“Maybe he’s tired of New York traffic, maybe he has a girlfriend there, maybe he wants to be near Chris Christie, who knows? People move to Jersey every day.”

“There’s something sinister about this.”

“I think he must know that people are looking for him, and he’s just doing normal stuff.”

“But why would he give that address to the DMV and move out of his apartment the same day?”

“To make it harder for us to find him, maybe? Oh, Harrigan said one of his people checked, and Ryan had filed a police report saying his motorcycle had been stolen.”

“When?”

“The day he took a shot at our Brit friend.”

“What’s he doing over in Jersey?”

“Probably apartment hunting.”

“Why?”

“Because he no longer has a place to live. He’s probably out shopping for curtains as we speak.”

“Did Harrigan check to find out where Ryan’s pension checks are being sent?”

“Ryan doesn’t have a pension, he was fired, remember?”

“Then how’s he making a living?”

“He was working up until recently—maybe he saved his money. Maybe he’s found another job.”

“This is very weird.”

“Everything he’s doing is perfectly normal. When Harrigan finally finds him and hauls him in, he’ll point out during his questioning that he hasn’t behaved like a man on the run. He’s registered his car and bike, he’s gotten a new license. Next, he’ll be joining a church or a golf club.”

Ryan, at that moment, was looking at a Cuisinart. He cooked a bit, and he’d heard about the miraculous machine. Finally, he decided to postpone the purchase. Instead, he went back to the TV department and bought another set for his bedroom. All he had to do was plug them in; the sat system was already installed for the whole building.

—

Stone stayed for supper. He and Viv talked animatedly and tried to include Dino, to keep him off the subject of Ryan. It didn’t work.

“Stone,” he said, “you tell Harrigan to look for that shotgun when they find Ryan. If his guys can find that, then we have a case.”

“Dino, there are no ballistic marks on shotgun pellets, and he didn’t leave any shell casings. If they can find it, then all they can charge him with is possession of an illegal weapon, i.e., a shotgun with a barrel shorter than eighteen inches.”

“Well, that oughta get him, what, five to seven?”

“He’s an ex-cop with no criminal record, not even a DUI. If he’s dumb enough to hang on to the weapon, he’d get a suspended sentence, but the shotgun is probably at the bottom of a Jersey river.”

“Why are you such a pessimist?”

“I’m not a pessimist, I’m a realist, and you’re not an optimist, you’re an obsessive.”

“I think that’s an exaggeration, don’t you, Viv?”