Lee listened with a kind of mild pride. He had chosen a whirlwind of a girl. When she pointed across the street to Pike’s Place, he saw a bruise on her arm that matched his fingertips.

“Is this true?” Officer McKinney glared at Golod, who did not answer but instead looked to Lee and Andy, as if perhaps they were being addressed. “No,” said McKinney, “I’m talking to you … Father.” The last word was a guess of sorts, but Golod accepted it with a shrug. “So—is it true?” McKinney continued.

“I would take issue with it.”

“What does that mean?” Andy cried. “What does that even mean?”

“It means it’s an unreasonable interpretation of what happened. I’m willing to discuss it, though.”

“Then what’s your story?” McKinney had flaming red hair that spilled out from under his tall cap, and yet he wasn’t a hothead, to the dismay of his fellow officers, who had wanted to nickname him “Hothead.”

Golod frowned. “I’d like to know what his story is, the fellow who grabbed me.”

“Okay, all right, let’s get the names straight.” McKinney brought out a pad of paper. “What’s your name, pal?”

Andy said, “It’s Lee Wheeler.” Upon seeing his reaction, she said, “I mean Reid. Wheeler Reid.” Which might have been fine had he not said “Lee Duncan” at the same time.

“What?” McKinney barked.

“That’s suspicious,” Golod said helpfully.

“No, it’s not,” Lee said, but he was turning red.

Andy said, “It doesn’t matter, I just want my father’s things back or he’ll kill me.”

“Settle down, miss, one thing at a time. Now”—McKinney poked a finger at Lee—“what’s your name?”

“Lee Duncan.” He swallowed. He tried to look humble.

“Then why did she call you the other name?”

“Lee Wheeler is,” he said, “my stage name.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed. An actor. Lee had escaped one kind of suspicion only to be straitjacketed by another. “Okay. And how do you know the girl here?”

Andy said, “It doesn’t matter,” which stung, because he had wished to hear her say, “We are sweethearts.” “Just get the bag,” she said. “Make him turn his pockets out.”

“All right, Father, you heard the girl. Turn out the pockets, pronto.”

Golod silently, and slowly, as if a great burden were upon him, turned the pockets of his great wool coat inside out. There was nothing in them. It made him look penniless.

“Keep going,” Andy said. Golod opened his watch pocket, removed his wallet, handed over change for the bus, small bits of notebook paper, a pencil stub, going pocket by pocket with great thoroughness. Andy had a glare on her that held Lee in thrall. Passersby saw the cop, the rabbi, the beautiful girl, the handsome man, and they tended to hesitate at the crosswalk, as if such a gathering had to result in drama.