“Look, kid,” he said, clearing his throat as he searched for the right words. “I didn’t mean it to come out that way. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and—”

“Save it,” Mann said, stalking angrily to his desk as Commissioner Kevin Lynch walked in.

There were halfhearted greetings as the man who’d rocketed from homicide to the top of the department crossed the room and stopped at Mann’s desk.

Lynch smiled, his bald brown head shimmering nearly as brightly as the stars on his shoulders. Unlike Mann, he relished the resentment of his former squad. It drove him to succeed.

“Mann, Smithson, I need to talk to both of you,” he said, beckoning for them to follow him out to the hallway. “You too, Coletti.”

Wearing a bewildered expression, the old detective walked out behind the other three. When the door closed, the commissioner turned to Mann and Smithson.

“Internal affairs, homicide, and the state folks are gonna need to interview the two of you about the shooting. Mann, you’ll be reassigned to desk duty for a few days, and Smithson, I’m sure you’ll be glad to get back to your desk out in Dunmore after all this is over.”

“Actually, Commissioner, I was hoping to hang around here for at least a day or so,” she said, smiling nervously before casting a furtive glance in Coletti’s direction.

Lynch caught the look. Mann did, too, but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Sir, if I’m going to be strapped to a desk,” he said, his jaw tight with anger, “I’d just as soon have it be in another unit, especially since homicide will be investigating.”

“Angels from heaven could be investigating, Detective Mann. It won’t make a difference. A suspect pointed a gun at a fellow officer. You shot to kill. Case closed. But if it’ll make you feel better, you’ll be on loan to the delayed police response unit—DPR. You’ll take stolen car and theft from vehicle reports over the phone for a couple days, but you’ll still be attached to homicide.”

“Commissioner, I—”

“You think you’re the only one who’s ever had a hard time in homicide?” Lynch snapped. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Detective. You’re not. When I came to homicide, I was the college boy who was rising a little too fast, and everybody hated me too, right, Coletti?”

“Nobody hated you,” Coletti said to the commissioner before nodding toward Mann.

“And nobody hates him, either. The kid just rubs me the wrong way.”

“Why? Because I’m black?” Mann asked as Smithson shifted uncomfortably.

“No, because you’re just like I was when I got to homicide. A smart-ass who thinks he’s got it all figured out.”

“Racists always have an excuse,” Mann mumbled.