No such luck. Cheryl reached into the bag and pulled out a plain white envelope from which she extracted ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She tucked them into a second envelope, which she pressed into his hand. “Now you work for me.”

She’d called his bluff and then some. It felt like a devil’s bargain. Already he regretted it. But he crammed the money into a jacket pocket and sealed his fate. “I’ll call you next week.”

“No way.” She took his newspaper and scribbled a phone number across the cartoon of the mayor being pursued by junkyard dogs while a line of real estate developers smiled in approval. “That’s my cell. You call me tomorrow. I want daily reports.”

He wanted to shake her up, even if only to show he hadn’t been bought. “Who’s the big guy waiting for you?”

Cheryl stood, hoisted the big bag onto one shoulder, and started for the door. Before she reached it, she turned once more and said, “Tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Ted,” he said, but the door had already swung shut behind her.

-5-

-5-

Detective Duran was not what Ted expected. He had pictured a balding, overweight middle-aged version of the kids he had known in high school. Trained by Jesuits to be proficient in both obedience and skepticism, they became excellent investigators and administrators.

This broad-shouldered man topped Ted’s six-two by an inch or so and appeared to have all his hair. If he carried any excess weight, it didn’t show on his chiseled black face.

“Edward Molloy? You still look like your picture.” Duran held out a big hand.

There were three images of himself that Ted had found on the Internet: a smiling Ted in the official wedding announcement from the New York Times twelve years earlier; an uncertain young man of twenty-five, broad shouldered and lean faced, standing with the half-dozen other new hires at Hasting, Fitzmaurice, and Barson; and a fierce wrestler in a one-piece St. John’s uniform, being honored for leading the team with twenty-two falls competing at 165 lbs. in his junior year.

“What picture is that?” Ted asked, taking the proffered hand and giving a brisk shake.

“You were a wrestler.”

Ted didn’t think he looked much like that boy anymore. He was twenty-five pounds heavier, and the fire in that young man’s face had burned out years earlier.

Ted nodded. “A long time ago. Call me Ted. Please.” He gestured for the cop to sit.

Duran sank onto the bench opposite. “Okay. Ted.”

“You came alone. I’m surprised,” Ted said.

The detective waved away the comment. “You are not now a target of this investigation. If that changes, I will be back with my partner and enough uniforms to overwhelm any resistance you might exhibit. Till then.” He turned up both hands and raised both eyebrows in an expression of openness and lack of guile. “Now. Tell me about your business dealings with the deceased.”