At the rear of the shop, a round table held a few dozen kid gloves, fanned out in a circle. They ranged from ivory to jet black, and each was decorated with irises and a single bloody fist. I chose the shade that matched Mrs. Copeland’s pair—the pair I had reunited only to lose with my house and everything else—and brought them to the counter.

“Just these?” said Barbarossa. I nodded, and she gave me the price. It was more than I’d spent on any item of clothing in my entire life, and it was not unfair.

“I’m purchasing these on behalf of my employer,” I said. “Galen Copeland. I believe he has an account.”

“Galen, yes. He still owes me for a pair he bought in July.”

“He plans to settle all accounts by Christmas.”

“It’s all right. I trust him. I don’t know why, but I’m a sucker for old friends. Do you want them wrapped?”

“Just the box will do.”

She slid the box across the counter. I dropped it into my bag and left the shop. Virgil was waiting in the car, red with irritation. The pistol was gone from the seat. He pulled back into traffic.

“Where is my gun?” I said.

“Why that shop?” he said. “Of all the leather merchants in New York, why did you choose that awful shop?”

“They do wonderful work. You know the proprietor?”

“Let’s not discuss her.”

“My father knew her too. He knew her before Mary Fall, and afterward, and all the years in between.”

I cackled. I couldn’t help it. Cruel laughter bubbled out of me like acid and stung Virgil Carr.

“What’s so goddamned funny?” he said.

“To think—you wanted to sand down my rough edges, and you’re as rotten as he was.”

“Don’t judge him too harshly.”

“And why shouldn’t I? That woman is vile. My mother was . . . she was everything.”

“She was. Is. No man could be equal to that. If your father reached for a woman like Barbie, he must have been very lonely, or very scared. It doesn’t excuse anything, but . . .”

“I’ll give you one thing. Your Barbie is a lot more beautiful than my father’s ever was. Now where is my gun?”

“We’re here,” he said, and the car slammed to a halt. Thorne’s ship was still moored at the pier. There was no sign of anyone from the Fourth Precinct. Virgil stepped out of the car and opened my door.

“The pistol,” I said. “Give it back.”

“I need to search that ship. Thorne’s partner might be inside.”

“Fantastic. Are you going to let me out of the car?”

“As a matter of fact, no.”

He shut the door and turned the key in the lock. I yanked the handle. It would not budge.

“Open it,” I said. “Goddamn it, Virgil, now!”