At that moment, as Mark Denton once again strode across the stage to the dais to start the meeting, Danny realized that he’d known all he needed to know since the first meeting he’d attended. That was seven meetings ago.

All he had left to do was to sit down with McKenna or his father and give them his impressions, the few notes he’d taken, and a concise list of the leadership of the Boston Social Club. After that, he’d be halfway to his gold shield. Hell, maybe more than halfway. A fingertip’s reach away.

So why was he still here?

That was the question of the month.

Mark Denton said, “Gents,” and his voice was softer than normal, almost hushed. “Gents, if I could have your attention.”

There was something to the hush of his voice that reached every man in the room. The room grew quiet in blocks of four or five rows until the silence reached the back. Mark Denton nodded his thanks. He gave them a weak smile and blinked several times.

“As many of you know,” Denton said, “I was schooled on this job by John Temple of the Oh-Nine Station House. He used to say if he could make a copper out of me there’d be no reason left not to hire dames.”

Chuckles rippled through the room as Denton lowered his head for a moment.

“Officer John Temple passed this afternoon from complications connected to the grippe. He was fifty-one years old.”

Anyone wearing a hat removed it. A thousand men lowered their heads in the smoky hall. Denton spoke again: “If we could also give the same respect to Officer Marvin Tarleton of the One-Five, who died last night of the same cause.”

“Marvin’s dead?” someone called. “He was getting better.”

Denton shook his head. “His heart quit last night at eleven o’clock.” He leaned into the dais. “The preliminary ruling from the department is that the families of neither man receive death benefits because the city has already ruled on similar claims—”

Boos and jeers and overturned chairs temporarily drowned him out.

“—because,” he shouted, “because, because—”

Several men were pulled back down into their seats. Others closed their mouths.

“—because,” Mark Denton said, “the city says the men did not die in the line.”

“How’d they get the fucking flu, then?” Bob Reming shouted. “Their dogs?”

Denton said, “The city would say yes. Their dogs. They’re dogs. The city believes they could have contracted the grippe on any number of occasions unrelated to the job. Thus? They did not die in the line. That’s all we need to know. That’s what we have to accept.”

He stepped back from the dais as a chair went airborne. Within seconds, the first fistfight broke out. Then the second. A third started in front of Danny and he stood back from it as shouts filled the hall, as the building shook from anger and despair.

“Are you angry?” Mark Denton shouted.

Danny watched Kevin McRae wade into the mob and break up one of the fights by pulling both men off their feet by their hair.