“You have a handsome backside for a man your age,” Eileen said. Too late he became aware of sucking in his gut, and she laughed loudly as she closed the bathroom door again. She knew exactly how to turn the tables on him; he never had a chance. He was still grinning when he said hello.

“Mr. Devlin?”

The woman had a really harsh, broad city accent. “I’m calling from Sussex County, not far from Route 80—”

The next few seconds flew by. Devlin hadn’t thought of Sussex in years. He wondered how much time had passed since he had hung up on Cummings. It seemed like less than a minute, but it was hard to tell because Devlin had been having fun with Eileen. The sister must have been sitting by the telephone, waiting for Cummings to give her the okay. She said her husband was asleep.

“Your brother told me the circumstances, Mrs.—”

“Quinn. Irene Quinn. I know this is asking a lot. It was asking a lot of my brother.” She started to tell the story again. Devlin was thinking that Sussex was a long way from the city when Eileen came out of the bathroom yawning and waving bye-bye. Frank Devlin was forty-three and far from a freak of nature. He had slept all afternoon. Eileen had taken the day off to be with him, but she had brought work home with her, attending to it while he slept. On the other hand, they had been in bed, mostly not sleeping, since Saturday night. After meeting Eileen O’Sullivan, getting horizontal with her was just about his only idea of a good time. Thank God, he thought. She saw him looking at her.

“If somebody needs you, go, because I’m going to sleep. Be back by eleven or forget it, because I’ll be a ruin if you wake me after that.”

“Fair enough; I’ll go to my own place.”

As if she had been listening to Eileen, too, Mrs. Quinn asked him where he was located.

“On Forty-eighth Street, in Sunnyside, Queens.” He wanted to add, And if I’m not home by eleven, I’ll be sleeping five and a half blocks away. Eileen’s dark eyes were fixed on his. He really didn’t want to go anywhere, but he would be unhappy with himself if he didn’t help these people, and sometimes Eileen knew him better than he knew himself.

In seconds, Irene Quinn was giving directions.…

7:50 P.M. …

7:50 P.M. …

The setting sun was blinding. Devlin used his hand to shield his eyes while he eased his car onto the exit ramp that curved down to the right and disappeared under the trees. The sedan that had been behind him all the way from New York roared on by, toward Pennsylvania.