One of those rare occasions when a letter was delivered overnight. Jim Brennan intercepted the letter: when Devlin called, Brennan’s man was ready with the language to tell him to stay away. Devlin’s A.A. sponsor, Bill Ward, was dead, and Devlin went to three and four meetings a day for weeks until he slipped into the rhythm, again, of one step at a time. Now Devlin realized he had forgotten how close he had come to a slip that time.

Eileen said, “I’ll probably go to Mass this noon, so don’t be surprised if I’m late gettin’ back.”

Eileen prayed for the sick and dying. She visited them, too. And wept later. Part of life, she said. Once Devlin saw that Eileen’s attention to what she thought was right in the eyes of God actually made her feel good, he tried to see it in terms of Eastern systems of thought, which worked because their practitioners believed them deeply. Devlin now took Eileen’s way to be as valid as Buddha’s, and he knew from experience that if she told him to donate to orphans, it would make him happy, no matter what he believed at the moment.

“Thanks,” he said.

“What for?”

“Your understanding, for one thing.”

“And being too busy to worry about, for another. I have to work.” She was gone.

Devlin tried Sal’s number again, and this time the line was clear. Out on First Avenue, a patrol car, lights boiling, rolled up behind the Seville. A young black cop got out from behind the wheel and took a quick look around, then ducked back into the car again. Sal’s phone rang for the third time. A fourth. A horn blew twice, maybe the patrol car’s. Devlin put his shield up against the coffee shop window, but the distance and the rain made it impossible for the young cop to see. Devlin drifted … What was rattling in the back of his mind? He waved his shield to one of the three young women waiting for coffee to go.

“When a guy answers, tell him to hold on. Police business.”

Her teeth showed, and she wanted to back away. Devlin wrapped her fingers around the handset.

“If this works out, you’ll get a commendation, I promise you.”

She glanced at her friend. Devlin was out the door, into the rain, running to the patrol car. The young cop rolled down his window. He saw the shield.

“That’s really a terrible place to park, man.”

“The Brennan case. I’ll be out of here after this next phone call.”

“Get out of the traffic first.” He hit the siren a whoop! and pulled away. In the coffee shop, the girl was still holding the handset. Devlin could hear the continued ringing as he got close.

“No answer.”