Rina laughed. Schultz said, “So where to?”

“The hallowed dormitories. Specifically Elm Hall.”

DECKER HADN’T SPENT this much time in a car since his patrol days. On the road again, this time to New York City with the kid sitting shotgun while Oliver, Rina, and Schultz were squished into the backseat. It was five in the evening, traffic was terrible and everyone, except Rina, was tired and grumpy. She had the most reason to be in a bad mood. She was in the middle seat, but as usual she seemed oblivious, soldiering on with pleasant conversation that was answered with grunts.

After a half hour of stalling in traffic, Rina knew that if the men didn’t get something to eat, the car would decombust. She reached down to the bag under Oliver’s feet, took out sandwiches, and passed them around. Amid begrudging thanks, everyone ate. It wasn’t a tricky thing to pull off. With cars backed up on the highway, they were moving about five miles an hour. Ten minutes later, Rina passed around coffee with lids and cookies and napkins.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Decker,” Schultz said. “Your cookies make it almost worth the traffic.”

“Call me Rina.”

“Thank you, Rina.”

“What can truly compete against a fine chocolate chip cookie?” McAdams said. “My nanny used to bake them. At first I just watched. Then I participated. Hence my baking skills.”

“Your nanny?” Oliver said.

“Yeah, of course I had a nanny. The wealthy don’t raise their kids.” McAdams took a sip of coffee. “Not that my mother ever worked a real job. Her days were filled with society obligations.” A pause. “She does a lot of charity work. Her largesse never extended to me. As far as jobs go, I’ve worked a few interships but it’s always been with connections. I just waltzed in ahead of everyone else. Man, I’ve worked more in the past couple of weeks than I ever have in my life.”

Oliver said, “Why’d you pick police work?”

“To spite my father.”

“And?”

“What makes you think there’s an ‘and’?”

Decker smiled. “You have a terrible game face, Harvard. If you ever decide to make policing your profession, you should work on that.”

“Let me guess,” Oliver said. “You wanted the experience to write a screenplay.”

McAdams laughed. “Am I that transparent or did you get that idea from Decker? And BTW, it started off as a novel. Later, it morphed to a screenplay. Like the Loo said, I’m kind of Hollywood.”

“And I stand by that statement,” Decker said.

“I always thought that I was kind of Hollywood,” Oliver said. “Then I met real Hollywood sharks. I’ll take criminals over them any day of the week.”

“What’s it about, McAdams?” Decker asked. “Your screenplay.”

“What do you think?”

“An art theft,” Decker said. “Under the circumstances, you might think about debuting with something that won’t get you killed.”