District Attorney Drake McKenney and Police Commissioner Calhoun Johnson usually only occupy the same space when television crews are filming. It’s a not very well-kept secret that the two men don’t like each other. The source of their enmity is a bit less clear, but it could be any one of half a dozen things, ranging from Johnson’s animus toward politicians and those born with a silver spoon in their mouths—both of which apply to Drake McKenney—to McKenney’s distrust of anyone he can’t control, which pretty much sums up Calhoun Johnson. Yet despite their well-known hostility toward one another, as soon as we arrive in the Commissioner’s office the two shake hands like old friends.

Like McKenney’s domain, Johnson’s office is a shrine to his greatness. The two workspaces share prominent displays of American flags, desks the size of compact cars, and photographs of luminaries shaking the occupant’s hand. Johnson even manages to one-up McKenney: he’s actually framed his medals and hung them on the wall.

McKenney introduces me to the Commissioner, and then Johnson does the honor of telling me that the short, balding guy with the mustache to his right is John Calimano, the Chief of Detectives, and the tall, wiry African American on his left is Henry Lucian, a police captain.

I nod at each of them, trying to act like being in the company of the highest-ranking officials in New York City law enforcement is something I do on a daily basis. I know better than to say anything, so I stand mute. Fortunately, the others are quiet too, although it creates an eerie silence in the room.

It’s broken a minute later when the door swings open and a small woman, probably near seventy, enters. A step behind her is a handsome man, tall, dark-complexioned, close-cropped black hair, dressed in gray pants and a slightly darker gray shirt. He looks as startled by the VIP guest list as I was when I arrived.

“Everyone, this is Lieutenant Gabriel Velasquez,” Lucian announces. “We can do the handshaking later.”

The District Attorney finally explains why we’ve all assembled here.

“I have some very sad news to report. Lauren Wright, the head of the Special Victims Bureau, was found murdered this morning. Her body was discovered a few blocks from her home, in Central Park. Two gunshots to the head. At close range, we believe.”

The others wear stoic expressions, as if this is merely another crime and not a personal tragedy. They didn’t know Lauren. Not like me, anyway. Then again, few people did. I don’t want to reveal any emotion, however. It’s best to play this like they are and remain calm.

“I was just with them last night,” Detective Velasquez says.