Even the locals, such as Hardy, weren’t immune. After his breakfast, he wasn’t at all hungry, but as soon as he stepped out of his car and caught a whiff of it all, danged if he didn’t think he could go for a little smackerel of something. It was a wonder, he thought, that the cops out of Central weren’t the most overweight in the city.

Plus parking. The five-story public parking structure was directly across the street and would never under any conditions be approved by today’s city planners because, after all, what kind of political statement could a parking structure make? Its only purpose would be functional, and the shakers in the city hadn’t cared about that issue in years and years.

Hardy was walking out of its utilitarian perfection now, trying to figure whom he could bribe to condemn the station building so he and maybe David Freeman could open some hip new spot there. Somebody had done it recently with Mel Belli’s old building and you couldn’t get inside the place now. Freeman, another old lawyer, might react to the precedent, and certainly he’d know whom to bribe.

Canetta cut a completely different figure in his uniform. With the three stripes on his arm, his handcuffs, bullet belt, gun, and nightstick, he was definitely a cop through and through. He appeared more substantial than he’d been the other night – heavier, older, thicker in the chest.

Hardy had arrived at what might be considered early lunchtime, and Canetta obviously wanted to get away from the station if he was going to talk about any of this.

They stopped at Molinari’s Deli so Canetta could get a sandwich – mortadella and Swiss with the waxy sharp pepperoncini Hardy loved and usually couldn’t resist, although today he did. He bought a large Pellegrino water instead.

They walked up Columbus to Washington Square. A few minutes of small talk – an update on Frannie – brought them to an unoccupied bench directly across from the twin spires of Sts Peter and Paul. Coit Tower presided over the row of buildings to their right. In front of them, a bare-chested man with gray hair in a long pony tail was trying to train an Irish setter to fetch a frisbee.

Canetta unwrapped his sandwich and Hardy started talking. Somebody had been in the penthouse and at least erased the tape. Perhaps they’d taken something as well.

Canetta let a few seconds pass, looked sideways at Hardy, fiddled with his sandwich wrapper. ‘That was me.’

Hardy tried not to show his surprise. ‘You went back? After we left last night?’

A bite of sandwich. A long time chewing. Then a nod. ‘I already had who’d called, right? Wrote ’em all down.‘ He patted his back pocket, where he kept his notebook. Then he went on, explaining, ’My answering machine at home, it only takes nine messages. I figured his might be the same. And if somebody else called him, I didn’t want the machine full up.‘

‘Makes sense,’ Hardy said, although that wasn’t what he thought. But it was a done deed. And in any event, Canetta was going on. ‘You know, they always say it’s the husband.’

Hardy nodded. ‘I used to hear that a lot when I was a cop. Now I’m not so sure it’s true.’

‘You were a cop?’ Canetta looked him over with new eyes.

‘It’s been a few years, but just after ’Nam, before I went to law school, I walked a beat. Glitsky was my partner, matter of fact.‘

A moment’s reflection while this settled. Then a question. ‘So the head of homicide’s your old buddy, and you’re coming to me?’

‘I’m the one whose wife’s in jail. Glitsky’s got two guys on the investigation, but it’s three weeks old now and they’re don’t have a thing.’

‘And you think you can help them?’

‘No. I think I can help me.’

Canetta liked that and smiled. ‘Little slow for you are they, huh? The suits?’

And there it was again, the animosity between the street police and the inspectors. Hardy had picked up a trace of it the first night and, not looking directly at it, it had seemed he might be able to get something out of it.

But he had to play the hand close. ‘The way I see it is this. They’re holding my wife because of something she knows about Ron, right?’

‘OK.’

‘Because Ron’s their suspect?’ Another nod.

‘So if I can give them somebody else, anybody but Ron, the heat’s off Frannie. They’ll let her go, since what she knows isn’t part of a murder.’

He could see that the idea appealed to Canetta. The strategic considerations were provocative enough, but suddenly there was something more – the chance to show up the inspectors downtown. If Canetta was any part of the solution to a homicide, he’d get a hell of a lot of print and even more prestige. ‘I told you the other night and I’ll say it again, I think it’s Bree’s work. And you’re saying you’d start with the phone messages?’

Hardy nodded. ‘Ron had calls from both of Bree’s camps. So I’m asking myself why they’d call Ron. What was in those files one of them talked about?’

‘You’re saying that was why she was killed.’ His sandwich now forgotten, Canetta was already digging for his notebook.

‘Not exactly. I’m saying if it wasn’t Ron – and for my own reasons I’d prefer it wasn’t – then this is the next rock to look under.’

‘Valens and Jim Pierce?’

‘Yeah. What?’

Canetta’s eyes had narrowed. He was staring out across the park. ‘Nothing really, except I know Pierce a little – that freelance security work I told you about.’

‘And?’

A shrug. ‘I don’t think I should talk to him about any of this. He knows I’m not in homicide and he’d bust my sorry ass.’

This made sense, and Hardy agreed easily enough. ‘But how about some of these others? You still in? This Marie, for example. Who’s she?’

Canetta answered with a guarded enthusiasm. Clearly, he still wanted to be part of this, but he wasn’t going to show how much. ‘The insurance guy would probably be the easiest one to get a hold of,’ he said. ‘Bill Tilton. If he’s local, he’s probably listed.’

Hardy had his own notebook out now, and was copying the names. He planned to see Ron later today and get many of these answers, but Canetta could be useful – a badge in his service. ‘OK, we’ve got one other person with a last name, this woman Sasaka, with the mystery appointment.’

A thought struck Canetta. ‘Ron knew a lot of women, didn’t he?’

Hardy didn’t want to pursue that. Ron wasn’t going to be his focus. Tapping his fingers on his pad, making a show of thinking, he finally looked up. ‘What was the security work where you met Bree?’

‘Hotel stuff. Bunch of suits down from Sacramento, lobbyists, politicians, one time the Vice President, secret service yada yada.’

‘So what was your assignment? Did you guard individual people?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Canetta obviously didn’t like the work. ‘Stand at the doors, take your hardware, be a presence. You know, these guys, they like to make a show. How important they all are.’

‘But even at these meetings, Bree was somebody?’

He nodded somberly. ‘Oh yeah. She stood out. I mean, first was the looks thing, especially in this bunch of geeks and wonks. But then she’d always give some talk and bring down the house. She had this… sincere quality, a lot of… passion, I guess.’ Canetta was stumbling over himself, trying to make Hardy see. ‘Like she really believed in things. I mean, she got to people – you know what I’m saying.’

At least, Hardy was thinking, she got to Canetta. But now the cop, his eyes far away again, seemed to be considering something. He was half-swallowing, and his next words nearly decked Hardy. ‘Couple of other times, you know, I talked to her.’

He kept his voice neutral, but it was an effort. ‘You mean personally?’

Canetta still wasn’t completely committed to revealing this, but after a beat he nodded. ‘Coincidences, really, the way it started. I was doing traffic duty a day or two after one of these shows.’ A pause, deciding to keep talking. ‘I don’t know, three, four months ago. It’s early evening, I pull her over for speeding about a block from her place. It’s obvious she’s had a couple.’