Rune ran to the end of it. It was a dead end. But there was a rickety door. She threw herself against it. The wood was much more solid than it seemed. She bounced off the thick oak and fell to the ground.

And she knew it was over. The hit men, guns in the open now, looked around cautiously and walked toward her.

Rune got up on her knees and looked for a brick, a rock, a stick. There was nothing. She fell forward, sobbing. “No, no, no...” They were on top of her. She felt the muzzle of the gun at her neck.

Rune whimpered and covered her head. “No...”

That was when one of the hit men said, “You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney and to have the attorney present during questioning. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in court.”

The 20th Precinct looked a lot like the New York State unemployment office, except there weren't so many — or as many — writers and actors here. A lot of scuffed Lucite, a lot of typed announcements pinned up on bulletin boards, cheap linoleum, overhead fluorescents. Civilians milling about.

And cops. A lot of big cops.

Handcuffs were heavier than she'd thought. They weren't like bracelets at all. She rested her hands in her lap and wondered if she'd be out of prison in a year.

One of the hit men, a Detective Yalkowsky, deposited her in an orange fiberglass chair, one of six bolted together into a bench.

A woman officer in a ponytail like Rune's, the desk sergeant, asked him, “What've you got here?”

“Attempted grand larceny. Extortion, attempted assault, fleeing, resisting arrest, criminal trespassing —”

“Hey, I didn't assault anyone! And I was only trespassing to get away from him. I thought he was a hit man.”

Yalkowsky ignored her. “She hasn't made a statement, doesn't want a lawyer. She wants to talk to somebody named Healy.”

Rune said, “Detective Healy. He's a policeman.”

“Why do you want to see him?”

“He's a friend.”

The detective said, “Honey, the mayor could be a friend of yours and you'd still be in deep shit. You tried to extort Michael Schmidt. That's big stuff. You're gonna be potato chips for the newspapers.”

“Just give him a call, please?”

The detective hesitated, then said, “Put her in a holding cell until we talk to him.”

“A holding cell?” The desk sergeant looked Rune over and frowned. “We don't want to do that.”

Rune looked at her concerned face. “She's right, you don't want to do that.”

Yalkowsky shrugged. “Yeah, I think we do.”

Death of a Blue Movie Star

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Rune and Sam Healy made their way along Central Park West, past the knoll where dog-walkers gathered. Poodles and retrievers and Akitas and mutts tangled leashes and pranced on the dusty ground.

Healy was silent.