A package from Luther arrived. There was two thousand dollars in it—two years’ salary—and a formal portrait of Luther, Lila, and Desmond sitting before a fireplace. They were dressed in the latest fashions; Luther even wore a coat with tails over his winged collar.

“She’s beautiful,” Nora said. “And that child, good Lord.”

Luther’s note was brief:

Dear Danny and Nora,

I am home now. I am happy. I hope this is enough. If you need more wire immediately and I will send it.

Your friend,

Luther

Danny opened the packet of bills and showed it to Nora.

“Sweet Jesus!” She let out a noise that was half laughing—half weeping. “Where did he get it?”

“I have some idea,” Danny said.

“And?”

“You don’t want to know,” he said. “Believe me.”

On the tenth of January, in a light snow, Thomas Coughlin left his station house. The new recruits were coming along faster than expected. They were mostly smart. And eager. The State Guard still patrolled the streets, but the units had begun to demobilize. Within the month, they’d be gone, and the restored Boston Police Department would rise in their place.

Thomas walked up the street toward home. At the corner, under a streetlamp, his son leaned against the pole.

“Believe the Sox traded Ruth?” Danny said.

Thomas shrugged. “I was never a fan of the game.”

“To New York,” Danny said.

“Your youngest brother is, of course, distraught over it. I haven’t seen him this beside himself since…”

His father didn’t have to finish the thought. It pierced Danny just the same.

“How’s Con’?”

His father tipped his hand from side to side. “He has good days and bad. He’s learning to read by his fingers. There’s a school in Back Bay that teaches it. If the bitterness doesn’t overwhelm him, he could be all right.”

“Does it overwhelm you?”

“Nothing overwhelms me, Aiden.” His father’s breath was white in the cold. “I’m a man.”

Danny said nothing.

His father said, “Well, then, you look back to trim. So I guess I’ll be going.”

“We’re leaving the city, Dad.”

“You’re…?”

Danny nodded. “Leaving the state actually. Heading west.”

His father looked stunned. “This is your home.”

Danny shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Maybe his father had thought that Danny would reside in exile but close by. That way Thomas Coughlin could live with the illusion that his family was still intact. But once Danny left, a hole would open that not even Thomas could have prepared for.

“You’re all packed then, I take it.”

“Yeah. We’re going to head to New York for a few days before Volstead kicks in. We never had a proper honeymoon.”

His father nodded. He kept his head lowered, the snow falling in his hair.

“Good-bye, Dad.”

Danny started to walk past him and his father grabbed his arm. “Write me.”

“Will you write back?”

“No. But I’d like to know—”

“Then I won’t write.”

His father’s face stiffened and he gave him a curt nod and dropped his arm.