Then the captain leaned his elbow on the rim of the window. “You, sweetheart, why don’t you grab a gypsy cab and go wait for Detective On-the-Job at home, snug under the covers?”

“Captain Ekersly, I’d like you to meet Alexandra Cooper. Assistant district attorney, New York County, in charge of-”

“Sex. Nice to meet you. Raymond Ekersly. You do good work, my guys tell me. I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking, up here holding hands with this cowboy when I got better things for him to do, but I suggest you get out of our way, okay? See you in court.”

“I can just stay here while-”

“Vito. See that radio car with two auxiliaries sitting in it, up the block? Walk the DA up there and tell them to take her wherever she wants to go.” Ekersly turned back to me. “Your place or his, sweetheart?”

“Coop’s indicted people for less than that, Cap. She’s not your sweetheart. She’s nobody’s sweetheart, okay?”

“I can’t catch a break either way. Get to work, guys. I give up. East Side. Seventieth Street.” I opened the door and stepped out of the car as the captain walked toward the projects.

“Your office at nine? You and Clem?” Mike asked.

“Sure. You know I won’t be able to sleep.” I hesitated before going on. “You want to come by when-when this is over, for a drink?”

“Always the optimist. Who knows when it’ll be over? I’ll really be ready to sack it in if this ends peacefully. Don’t worry, I’ll call you with the results. Have a nightcap on me.”

I waved him off and followed Vito to the neighborhood auxiliary car, where two civilians who liked to dress up and play cop were keeping the street safe.

Six months ago, I thought as I settled myself into the backseat, Mike would have been on my doorstep the moment this crisis passed, to assuage my concern and distract me from my thoughts about the role I had played in igniting it. Now he had someone he wanted to be with at home. At moments like this I would have to learn to adjust emotionally to that new arrangement.

I barely spoke on the ride downtown to my apartment, wondering what Angel had said or done to cause Ralphie to flip out on her. Maybe she had taunted him with the fact that she was sleeping with him only to get back at Felix, or maybe he had become enraged when she disclosed that his girlfriend had been unfaithful. Mercer had to strike exactly the right chord to connect with the kid, or there was likely to be a homicide on my conscience.

When the driver reached the red light at the corner of Seventy-first Street and Second Avenue, he pulled over in front of an all-night deli. “You mind if we stop a minute and get some coffee, ma’am?”

“Tell you what. I need some, too. Could be a long night. I’ll buy a dozen containers and some food to take back to the crew at the scene if you guys don’t mind waiting ten minutes.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

I filled the cardboard cups while the counterman sliced and wrapped an assortment of sandwiches, which I carried out to the car. “Help yourselves and spread the rest around. Thanks for the lift.”

“You okay?”

I pointed to the driveway exit that led away from my building entrance, two-thirds of the way up the block. “That’s home. I’ve been cooped up inside all day. The night air feels good for a change.”

I went back in the deli to pour myself a cup of coffee and pay the tab. As I sipped on the hot brew, my friend Renee walked in to use the small ATM in the back of the store.

“What a nice surprise,” she said, kissing me on the cheek. “I asked David if he’d seen you lately. He can tell by how early you take in your newspaper that you’ve been keeping terrible hours. I’m just getting some cash for the morning. Got a minute?”

Renee and her fiancé, David Mitchell, lived in an apartment on the same hallway as mine.

“Sure. Zac outside?”

“Yeah. Have any strength left for a short walk with me? I got stuck with the late shift.”

David, a psychiatrist, and Renee, a therapist, had a handsome weimaraner named Prozac. I liked to think I was her surrogate mother. She had often comforted me when I needed some affection and a cold nose in the middle of a difficult night.

I went out to the sidewalk and knelt to greet the friendly dog, unlooping her leash from the top of the parking meter where Renee had tied her.

When Renee came out, I hooked my arm in hers and we set off to square the block, up to Seventy-second Street and around to Third Avenue.

“What are you doing with coffee at this hour of the night?”

“I’m so wired, I’ll never sleep.” I gave her an abbreviated version of the hostage situation, as she tried to offer reassurance and get my mind off the subject.

“How’s Jake?”

I laughed. “I think it would be less stressful to talk about Felix and Angel at this point. Jake’s traveling.”

“Again? I was hoping to make a date for you to have dinner with us next week.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

Zac stopped and sniffed at a wrought-iron gate in front of a brownstone. “You can have me, if that works. I’m not certain what day he’s coming back.”

I started forward but Zac stood her ground. “C’mon, baby. Time to go to sleep.”

The smart, lean animal lowered her head and growled softly. Renee and I turned to look behind us and saw nothing unusual.

“Let’s go, Zac. Nobody there.” I took two steps but the dog strained against her leash. Renee took control of the leather strap and we walked on to Third Avenue. After we turned the corner and got halfway down the block, I glanced back over my shoulder. No one was there, but I thought I saw the shadow of a figure tucked back in the opening of a storefront.

Zac found a fire hydrant to her liking and did what she was supposed to do. While she did, the light from the streetlamp found the shadow lurking behind us and stretched its length out into the asphalt street. It seemed to be ten feet tall.

“Okay, girl, home we go.” I tried to speed up the process but the dog was stubborn.

“She’s really unhappy about something,” Renee said.

I broke into a jog and the hot coffee slurped over the side of the cup, stinging my hand as it dripped onto my skin. I threw the container to the ground as I saw the figure step out of the dark recess and onto the sidewalk behind us.

“Run, Renee. Just pull Zac and run, will you?”

The dog growled again and resisted Renee’s urging. She must have seen the frightened look on my face and sternly commanded the animal to move. Despite Zac’s vocalizing, I knew she was far too gentle a dog to attack, and Renee would have hurt herself before ever putting the sweet-natured weimaraner in harm’s way. I blocked Renee’s back with my body to give her a chance to get going, and tried to make out the face of the person on the sidewalk as I backed up.

Renee ran as the dog began to bark loudly, heading around the last corner to the short downhill slope of Seventy-first Street. “The garage. Go into the garage,” I shouted at her. “Tell Jorge to call 911.”

I moved sideways, like a crab racing across hot sand, looking back and forth between Renee and our pursuer.

Several cars streamed by on the avenue, oblivious to my fear. By the time I stopped to flag one down, the stalker would have gained on me.

Stalker. Stalker. Shirley Denzig? The dark night and fluorescent streetlights were playing their usual tricks with each other. Was the tall figure wearing a long-billed baseball cap a man, a stranger out for a late-night walk? Or was it the short, squat body of Denzig, elongated by an optical illusion in the dim glare of a city night?

Now he or she was running with us, slower than we were, but steadily in our direction. And now, as I stood at the mouth of the sloping ramp that led down to our building’s garage entrance, I was shaded by the overhang, and the approaching figure came clearly into view under the bright streetlight.