“It’s got to be my turn by now.”

Ted could see Duran struggling. The cop didn’t like Ted breaking the rhythm of his questions, but he needed cooperation. “One question,” he agreed.

“You said on the phone that Richie had other cards on him besides mine. Have you spoken to any of those people? Anyone I might know?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“First to refuse to answer loses. Sorry. Next contestant.”

“Ask me something else.”

“You say he was shot. Did he see it coming?”

“The first one, for sure. Two bullets. One in each eye. Twenty-two caliber, heavy grain. Probably subsonic ammunition—it’s quieter and more accurate. With a head shot, they tend to go in and not come out. They bounce around in there, turning the brain to soup. The first was sufficient. The second was a message.”

Lili dropped two heaping plates on the table. The burgers were the size of two stacked hockey pucks. Lettuce, tomato, two spears of pickle brined in the liquor vault in the basement, and hand-cut fries cooked twice.

“Ketchup? Mustard? Mayo? Hot sauce?” Lili offered.

“Bring ’em on,” Duran said.

Ted wasn’t hungry anymore. Richie’s murder had become real. He couldn’t lose the image of two bloody holes where there had once been eyes. And if someone was sending a message, who was the intended recipient?

-6-

-6-

There wasn’t a lot of overhead in Ted’s life, either in the business or in his personal affairs. Neither was there much long-term financial security. He had developed a good-sized war chest, but dipping into it to cover expenses violated another of his commandments. Work couldn’t wait. There wasn’t going to be a wake for Richie—there wouldn’t be enough mourners. It was time to move on. Ted needed a new researcher. Also, his promise to Cheryl Rubiano, though made chiefly to get rid of her, was nagging at him. He needed to do something, if only as a sop to his overworked conscience. Stopping by the courthouse would cure a pair of headaches.

The Supreme Court of Queens County soared behind a plaza facing Sutphin Boulevard. While it was the grandest building on the block, with fluted Ionic columns and balustraded balconies, it always seemed to Ted a bit neglected. The scaffolding over the entranceway was a near-permanent fixture, and streaks of grime hung like bats beneath the windows. One or another of the trees planted along the curb always seemed at death’s door. Ted tipped the Uber driver in cash and darted across the plaza, avoiding the small crowd of ever-present protestors. Once through the security line, he turned to his left and headed for the records room.