He handed it to Hawkins. It was from R & I, a report on a dark green 1980 Dodge van registered in Minnesota to Rachel and Adam Levy. It was dated three days earlier. “Schwartz said he meant to send it through, but he lost it or some shit. He had the grace to blush when he said it. And that’s what’ll happen to everything we get on this case. You want to hang them, Roger? I won’t say you should or shouldn’t, I won’t say how I feel, because I swear to God, I don’t know—but if you really want to hang them, take the report, tape, handkerchief, to that Ivy League bunch in Manhattan.”

He took the cassette out of his drawer and held out both hands to Hawkins, one with the tape, one with the report. “Take it to the WASPs, Roger. Because if you leave it here, you ain’t gonna hang nobody. They killed five kids without a trial, without even a chance to talk for themselves, and they’re gonna walk for it unless you stop them.”

Hawkins didn’t move and Ableson’s hands sank and rested on his desk.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t know what I’d do if I were you.” He lifted the tape and report and held them out again. Hawkins hesitated, then took them and left the office.

“Hello, hello! Who’s there?”

It was Pinchik’s voice, sounding like it used to when Hawkins would call him Friday morning to see if he’d be at Vinnie’s on Friday afternoon.

“What is it?” That was Rose Pinchik in the background.

“Some schmuck calls and doesn’t talk,” Pinchik said to her, then back to the phone, “Whatsa matter, schmuck, you can waste a dime to hear me call you names? Nu? Shmekele . . . paskudnyak . . .” Hawkins almost said it wasn’t a dime, it was eighty cents and he needed help. But he couldn’t talk.

“It’s a breather,” Pinchik told Rose, and he hung up. Hawkins stayed in the phone booth until a woman with a string bag and an umbrella banged on the glass. He showed her his badge and she yelled that that didn’t give him the right to just sit in a phone booth when other people had to make calls. What about the call boxes that were everywhere the public phones should be. He wanted to open the door to tell her that he didn’t have the strength to get up and even though she was a taxpayer she should let him sit here until his legs were steadier. But she banged on the door with her umbrella, and a few people stopped to see what was going on. Hawkins got the phone booth door open and walked stiffly out onto the street.