Devlin brought himself to look at Jack Brennan. He had been shot three times, in the right breast, the left shoulder, and below the right eye. His eyes were glaring, gleaming dully through partly opened lids. Dried blood caked his open mouth. Devlin didn’t recognize him as the young man he had known twenty years ago, just as the thicker, older man claiming the same identity as a political candidate on television. The body was marked with more than two dozen V-shaped welts, some of them open cuts beaded with bubbles of dried blood. The cardinal had all but endorsed this man. The mayor had endorsed him. What had they known about Jack Brennan’s private jollies? The way New York worked, certainly a lot more than the average subway-riding working stiff would believe.

A guy named Gerrity stepped out of the crowd toward a corner. Levine followed, and when Devlin hesitated, Levine motioned him forward. “I want you to stay close to me.”

Gerrity had smooth, flushed cheeks and red hair that was fading to white. Devlin remembered reading in one of the department publications that Gerrity had been a detective for twenty-five years. “Get this,” Gerrity said, “I got this from a friend down in City Hall. Hamilton’s there now, Mr. New York, in his office. He’s having a little trouble understanding the concept of a chain of evidence. He’s worried most about the pictures of the bodies getting in the Post before the week is out. How’s that for a fucking mayor, worrying like a hostess about pecker tracks on the living room sofa? He wants to make sure the party goes well.”

Levine stared. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”

“I wish I were.”

Levine bit down on the cigar. “Well, tell them to process the goddamned bodies! Time is of the essence. I want to know about entry angles. How did this Octavio character get in the room?”

“It seems he had a key,” Gerrity said. “One of the Arab bodyguards finally remembered that he saw a key in the lock, and that he took it out and put it on the round table by the door.”

“That’s where it was when I got there,” Levine said. “Good. I just don’t want any questions about the facts. Now what about the lights? Those two people were in bed. Who put the lights on?”

“The Arabs are clear on that. They came in and found Lopez standing over the bed. The drapes were drawn and the room was dark. They turned the lights on.”

“Where are the bodyguards now?”