Damn it, there’s still no word from Tracy Anne. I’ve called her. HR has called her. So I email my favorite backup midwife over at NYU Langone. Her name is Lizzie Witten, and she’s the best in the business. Great news: Lizzie Witten’s available, and she’ll be at GUH in twenty minutes. The moment Witten arrives, I run down to the temporary NYPD/FBI investigation room on the second floor, where I’m told Blumenthal is right now back at the NYPD Major Case Squad offices downtown.

I am, as I have often been, pissed off at Blumenthal. His long silences come across as smugness. His voice usually has a bored or impatient tone to it, as if it’s nothing but a painful chore to speak to me, to answer my questions. And his lack of gratitude for my help in this case so far makes me want to punch him in the face every time I see him.

The more I think about Blumenthal, the angrier I become. After my encounter in the cemetery, after my mugging in the park, after my trip out to Brighton, the volcano inside me feels like it’s about to explode.

So I take the subway down to One Police Plaza. Hell. I just can’t control myself.

“Welcome, Ms. Ryuan,” Blumenthal says when, without knocking, I walk into the office I’ve been led to by another detective in the squad. “Always a pleasure.”

“I’m warning you, Detective. Don’t start up with me,” I say.

“Why are you here?”

“I wanted to tell you in person that I had my cell phone recording translated.”

“I’m not at all surprised. I suspected you would do that.”

My hands are practically vibrating with anger. My mouth is going dry. Then it happens. I explode.

“You self-satisfied son of a bitch. I’ve done more to move this case forward than you or anyone else in this department. And I’m not even part of this goddamn department.”

“Lucy, listen—” he begins.

“‘Listen’? ‘Lucy, listen’? Don’t you dare start with that ‘Lucy, listen’ phrase,” I shout. “Don’t fucking condescend to me. I’m the one who spotted the shoes on Nina. I’m the one who played decoy in the cemetery and met with two criminals, two killers. I’m the one who got my head smashed open in the park.”

“Stop it,” he says. Loudly. Very loudly. Then he says, “And I’m the one who appreciates it all. You’re the one who needs to be petted and kissed and thanked a thousand times. I absolutely appreciate all you’ve done…and all you can still do to help.”

I have to interrupt. “Then why did I have to schlep out to the bowels of Brooklyn because you wouldn’t give me the translation?”