It was late afternoon. He had spent hours working on the COMSTAT computer crisis while the media continued to kick around mean-spirited stories about Fishsteria and the vandalism of Jefferson Davis’s statue. Comments of low intelligence and terribly poor taste streaked through e-mail and were passed word-of-mouth through offices, restaurants, bars and health clubs before at last finding their way to the ears of the police.

Cops finally catch something, no longer let crooks off the hook.

Knock knock. Who’s there? Police. Police who? Plice get rid of the fish.

Jeff Davis coloredized.

What’s black and white and red all over? (Jeff Davis.)

Brazil had been desperate for a break. He needed to clear his head and work off stress. What he did not need was to see Lelia Ehrhart walking out of the Robins Center, heading toward her black Mercedes parked in the Spiders Club lot. He instantly knew what she was up to and was furious.

Brazil sprinted off the track and through the gate. He got to her as she was backing up. He tapped on her window as the car continued to move. She braked, made sure her doors were locked and the window down an inch.

“I’m Officer Brazil,” he said, wiping his face with the hem of his tank top.

“I didn’t recognize you,” Ehrhart said, appraising him as if thinking about a purchase.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Brazil said, “but what were you doing in the gym?”

“Fact finishing.”

“Did you talk to Bobby Feeley?”

“Yes.”

“I wish you hadn’t done that, Mrs. Ehrhart,” Brazil said.

“Someone had to, and I have a personal interested in this that has to do with me. Aren’t you visiting outsiders from Charlotte always telling us to community police? Well, here I am. How old are you?”

“Community policing does not include interfering with an investigation,” Brazil told her.

She stared at his legs.

“You are quite the athletic,” she flirted. “I have a trainer. If ever you want to work in together, the both of us, wouldn’t that be nice?”

“It’s generous of you to offer.” Brazil was courteous, professional and respectful.

“Which gym do you work in out of?” She rolled the window down the rest of the way, caressing every part of him with eyes that had huge purchasing power.

“I’ve gotta go,” Brazil said as she stared at his crotch.

“How often do you hang yourself out here?” she inquired, continuing her physical examination of him. “You are very sweating. It’s running all down you in little rivets and you look very hots. You should take your shirts off and drinks some Gatorades.” She patted the passenger’s seat. “Come sits, Andy. Out of the heats. I have a swimmer pool at my house. We could go and jump on it. Think how good that would feeling when you are so hots.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ehrhart.” Brazil couldn’t get away fast enough. “But I’ve got to head out.”

He ran off. Her window hummed up. Her tires sounded angry when she sped away.