are you?" he said.

Hearn held up and answered the walkie-talkie.

"We'll be up." The detectives walked quickly upstairs. Thomas Daniels followed.

There was no woman to be seen anywhere in the second story. just an a.s.sortment of parked cars, plus one car for which the owner had arrived. The car, a long dark-blue Pontiac, was at the top of the second-floor ramp. Its owner, a tall, conservatively dressed man in an overcoat, was standing beside the car. He'd been confronted by the first two detectives.

"We looked on every other floor," said one of the detectives to Sha.s.sad.

"She's not in here' "This guy wants to take his car out the other cop told Sha.s.sad.

"I.

asked him if he'd open his trunk and he wouldn't" Sha.s.sad looked the man up and down. The man had been the first to appear who wanted to remove a car fron the premises. The car owner looked ordinary enough, but Sha.s.sad was laden with suspicion. He asked the man again if he'd open the car's trunk. Thomas Daniels studied the victim of the hara.s.sment.

"I'm sure you're only trying to do your job, patrolman," said the man, 'but-" "De-tec-tive corrected Sha.s.sad, p.r.o.nouncing all three syllables succinctly.

"-but, yes, I do mind" The two other detectives ea suafly stepped up and down the sides of the car, eyeing it as if they could see through it. The back seat and interior had long since been looked into.

"Why do you mind?" pressed Sha.s.sad, buying time.

"Because," said the man with growing annoyance,

"I don't like being treated like a criminal. My trunk's empty," he said caustically.

-You have my word."

The man's key was in his hand. He opened the door on the side of the driver's seat and began to step into the car.

"Suppose I insisted" said Sha.s.sad angrily, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.