Ed Rawls appeared in the doorway, dressed smartly in a blue blazer and a necktie. “Good evening,” he said. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“You didn’t keep us waiting,” Stone said, raising his glass. “You just gave us a head start.” He introduced Ed to the Bacchettis.

Dino rose and shook his hand. “Thank you for whatever you did that got you a pardon.”

“Dino!” Viv said.

Ed laughed heartily. “First thanks I ever had,” he said, “whether I deserved it or not.” He sat down, and asked for a single malt, one ice cube.

Stone poured him a Talisker.

“Smoky and spicy,” Ed said, tasting it. “Perfect. Dino—if I may call you that . . .”

“Sure, it’s my name.”

“I believe you are this fair city’s police commissioner.”

“And I thought you had been on a desert island for years.”

“The New York Times arrives every day in time for cocktails,” Ed said. “I tend to memorize it.”

“You have a photographic memory?” Dino asked.

“It’s weirder than that,” Ed replied. “I just sort of absorb it without thinking about it.”

“I could make great use of that faculty,” Dino said. “I don’t suppose it’s transferable.”

“No, but it served me well in my work for many years.”

“Are you married, Ed?” Viv asked. “Kids?”

“My wife filed for divorce the day I pled guilty,” Ed said. “We had a daughter, but she died in the embassy explosion in Nairobi, in ’98, one of two hundred and thirty-two who did. It was her first posting for the Agency after she completed her training.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Viv said.

“Thank you. It was an even greater loss for her country. She was a very bright young woman who would have had a spectacular career as a covert officer. She was fluent in French, German, and Swahili.”

Fred Flicker entered the room. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served in the dining room.”

They tossed off their drinks and followed Fred in.

Helene had prepared a mushroom bisque and a crown roast of lamb, and they drank two bottles of a Dancing Hares cabernet sauvignon, 2010. They moved on to dessert, apple pie à la mode, with a bottle of sauterne, a Chateau Coutet, 1978.

Ed was more relaxed than Stone had ever seen him, and more charming, too. This was a new Ed Rawls, one that Stone liked a lot.

Dino liked him, too. “Tell me, Ed, what really happened at Roswell, New Mexico, when that spacecraft crashed?”

“Dino,” Ed said, looking serious, “if I told you that I’d be arrested all over again, and this time, they wouldn’t let me go.”

They moved back into the study for cognac and coffee. They had just settled down when Stone’s cell phone rang. He looked at the number and recognized it. “Excuse me,” he said. He left the room and came back five minutes later.