“We’re going to have to play this by ear,” Loncaric said. “Happily, His Eminence was aware of your petition before last night. I won’t know until the time comes when I can approach him again. He’ll be in Rome in October, maybe into November. That’s what you’re looking at, Frank. You can’t rush him on a thing like this. He’s very sensitive to doing things properly. I can hear him say that this is no time to burden old people like the Brennans. He might even say poor old people.”

“I thought of that.” Devlin was looking out at the big sailing ships tied to the south side of the pier. Tourists clambered over the varnished carcasses as disrespectful as insects. Loncaric didn’t have to know anything about Devlin’s connections to last night’s and this morning’s murders. What was the point? For all Devlin knew, everyone he saw would be called as a witness. He pointed to the collar. “What are you doing in that getup?”

“From here, I’m going up to Washington Heights for the funeral of an eighty-eight-year-old nun. The old biddy had the habit for seven decades, since before our entry into World War One. She saw a lot of changes. She saw them at a distance, but she saw them.”