“Yeah, and besides, you kill someone just because she’s been with him, that’s personal. So the question is, who’s after her—assuming she is the common thread between Friday and Saturday night’s attacks.”

“Wait, someone else got blown, and not in a good way?”

“And here I thought you knew everything.”

There was a long pause and then Matthias’s voice came back—this time without its usual swinging-dick tone. “I don’t know everything. Took me a while to realize that, though. Anyway, I’ll do the Devina thing for you. Stay by your phone for my call.”

“Roger that.”

As Jim hung up, he felt as if he were dressed in a familiar set of clothes: The back-and-forth with Matthias was just as it had always been. Quick, to the point, smart, and logical. That was the problem. They’d always worked well together.

Maybe a little too well.

Jim refocused on his pursuit, tracking Devina’s taxi as it headed across downtown to the old warehouse district. When they got into the maze of industrial buildings that had been converted into lofts, he let the taxi turn off onto Canal Street by itself and proceeded to the next left-hand turn. Going around the block, his timing was perfect: As he came back to Canal, he got to see Devina get out of the cab and stride up to a door. When she entered using a key, he took that as an indication she had a place there.

Jim kept going, and as he headed out of the district, he made another call.

Chuck, the diPietro Group’s crew foreman, answered in his usual gruff way. “Yeah.”

“Chuck, it’s Jim Heron.”

“Hey.” There was an exhale, like the guy was in mid-cigar. “How you doing?”

“Good. Wanted you to know I’m coming to work tomorrow.”

Guy’s voice actually warmed a little. “You’re a good man, Heron. But don’t be pushin’ it.”

“Nah. I’m fine.”

“Well, I ’preciate it.”

“Listen, I’m trying to get in touch with two of the guys I usually work with and I wondered if you have their numbers.”

“I got everyone’s number but yours. Who you need?”

“Adrian Vogel and Eddie Blackhawk.”

There was a pause, and the image of the guy chewing on the stub of a fattie was irresistible. “Who?” Jim repeated the names. “Don’t know who you talking about. Nobody by those names on the bluff job.” There was a hesitation, like the guy was wondering whether Jim was all there. “You sure you don’t need a couple days off?”

“Maybe I got the names wrong. They ride Harleys. One’s got short hair and piercings. The other’s huge and has a braid down his back?”

Another exhale. “Look, Jim, you’re gonna take tomorrow off. I’ll see you Tuesday at the earliest.”

“No one like that on the crew?”

“Nope, Jim, there ain’t.”