"d.a.m.n it, Sha.s.sad," retorted Daniels, "the answers aren't going to change no matter how many times you ask. I've told you everything I know."

Sha.s.sad turned quickly and angrily, leaning forward on the table, pushing his contorted face to within inches of Daniels's.

"d.a.m.n it!"

he roared. "What's her name?"

Daniels was silent, Sha.s.sad's eyes fiery and inches away from his own.

"Where's she live?"

Silence again.

"Where is she?"

More silence.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n you!" he roared. He turned over two chairs beside the table and sent them crashing against a wall and a filing cabinet.

"Son of a b.i.t.c.h! Trying to be the hotshot like the old man, huh? f.u.c.k the cops, huh? All right! You wanted it!"

Sha.s.sad burst from the room and was gone for less than ten seconds. He returned with the steak knife taken from Daniels earlier.

The knife, tagged as evidence and now shielded in a plastic bag, was flung down on the table in front of Daniels.

"See that?" roared Sha.s.sad.

"See it? That's something your old man was never dumb enough to do!

Concealed weapon. You won't cooperate with me, I don't cooperate with you. How'd you like to go out to the desk sergeant and be booked for that? Huh? That can mean jail, you know. You want that?" Sha.s.sad was leaning forward on the table again, above the knife, shouting.

"Lawyer-client relations are confidential," said Daniels placidly.

"I.

don't expect you to understand a tricky philosophical concept like that" He glanced at his watch.

"That's why you're a cop" Sha.s.sad moved back slightly, changing his tone of voice.

"What's the matter. You catching a train or something?"

"What?"

"Nothing" said Sha.s.sad.

"If you want to book me on a weapons charge, go ahead" said Daniels.

'I'll have bail posted before you can get back to your car."

Sha.s.sad grabbed the knife angrily.

"f.u.c.k it!" he spat violently. He stormed out of the room and didn't return.

Hearn was expressionless as he sat in silence across the table. He made a final attempt at his role of arbitrator.

"Hey, look:'he said at length, 'why won't you cooperate with us? My partner there's under a lot of stress. Can't you give us a break?"

"How can I?"

"You must know where she is. How about if you bring her in, let her talk to us. You can be here. If she's innocent, if she was in trouble, well listen. She must have had a reason to have been there' "

"I don't know a d.a.m.ned thing about it" said Thomas.

"What else can I say? That's the gospel " "I'm sure," intoned Hearn blankly.

Thomas looked at the detective, a man who was as tired and disgusted with his job as Daniels was. He felt a strange affinity toward the man, then wondered absently how many hundreds of times his father had been in similar situations, hauled into police stations to spend the night lying to the local constabularies. Thomas felt diminished in his own opinion of himself. He'd never been in this situation before. Yet having arrived, he found it easy to . . . well, to lie.

He glanced at his watch. Two ten. Hearn was watching him.

Sha.s.sad reappeared, nasty as ever.

"Go home," said the detective.

Thomas looked at him.

"What?"

"You don't understand English now? I said go home. Patty," he said, turning to Hearn, 'tell him in Gaelic or something. Tell him to get his a.s.s out of here. It's my good deed for the day. Plus I don't want to go to night court' Thomas looked with puzzlement and a touch of suspicion to Hearn. Hearn shrugged as Sha.s.sad departed.

"The knife, we keep" said Hearn.

"You can go, but you'll have to stick to soft foods for a while."

"I own another knife," Thomas offered.

"Try leaving it in your kitchen," suggested Hearn.

"Go on. Get out of here. You'll hear from us again" It was two thirty when Thomas walked out the doors of the precinct house. He was painfully tired and the first steps he took were in the direction of his apartment.

But then he stopped. Leslie's warning had been clear enough.

Were the police the people he was to have avoided? Or were there others? He glanced at his watch again and conceded that one more hour, killed at the end of a quiet bar, might not be so painful.

He marked an hour at a Second Avenue bar. Then he exited the bar at three thirty and began walking toward Fifth Avenue and the park. The streets were reasonably quiet as he walked cross town.

Twice, then a third time, he looked behind him. Always there was someone, al> out a block and a half away. He was at Seventy-third Street and Park Avenue when it dawned on him. He hadn't been released through goodness, kindness, or even chance.

The detectives had seen him glancing at his watch. Figuring he was concerned about the time for a reason, they'd decided to let him lead them to Leslie. They were following him. Thomas had no idea how many there were. But he knew, since two deaths were already involved, there had to be several.

He continued to walk uptown, stepping up his pace. He had twenty minutes to elude an entire squad of experienced detectives and get to the park. And with so few people on the street, he was that much easier to tail. If only he had Leslie's Experience, he thought.