“Yet,” Devlin said absently. He was thinking of the Quinns, and the lengths they had gone to trick him. No: Tom Quinn had been really sick, as if he had drunk too much too quickly. What sort of person goes that far with a charade? Ah, an easy one at last. Devlin was going to have to think his way through every minute of it. He remembered a black sedan following him all the way from the George Washington Bridge—seeing if he got to the correct destination? What was bothering him now was something in John’s voice when he had first mentioned Antonucci. Devlin said, “What were you thinking when you said Antonucci came from my neck of the woods?”

“To tell you the truth, what passed through my mind as I heard all this stuff about Antonucci is that you could have gone to the same high school, but you didn’t.”

“Where did he go?”

“Long Island City. You went to Bryant, right?”

“Wrong. I went to Long Island City. Where the hell did you get the idea that I went to Bryant?”

“Sunnyside is in the Bryant district, isn’t it?”

“Across the street from me. For Christ’s sake, Antonucci is forty-four? I must have gone to high school with him, but I can’t remember. My mind’s a blank.”

“Relax,” John said. “The way I got the information, Antonucci attended Long Island City High School. Even in those days, there must have been guys who weren’t in high school long enough to find their lockers—”

“There were those guys,” Devlin finished, “and with his sheet, Antonucci must have been one of them. And I’m an absolute blank. Jesus! I have a yearbook at home, but if you’re right about Antonucci, he isn’t in it. Only seniors, people who were expected to graduate. For God’s sake, John, what the hell is going on?”

“You’re being fitted for something, my friend, by person or persons unknown, for reason or reasons unknown.”

“Why would I do anything to Jack Brennan? Loncaric just told me my annulment petition is shelved until late winter.”

“You ought to think about taking this back to Harry Levine. Levine being involved in what’s being done to you makes no sense at all. I think you can trust him.”

Devlin told John about the Nelson recording. “I’d have to tell Levine about that, too. Levine would have to ask why I’m drawing attention to myself. Nuttier things have happened, like that L.A. cop who planted the bomb during the ’84 Olympics because he wanted to be a hero.”

“Frank—”

“I’ll think about telling him.”