“Wouldn’t McQuaid wonder how you have the information?”

Levine curled his lip. “Nobody who has ever worked for me wonders how I have information. Let’s not fuck with each other, Devlin. No one in my office had any instructions to go near your girlfriend last night. What we were developing at the Antonucci apartment—and picking up from informants—points to certain members of the Gambino family in Brooklyn. At the time of Brennan’s killing, seven of them were out in Babylon, Long Island, in one of their well-established hangouts, eating bay scallops and linguini with garlic and oil. They drank Fazi-Battaglia verdicchio. They did everything but have their picture taken together. These are the same guys who brag they don’t kill innocent people. Their idea of innocent doesn’t include anybody they think might know something, like that couple out at Lake Tranquillity, or Janice Drake, the comedian’s wife, who had nothing more on her mind than giving little Augie Pisano a blowjob as soon as they dropped off the guy who killed them. Remember that one out by La Guardia? The two of them shot in the head in little Augie’s Cadillac?”

“That was before I came on. Why are you doing this?”

“I’m angry, for Christ’s sake! Hamilton and Torres have wanted to get rid of me since they took over. Never mind the years I’ve served this city. Torres knows as well as I do that a case against you won’t stick, but by the time you’ve been dragged through the courts and the media, your reputation will be ruined. And your life. The two of them wanted a cop to do that to another cop.” He sucked air through his teeth. “Now listen: We’ve talked to people who were in the Brennans’ lives back when you were married to their daughter. I know you’re still legally married to her, but I’m talking about the time you were living together. Underneath the carefully managed facade, the real Brennan life-style sounds like a fucking zoo.”

“Tell me about it. I was one of the animals.”

“That you were. You were all animals. But it also sounds as if you left with Jim Brennan hating your guts.”

“Brennan has no quarrel with me. He gave me my marching orders and I followed them. When we had that last conversation, he told me I’d have no trouble with him if I—” Devlin choked. Stopped.

“Obeyed his marching orders. You already said it.” Levine was looking into his eyes again. “Does it still get to you? After all these years, just talking about it, not even telling the story, you’re getting rattled. He must have done some job on you.”

Devlin had himself together again. “Tell me about Vittorio DiBennedetti.”

Levine’s eyebrows shot up. “Where did you get his name?”

“I got lucky.”