“If I wasn’t, I was about to be. I tell myself I was a different person. I was. I remember almost nothing about those conversations with Joe, and by the time he started to make his political move, in the seventies, I hadn’t had any contact with the Brennans for years. I’ve got to check a few things. If you have to go out, leave a number where I can reach you. I’m going to ask you to put Eileen and me up for a couple of days.”

“No problem.” John looked like he was having trouble digesting what he had just learned about his older partner’s past. Was it such a surprise? If so, maybe Devlin had grown up a little. But talking with Joe Brennan twenty years ago about smashing crime, for God’s sake! Who would think that important? Was it even possible?

Devlin took John around the corner to his old Dodge Dart and then headed uptown. He had to make some more calls. Another item that had fallen away with the collapse of New York’s standard of living: telephone booths, with seats, lights, and real doors. Near Fortieth Street he found a coffee shop with the telephone in the window, where he could watch his double-parked car.

Sal’s line was busy. The time was now 9:15. The rain came down steadily, a dark all-day rain, no doubt about it. But at last he had an idea. His car had stalled a lane of traffic all the way back across the intersection behind it. People could wait. Sal liked to tell a customer exactly what was wrong with his car even when the customer obviously didn’t understand a word Sal was saying. On impulse, Devlin called Eileen.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

“Sure. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Well, you wanted it, now you can listen carefully. It says in the paper that the funeral’s at St. Pat’s tomorrow. A private burial in the New Calvary. Donations go to the New York Foundling Home instead of flowers. How much are you going to send?”

“I called last night and left a message.”

“How much are you going to send?”

“How much am I going to send?” he repeated.

“Yes. Are you going to write a letter to your wife and tell her how sorry you are?”

“I did last time. I never heard from her.”

“I know, you told me. All the more reason to try again.”