It was definitely her. Decker had sharp eyes, had matched too many disguised faces to too many mug shots not to see it.

Just age the damn face.

The cabbie stopped the lecture for a moment.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Los Angeles,” Decker said.

“Oh, L.A.,” the driver said. “Very, very good. If you want I can show you Ebbets field where your Dodgers used to play.”

“Just take me to the library.”

“Not much to see,” the cabbie went on, “a housing project now. But some people are very, very sentimental.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you interested in architecture, sir?” the driver said. “Or perhaps real estate? Two days ago I took a rich man to see the brownstones on Eastern Parkway. He was very, very impressed.”

Decker tightened his fists and said, “Just the library.”

“While you’re here, you should see the Grand Army Plaza. It has a very, very big arch.”

“I’ve seen loads of arches at McDonald’s.” Decker scowled.

“Oh, no,” the cabbie answered. “This one is not like that. It is much bigger. And older too.”

“I’m not interested in seeing any arch—”

“It is a very nice arch.”

Decker enunciated each word. “Just take me to the library.”

“We drive right past the arch to the library—”

“All right, show me the friggin arch!”

“Well, if you do not want to see the arch—”

“I want to see the arch,” Decker said. “In fact, I want to see the arch so badly that if I don’t see the arch, someone will pay.”

Decker looked in the rearview mirror. The cabbie’s mouth had frozen into an O. He steered the taxi by the arch, then took Decker to the library. Throughout the remaining portion of the trip, he didn’t say another word.

4

This was the alibi: He’d suddenly remembered an important detail to a very important case and he had to use a pay phone because it would have been a breach of ethics to let anyone else overhear him and he had to get in touch with Marge at the station house because someone’s life depended on it, well, not only someone’s life but the whole California judicial system—

Then Decker thought: Even the most complicated phone call in the world wouldn’t explain an absence of six hours. God’s judgment day around the corner and his mind was full of half-baked lies.

The night held a bitter chill, dampness oozing through his clothes and into his bones. His toes and fingers were as cold and stiff as marble. Used to the temperate zone all his life, he had blood the consistency of rubbing alcohol.