Despite Bobby’s jeers, it proved easy to get an appointment with Dornick. The Warshawski name doesn’t open many doors in the world, but men who had served with my father were usually willing to see me. At least once, anyway.

When I called at eight, as soon as I got back from running the dogs, Dornick’s secretary said he could fit me in between nine-thirty and ten a.m. meetings. I dressed carefully in an amber jacket over beige slacks—feminine but severely professional—and rode the El into the Loop.

Mountain Hawk Security’s headquarters occupied four floors in one of the glass towers on Wacker that line the Chicago River, and their reception area actually overlooked the river. I got there at nine-thirty to be safe and ended up waiting for over an hour. For a time, I amused myself watching the barges and tour boats while Mountain Hawk personnel passed between elevators and locked glass doors leading to offices. They spoke in urgent tones that stressed the importance of their work. A few clients arrived and were whisked inside.

I was getting bored, and there wasn’t much to read in the waiting room: The Wall Street Journal, SWAT Digest, and company brochures. I spent fifteen minutes on the phone with my temp, Marilyn, and sent a few e-mails, but I was getting restless by the time Dornick came out to greet me.

Dornick was a vigorous man in his sixties. The brown hair in the softball-team photo had turned gray in the way that gets labeled distinguished. Seeing him in his pale summer worsted, I found it hard to believe he could ever have been covered with mud from a slow-pitch game in Grant Park.

He held out a hand and shook mine energetically. “So, you’re Tony’s girl. I should have recognized you at the fundraiser the other night. You look just like him around the eyes. He was a sad loss, a very sad loss. One of the best cops I ever had the privilege of serving with.”

The contrast to Alito couldn’t have been more pronounced. Dornick put an arm around my shoulder and told “Nina” to get us coffee and hold his calls. He steered me into the kind of office you want to see when you need a good program in subduing and manacling the restless masses. Everything was made of polished wood and stone, much of it gleaming black. No paper was visible, but an array of computer consoles kept Dornick in touch with his team. On the wall were the pictures of Dornick that I’d seen on Mountain Hawk’s website.

“This is really impressive,” I said. “How did you put it all together?”