I wrapped the blanket into a makeshift toga and opened the door. At the sight of me, Thorne whipped his head around and pretended to admire my stoop. The flat afternoon breeze carried an emerald hawk in lazy circles around the great oaks of Washington Square. In the empty lots that flanked my house, a pair of snakes twisted their way through the tall grass.

“It’s about, uh—it’s about that report you gave to my deputies over at the Fourth.”

“I’m glad they passed it along.”

“Galen Copeland, huh? Shot and then exploded?”

“That’s the way I saw it.”

“It seems a bit—well, it’s tough to believe.”

“If you weren’t too shy to look, you could see I’m wearing his blood around my neck.”

“How ’bout I come inside? I don’t like you standing here like this, in full view of everybody.”

“And just who is this ‘everybody’? The wonderful feature of this neighborhood, my dear detective, is that no one watches anyone else. You would be utterly scandalized if you knew how many summer hours I while away in the park, with nothing between my body and the earth. If you were a brave man, I’d suggest you drop that ragged uniform and join me in enjoying the night air.”

“That’s not funny, Gilda. Mocking the uniform, it’s going too far.”

“I was mocking you, but never mind. Perhaps it would be better if you just told me what you wanted.”

“I came to take your statement.”

“You’re investigating this crime?”

“It’s a murder, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t aware the NYPD still cared enough to look into a Westside slaying. For that matter, I was never really convinced you worked for the NYPD. But of course, I will cooperate fully. How may I assist, officer?”

“He was really shot?”

“Yes.”

“But that’s . . . but that’s impossible.”

“Indeed. I can’t tell you a thing about what sort of gun it was, but it made quite a racket. I suppose the shot came from the roof of one of the warehouses across the street.”

“A rifle, then.”

“If you say so.”

“Listen, Gilda—you gotta make me a promise.”

“I have to do nothing of the sort.”

“You’re a curious girl, I get it. You always have been. I knew you as a kid, remember?”

“You never let me forget.”

“Yeah, so Virgil wouldn’t . . . I don’t want you poking your nose into this.”

“I deal in tiny mysteries and nothing more.”

“Thank god,” he said and breathed in relief. “Lord, guns on the Westside. Don’t go telling that to nobody. Something like this would be liable to start a war, and a war—lord. It’d be all the city would need to bulldoze the Westside.”

“Or burn it to the ground.”