“Receiving stolen goods. I got him again, in ’83, possession of heroin, and when he realized he hadn’t recognized me, he decided he needed help being a crook.”

Levine grinned. “And you’re working him for a big one. In the meantime you get small stuff.”

“I’m working and waiting. Maybe he’s too small. I don’t know if he ever gets off Fourth Street.”

Levine looked again at Octavio’s rap sheet before tossing it back on his desk. “You don’t know if he gets off Fourth Street.”

“He’s a dope dealer. I don’t think he gets out of his flat that often.”

Levine looked up at Devlin, one eyebrow raised. “When was the last time you saw Jack Brennan?”

“What?”

“Jack Brennan, the Democratic candidate for the Senate.”

“And my brother-in-law … still. Are you kidding?”

“Humor me, Frank, please.”

Now it was Frank. You never knew with Levine. Devlin decided to go for it: “The last time I saw Jack Brennan was on Thursday, September sixteenth, 1971, in the backyard of his father’s house out in Jamaica Estates. It was about six-thirty in the evening.” Devlin was looking directly at Levine, never believing he was addressing the point Levine wanted clarified, but falling deeper into the memory of what he was describing. It dialed into clearer focus so Devlin could see it, not in his mind, but before his eyes, like a movie, or worse, a dream he had had over and over, and was having again. Devlin could see the fading sunlight shining across Jack’s shoulder as he turned away and brought his drink to his lips. “Lisa Wagner was there—she was starring in the revival of Brigadoon that year—and I remember thinking that she was going to be late for her curtain.”

Devlin stopped, but Levine was staring, listening. He wanted to hear the rest of it. Devlin didn’t need a prompter to feed him his next words. The images were too sharp, and, he realized again, somehow still fresh: Brennan snubbing him, the back turned for good. “I was so drunk I thought I was sober. I had just seen Jack’s father. Their faggot English butler was at the door. He couldn’t help smiling as he opened it for me, so I stopped and asked him if he thought something was funny. He didn’t answer, but let his eyes move toward the front walk. This way to the egress.”