JACOBI AND I WAITED impatiently in my office as Bergin was processed, his mug shots and fingerprints going into the system for the first time.

“You and Conklin should interrogate him,” Jacobi said.

“It’s your case,” I said. “It’s your interview.”

“Let’s see how Conklin handles it, Boxer. I’ll be right behind the glass.”

The hulking Louie Bergin was sitting at the table inside Interview Two. Conklin and I took the seats across from him, and I reviewed the scant information we’d coaxed from the computer.

“Says here you’re a solid citizen,” I said to Bergin. “A good employment history and a nice clean sheet. This shouldn’t take too long.”

“Good. Because as soon as I’m out of here, I’m gonna sue your ass for false arrest. And I’m suing you, for tackling me.”

“Take it easy, Louie. I think you’ve been watching too much Law and Order. Here,” Conklin said, handing Bergin a paper napkin. “You’re a mess.”

Bergin glowered at Conklin as he dabbed at his face, his palms, wadded up the napkin, and held it in his hand.

Conklin said, “So, Louie, explain to me and the lieutenant. Why’d you run?”

“I run every day. It’s exercise, ya little dick.”

“I’m trying to help you, man. Give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Louie laughed. “Yeah. My new best friend.”

“Better believe it,” said Conklin. “Maybe you boosted some clothes and sold them. We don’t care about theft, do we, Lieutenant? We’re Homicide.”

“Maybe you should’ve asked me nice, asswipe, instead of taking me down for a bullshit ‘resisting arrest.’”

Conklin stood, telegraphing his move, and Bergin lifted his hands to fend off the blow. As Conklin smacked the back of Bergin’s head, the balled-up, bloody napkin went flying, landing softly behind his chair.

“Show some respect for your public servants,” Conklin said. “Especially when there’s a lady present.”

Conklin casually reached down, slipped the napkin into his back pocket.

“Hit me again,” Bergin said, swiveling his huge head, “and I’m going after you for police brutality. You’ve got nothing on me, so either kiss my ass and let me out of here or get me a lawyer. I’ve got nothing to say.”

My cell phone rang—it was the worst possible time. I glanced down at the caller ID.

It was Joe.

“It’s the mayor,” I said, grabbing the phone out of its holster. “I have to take this. Sorry.

“Yes, sir. We’re interrogating him now.” I turned my back on Conklin and Bergin.

My man’s voice was sweet in my ear. “I’m on a plane to Hong Kong, blondie,” he said, not missing a beat. “I’ll be heading back next weekend. I could stop over in San Francisco.”

“Yes, sir. He looks good for it,” I said.

“So you think you’ll be free?”

“Absolutely.”