“Not exactly.” I pull out my phone. I’d done some research from it earlier in the day, but the search was no longer on my Google page. I rerun it while Gabriel inhales more cereal.

“Here it is. The exact quote is ‘The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.’”

“The power of sin is the law,” he repeats. “What does that mean?”

“Funny you should ask, because I was reading some commentary on it . . .”

“And?”

“You know, a lot of mumbo jumbo. But one of the interpretations I thought was interesting was that if it weren’t for the law, no one would know that they’d sinned. You only actually realize what you’ve done is wrong because it’s prohibited.”

“That’s a little backward, don’t you think? It’s not the illegality that makes something wrong. It’s inherently wrong first, so it’s made illegal.”

“I suppose that’s the conundrum that’s being posited in the scripture. One of the commentators made the point that sometimes you don’t even think about sin until you’re told it’s sin, and then it’s all you can think about. The example he used was a group of kids walking by an abandoned house. If there’s no sign, they would probably just walk by. But put a ‘No Trespassing’ sign out in front and all of a sudden they’re tempted to sneak inside. And, whether they go inside or not, the damage is already done. They’ve sinned because they’re thinking about going inside, and they want to go inside. The only thing stopping them—if they are stopped at all, that is—is the fear that they’ll get caught. Which means that they’re no longer pure of heart. In other words, now they’re sinners.”

Gabriel considers this for a moment. Then he smiles. “With all due respect to the Apostle Luke—”

“This one was Paul.”

“Same difference. I think that’s a load of crap. On this, I’m just a simple cop. There’s right and there’s wrong. And . . . you know, lusting in your heart or whatever, that’s not wrong. That’s being human. It’s whether you choose to act that matters. The law punishes action, not thought, and not sin. If God wants to punish sinful thoughts, so be it. But the NYPD does not.”

“You want to know what’s a load of crap?”

“Please, enlighten me.”

“The notion that you’re a simple cop.”

19. DANA GOODWIN

19.

DANA GOODWIN

Richard Trofino lives on Park Avenue between Seventy-Third and Seventy-Fourth Streets, in a limestone-clad, prewar, elevator building. A white-gloved doorman wearing a full uniform, including jacket and tie, holds the door.