Brazil dated Sophie, from San Diego, on and off during college. He did not fall in love with her, and this made her desire uncontrollable. It more or less ruined her Davidson career. First she lost weight. When that didn’t work, she gained it. She took up smoking, and quit, got mononucleosis and got better, went to a therapist and told him all about it. None of this turned out to be the aphrodisiac Sophie had hoped, and their sophomore year she stabilized and slept with her piano teacher during Christmas break. She confessed her sin to Brazil. She and Brazil started making out in her Saab and her dorm room. Sophie was experienced, rich, and premed. She was more than willing to patiently explain anatomical realities, and he was open to research he really did not need.

At one P.M., Brazil had just logged onto his computer and gone into his basket to retrieve his police academy story, when his editor sat next to him. Ed Packer was at least sixty, with fly-away white hair and distant gray eyes. He wore bad ties haphazardly knotted, sleeves shoved up. At one point he must have been fat. His pants were huge, and he was always jamming a hand inside his waistband, tucking in his shirttail all around, as he was doing right now. Brazil gave him his attention.

“Looks like tonight’s the night,” Packer said as he tucked.

Brazil knew exactly what his editor meant and punched the air in triumph, as if he’d just won the U.S. Open.

“Yes!” he exclaimed.

Packer couldn’t help but look at what was on the computer screen. It grabbed his interest, and he slipped glasses out of his shirt pocket.

“Sort of a first-person account of my going through the academy,” Brazil said, new and nervous about pleasing. “I know it wasn’t assigned, but . . .”

Packer really liked what he was reading and tapped the screen with a knuckle. “This graph’s your lead. I’d move it up.”

“Right. Right.” Brazil was excited as he cut the paragraph and pasted it higher.

Packer rolled his chair closer, nudging him out of the way to read more. He started scrolling through what was a very long story. It would have to be a Sunday feature, and he wondered when the hell Brazil wrote it. For the past two months, Brazil had worked days and gone to the police academy at night. Did the kid ever sleep? Packer had never seen anything like it. In a way, Brazil unnerved him, made him feel inadequate and old. Packer remembered how exciting journalism was when he was Brazil’s age and the world filled him with wonder.

“I just got off the phone with Deputy Chief Virginia West,” he said to his protégé as he read. “Head of investigations . . .”

“So who am I riding with?” Brazil interrupted, so eager to ride with the police, he couldn’t contain himself.

“You’re to meet West at four this afternoon, in her office, will ride with her until midnight.”