“Right.” Alex shrugged out of his jacket and dragged off his court-appearance tie. With his free hand, he picked up his pile of messages.

“I think he meant now,” Judd said helpfully.

“I got it.” As he passed Judd’s desk, Alex peeked over his shoulder at the report in the typewriter. “Two p’s in apprehend, Einstein.”

Judd backspaced and scowled. “You sure?”

“Trust me.” He swung through the squad room and knocked on Captain Trilwalter’s glass door.

“Come.”

Trilwalter glanced up. If Alex often thought he was swamped in paperwork, it was nothing compared to what surrounded his captain. Trilwalter’s desk was heaped with it. The overflowing files, stacks of reports and correspondence gave Trilwalter a bookish, accountantlike look. This was enhanced by the half glasses perched on his long, narrow nose, the slightly balding head and the ruthlessly knotted knit tie.

But Alex knew better. Trilwalter was a cop down to the bone, and he might still be on the street but for the bullet that had damaged his left lung.

“You wanted to see me, Captain?”

“Stanislaski.” Trilwalter crooked his finger, then pointed it, gesturing to Alex to come in and shut the door. He leaned back in his chair, folded his hands over his flat belly and scowled.

“What the hell is all this about soap operas?”

“Sir?”

“Soap operas,” Trilwalter repeated. “I just had a call from the mayor.”

Testing his ground, Alex nodded slowly. “The mayor called you about soap operas?”

“You look confused, Detective.” A rare, and not entirely humor-filled, smile curved Trilwalter’s mouth. “That makes two of us. The name McNee mean anything to you? Bess McNee?”

Alex closed his eyes a moment. “Oh, boy.”

“Rings a bell, does it?”

“Yes, sir.” Alex gave himself a brief moment to contemplate murder. “Miss McNee and I have a personal relationship. Sort of.”

“I’m not interested in your personal relationship, sort of or otherwise. Unless they come across my desk.”

“When I arrested her—”

“Arrested her?” Trilwalter held up one hand while he took off his glasses. Slowly, methodically, he massaged the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think I have to know about that. No, I’m sure I don’t.”

Despite himself, Alex began to see the humor in it. “If I could say so, Captain, Bess tends to bring that kind of reaction out in a man.”

“She’s a writer?”

“Yes, sir. For ‘Secret Sins.’”

Trilwalter lifted tired eyes. “‘Secret Sins.’ Apparently the mayor is quite a fan. Not only a fan, Detective, but an old chum of your Bess McNee’s. Old chum was just how he put it.”

Finding discretion in silence, Alex said nothing as Trilwalter rose. The captain walked to the watercooler wedged between two file cabinets in the corner of his office. He poured out a paper cupful and drank it down.

“His honor, the mayor, requests that Miss McNee be permitted to observe a day in your life, Detective.”

Alex made a comment normally reserved for locker rooms and pool halls. Trilwalter nodded sagely.