“Thanks.” Devlin hung up, suddenly remembering Major. Major had called him again last night. Major picked up on the first ring, and Devlin identified himself.

“Gotta talk to you,” Major said. “You know that new Greek joint on the north side of Queens Boulevard? On the other side of Forty-third from the Center Theater? Can you meet me? I sit in the back, in the last booth.”

Devlin hesitated. Major had never done this before. Because Devlin never asked Major about his business, and vice versa, their conversation rarely exceeded the depth of passing the time of day. Never gotta talk. Never. “When?”

“Eleven o’clock. But you have to be on time. I have a business to run.”

Devlin hung up slowly as a horn blew again. Traffic was lined up halfway to the next block. The horn blew another time, again triggering—a memory? Not that of the young cop a few minutes ago. Not even an image, actually. Devlin had to get going. He pumped another quarter into the wall box and dialed Levine’s direct wire.

“Chief’s line:”

“This is Frank Devlin—”

“He just left, Devlin. Ten minutes ago. He and the commissioner are walking over to City Hall.”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Vito Mariano.”

Devlin waited, but Mariano wasn’t going to say more. Another guy who considered Devlin a suspect? Now Devlin remembered what John Lord had said about Mariano’s ambition—and, maybe, connections. Innocent until proven guilty. Sure, Devlin thought, starring James Stewart. “Do you have a way of reaching him over there?”

“Oh, yeah.”

A perfect secretary—even Eileen would be impressed. Devlin looked at his watch again: not quite a quarter to ten. Levine had left his office at about nine-thirty to pick up the commissioner for a ten o’clock meeting with the mayor. Did that leave time to go over things before they faced Hamilton? Devlin could feel his curiosity rising; in his youth, curiosity had ruled his life. “How long do you think the meeting with the mayor will last?”

“Meetings with the mayor rarely last forty-five minutes,” Mariano said.

Devlin remembered hearing that long ago. The mayor’s attention wandered like a schoolboy’s, and because he was the mayor, he didn’t mind letting people know. He celebrated himself, only half facetiously offering himself as a political Leonardo, capable of curing AIDS with a daydream. Devlin realized that it was time to get moving. “Tell the chief I’ll get back to him before noon.”

Outside, traffic was tied up across three lanes. Behind the wheel, Devlin wiped rain from his eyelids, remembering that he was pointed north only because he had been looking for a damned telephone in the first place. A horn blew, and Devlin thought of the experience he’d just had in the coffee shop, that he’d wanted to tell himself something, something that was now even more out of reach.…