I nodded, and we went quiet then. After a moment, I noticed she was studying me.

“Are you sleeping, Paul?” she asked, using my first name.

“No,” I said. “No, I’m not.”

“Then sit back.” She motioned at the La-Z-Boy.

She moved behind me then and started rubbing the areas right by my temples. Then she moved her fingers along my skull, and by the fleshy areas above my neck.

“Holy moly,” I said.

“My magic massage,” she said. “If I keep going, you’re gonna zonk for ten hours.”

“Ten hours is too much,” I said.

A few minutes later, she kissed me on the cheek, and I heard her say “goodbye.”

46

By ten a.m., I had parked and was heading across the street from the overflow lot toward the precinct.

I was still officially off of work, and had slept most of the night in the armchair where Kelly had left me. But it was Saturday, so it was a perfect time to sneak in and do a little personal research.

Ahead of me, I saw Hope Duffy, from intake, heading out from the nightshift. Ten a.m. was late for her to be getting off, and she lifted her head when she saw me. Adjusted her course in my direction.

“Hey,” I said.

“I was hoping I’d see you.”

I slowed as she approached. Hope’s hair had lost its usual bounce, and her eyes looked bloodshot. Something had dilled her pickle.

“Want to guess where I just spent the last two hours, Marsh?” she asked.

I shrugged. There are things you don’t raise your hand for in life. Just in case you’re right.

“With my C.O. and a detective from vice,” she said. “You wanna guess why?”

I stared at Hope.

“Apparently,” she said, “I made a computer inquiry about a man named John Adrian.”

“Oh shit,” I said.

I’d made that inquiry on Hope’s account.

Had Hartley tracked it down and caused trouble?

“What did you say?”

“Well, I was very careful in my phrasing.” She raised her eyebrows. “The kinda language I can go back on later, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said. But I didn’t know what she meant.

Go back on later?

“Like whenever you discover whatever it is that you’re looking for,” Hope said. “Get another one of those awards . . .”

I stared at her.

“And then you can tell my C.O. how we were working together on the case,” Hope said, “the whole time.”

“Together?” I squinted.

“Well, you wouldn’t want anyone pulling records from the lobby camera, would you? Seeing you log in at my terminal.”

“Just a thing partners like us do,” I said, changing my tune.

“Good,” Hope answered. “Then you should know that John Adrian’s not our problem anymore. He’s dead, Marsh.”

“What the hell?”

“Apparently vice has been trying to turn him as a C.I. for some case up in Shonus,” she said. “But three a.m. this morning, patrol found their potential confidential informant dead at some flophouse. Ten points of black tar in his arm. The needle still hanging there.”