Devlin hadn’t been in Rockaway in more than twenty years, and he almost didn’t recognize the place, from the higher skyline to the changed storefronts on 116th Street, and the bleak rather than inviting glimpses of the boardwalk. Hotels and bars that had been landmarks a quarter-century ago had disappeared without a trace. Devlin had to find a telephone with privacy. He wasn’t surprised to find himself thinking about Maryellen again. After he broke up with Liz the second time, he had thought hard about contacting Maryellen—then, as now, all he knew was that she had resettled in Minnesota, far enough from New York. Even in 1981, the wound of the separation was still raw. Maybe he could even think of her that way again now, this evening, but he wasn’t going to give himself the chance.…

Tomorrow was Jack’s funeral, there would be more cops around than folding chairs, but if Devlin wanted to see Maryellen, she would be there. After fifteen years, he might not even recognize her. That was the truth. He had not recognized Liz in 1979, less than seven years after their first affair.

Rockaway had changed only on the outside. All four saloons he tried were mobbed, the crowds older and fatter than he remembered, but as reactionary Irish as ever, two of the places displaying Reagan’s picture along with the usual flags and shamrocks. Finally Devlin found a telephone that wasn’t surrounded by reveling drunks, in a candy store near Rockaway Beach Boulevard. He called John, who picked up immediately.

“Dial Eileen’s number,” he said. “She changed the announcement tape—by remote control, I guess. What she has to say is for you.”

“Let me get back to you.” Devlin hung up and fished in his pocket for more change. A newspaper truck went by, and the driver threw a bundle of papers onto the sidewalk. The old man behind the counter came out to get them. The search for Devlin would be citywide by this shift. Kevin McQuaid would have been able to describe what Devlin was wearing. Eileen’s telephone rang four times before the answering machine kicked in.

“This phone probably has more taps than Gregory Hines, and I have only thirty seconds to get this said, but I’m goin’ to Macy’s before I go on to your friend’s. I was questioned all afternoon and I’m just fed up. I hope we can talk—” The beep sounded.