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There were several empty parking spaces, and after a moment's indecision, he pulled the Bug into the one reserved for the executive director. With a little bit of luck, Matt reasoned, that gentleman would have exercised his right to quit for the day whenever he wanted to, and would no longer require his space.
He walked up the stairs to the first floor, however, found the rent-a-cop, and handed him the keys to the Bug.
"I had to park my Bug in the executive director's slot; my mother' s in mine."
"Yourfather" the rent-a-cop said. He was a retired police officer. "He said if I saw you, to tell you he wants to see you. He'll be in the Rittenhouse Club until six. I stuck a note under your door."
"Thank you," Matt said.
"I'll take care of the car, don't worry about it. I think he's gone for the day."
"Thank you," Matt said, and got on the elevator and rode up to the third floor, wondering what was going on. He had a premonition, not that the sky was falling in, but that something was about to happen that he was not going to like.
He unlocked the door to the stairway, opened it, and picked up the envelope on the floor.
4:20 P.M.
Matt:
If this comes to hand after six, when I will have left the Rittenhouse, please call me at home no matter what the hour. This is rather important.
Dad.
He jammed the note in his pocket and went up the stairs. The red light on his answering machine was blinking. There were two messages. The first was from someone who wished to sell him burglar bars at a special, one-time reduced rate, and the second was a familiar voice:
"I tried to call you at work, but you had already left. Your dad and I are going to have a drink in the Rittenhouse Club. You need to be there. If you don't get this until after six, call him or me when you finally do."
The caller had not identified himself. Chief Inspector Dennis V. Coughlin did not like to waste words, and he correctly assumed that his voice would be recognized.
And, Matt thought, there had been something in his voice suggesting there was something wrong in a new detective having gone off shift at the called-for time.
What the hell is going on?
Matt picked up the telephone and dialed a number from memory.
"Yeah?" Detective Charley McFadden was not about to win an award for telephone courtesy.
"This is Sears Roebuck. We're running a sale on previously owned wedding gowns."
Detective McFadden was not amused. "Hi, Matt, what's up?"
"I don't know, but I'm not going to be able to meet you at six. You going to be home later?"
"How much later?"
"Maybe six-thirty, quarter to seven?"
"Call me at McGee's. I'll probably still be there."
"Sorry, Charley."
"Yeah, well, what the hell. We'll see what happens. Maybe I'll get lucky without you."
Matt hung up, looked at his watch, and then quickly left his apartment.
****
Matt walked up the stairs of the Rittenhouse Club, pushed open the heavy door, and went into the foyer. He looked up at the board behind the porter's counter, on which the names of all the members were listed, together with a sliding indicator that told whether or not they were in the club.
