“Coming up.” Lili was finishing her final prep for the first wave of happy hour devotees. Nearby shift changes set the pace. The nurses from the hospital up on Broadway stopped in for a white wine or vodka and tonic and a chance to meet up with the firemen from Engine 287, who showed up for a Guinness or a Bud and a chance to chat up a nurse. Paulie McGirk had hit his limit, but Tito, the Hungarian waiter who worked at Keens Steakhouse, had taken Paulie’s place, prepping himself for work with a brandy or two—“gasoline,” he called it. Later on, the retail clerks from Target and the Queens Center mall would arrive wanting cosmos and Long Island iced tea. Ted liked to be long gone by then.

“Here ya ah,” she said, plunking down a pint of SingleCut lager and following it with his weekly tab. He peeled off two of Cheryl’s Benjamins and told Lili to keep the change.

The beer was light and hoppy. A good beer for spring, with a promise of summer. He had earned it. There was nothing more he could do about the Barbara Miller case until a judge looked at the file. He was free to enjoy the weekend, and lunch with a beautiful woman on Saturday.

The bar was already beginning to get loud, packed with firemen who all looked to be six foot three, broad shouldered, and handsome. One of them put money in the jukebox on the wall, and an old Allman Brothers tune began to play. A pair of nurses burst out in high-pitched laughter as another of New York’s bravest completed the punch line to a joke Ted had heard told a dozen times on Friday nights. He would have bet the nurses had heard it before, too. He finished the beer and stood. It was time to move on. The Mets were on the road, and if he hustled, he could put in an hour at the gym before game time.

The front door swung open again, and another pair of tall men walked in and looked around. The happy hour lights were dim, and it took Ted a moment to recognize one of them as Detective Duran. Ted sat back down. The detective saw him anyway. He tapped his partner on the arm and pointed. Neither man was smiling.

“How you doing, Mr. Molloy?” Duran said. “This is my partner, Chuck Kasabian.”

“I was just leaving,” Ted said.

Duran ignored Ted’s dubious attempt at escape. “Do you have a minute?”

It wasn’t really a question. “Sit down,” Ted said. “Can I get you something? Lili makes a wicked Shirley Temple.”