“They found that stolen pickup at Sixteenth and Cecil B. Moore,” Mann said after he disconnected the call. “It was parked right outside a church.”

Lynch and Smithson remained at the murder scene and Coletti and Mann rode the short distance to the corner where the stolen vehicle was found. Lynch hoped the media would remain at Fairmount Avenue, thus giving Coletti and Mann a chance to investigate without further distractions.

Not that it mattered. The real distractions weren’t coming from the media. The distractions were coming from within the fold. Mann could see the source of it on Coletti’s face. He’d seen it all along.

“You really like Smithson, don’t you?” Mann asked as they rode up Ridge Avenue and turned north on Sixteenth.

“She’s all right,” Coletti said, his tone nonchalant.

“Just all right?”

Coletti glanced at Mann and decided to take a chance. “Yeah, she’s just all right. You saw what happened back there. I interviewed a witness and she flipped.”

“No, you made a comment about a half-naked girl. If you were smart, you would’ve just let your imagination run wild and kept your mouth shut.”

“Why should I have to do that?” Coletti asked. “I told Mary I’m not interested in a relationship right now.”

“Oh, so you talked about that?” Mann said, his ears perking up. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Forget I said that. In fact, forget I said anything. I don’t want my business all over the department.”

“It’s too late. Everybody saw the two of you at the art gallery. They saw you talking at headquarters. They know you rode up to Graterford. The only one who doesn’t know she’s your woman is you.”

Coletti glanced at Mann again as they approached Cecil B. Moore Avenue. “She’s not my woman and I don’t want her to be,” Coletti said. “I need my freedom.”

“I see,” Mann said solemnly. “You’ve got ED, don’t you? They’ve got pills for that, you know.”

“Very funny.”

Both men laughed as Coletti pulled onto Cecil B. Moore Avenue and parked near the stolen pickup and the police car guarding it.

There was something almost poetic about the case’s taking them there, to the avenue that had hosted everything from riots to the Rizzoera strip search of the Black Panthers.

The avenue, after all, had once been the center of North Philly. It had given birth to nightspots like the Bamboo Supper Club, where black folks danced to R&B while swilling top-shelf liquor in smoke-filled rooms. The avenue served as the meeting place for Marcus Garvey’s Universal Negro Improvement Association and as the birthplace for legendary soul food eateries like Ida’s.