In the old days, they used to map all that out on a chalkboard. The Boston Regional Intelligence Center was his next stop. Right down the hall. After that, after the fancy computer-generated maps and information bubbles, it was back to basic police work. Knocking on doors, reinterviewing witnesses, finding a common link. If there was one.

Time for all that after he freshened up in the men’s room.

Connie parked in the South Bay courthouse parking lot, next to the police station. He was trying to make roll call, but he was late. He grabbed his police radio from the center console. Besides the use of an office vehicle, the radio was the only thing he got when the DA named him a Rapid Indictment Prosecutor. But it was a good piece of equipment to have. He pushed the button on the side of the radio. “Bravo DA One, Ocean Nora,” he said, signing on for the night.

“DA on,” the dispatcher acknowledged him.

Connie stuck the radio in the back pocket of his jeans and secured his.38 in his ankle holster, the weapon of choice of some of the old school cops before they got the semis. As an assistant DA, he wasn’t supposed to carry a gun at work, and he certainly wasn’t supposed to carry one riding around at night with the cops. But he’d rather lose his job than lose his life.

Figures moved across the windows in the courthouse, and he thought back to the long nights he’d put in prepping cases in that building. The courthouse was still home to him. He had started his career there, working cases with Angel Alves, next door in District B-2, Roxbury.

Connie picked up his pace. He’d hoped to catch part of the four o’clock roll call. He needed to have the same information as the cops when he was on the street with them. In the main lobby, he punched in the key code and took the back stairs to the second floor and stepped into the watch room just as roll call was ending.

Connie didn’t recognize the patrol supervisor giving the briefing. The sergeant stopped his update as the defective spring on the door hissed gently and then gave way, the door slamming shut. The sergeant stared at Connie for what seemed like a minute without saying a word. It was no secret that some of the cops, especially old-timers like this sergeant, didn’t like having ADAs in their station. They didn’t trust lawyers even if they were on the same side. They saw every young prosecutor as a defense attorney in training. He turned to Connie. “You the DA I’ve been hearing so much about?”

“I suppose so,” Connie said.

“Name?” he barked. He had an egg-shaped head, a high and tight doing nothing to disguise the horseshoe-shaped bald spot on the top of his head.

“Conrad Darget.”

“Who you riding with, Darget?”

After riding with different guys for the first few months after becoming a RIP, Connie had settled on Mark Greene and Jack Ahearn. They were the hardest working detectives in the district, destined to make Homicide. “I ride with Greene and Ahearn, sir.”

“Fine. You carrying?”

He had to give an answer. “Sir, I…”

“Never mind,” the sergeant interrupted him. “I don’t want to know. You signed a liability waiver form?”

“Yes, sir. On file with the captain.”

“I don’t want to catch any shit if you get hurt out there. And if you are carrying a piece, don’t use it. Detective Greene, make sure he has a vest. I don’t want a DA getting killed on my watch.” He turned back to face the officers standing before him. “Everyone. Careful out there tonight. Things have been heating up. And like I said, anyone with information on Wheeler, reach out to Sergeant Figgs.” The familiar hiss and bang announced the patrol supervisor’s departure.

Roll call was over.

Connie waded through the officers and found Greene and Ahearn. “What’s on the agenda tonight?”

“Shawn Tinsley. The shooter Tracy Ward ID’d today,” Greene said. “I pulled everything I could find on him. Checked his BOP. Not much of a record. Weed charges, a domestic. Everything dismissed. I pulled his FIOs to see if any of the guys have stopped him, see who he’s hanging with. No real bad guys in the bunch, at least not according to their BOPs. I checked with the BRIC. Not on their radar either.”

“That could be a problem. They are the Boston Regional Intel Center. If they start asking who the kid is, next thing you know, the whole world knows Shawn Tinsley.”

“I didn’t tell them why I was asking about him. Otherwise they’d tell the Strike Force and half the Gang Unit would be up Tinsley’s ass in ten minutes.”

“Not the most subtle bunch,” Ahearn laughed.

“That’s their job,” Greene continued. “Jackie and I used to do the same thing. Won’t help us on this case. Tinsley’d know something was up and he’d lay low.”

“Let’s hope we get lucky and find him tonight,” Connie said.

Greene said, “I think Tracy Ward’s full of shit. He gave us Shawn Tinsley’s name just to get us off his back.”

“And to get a smoke,” Ahearn added.

“His story sounded too good,” Connie said. “He gave us a lot of detail about Tinsley’s crew. How they’ve been dealing crack. How Tinsley thought Ward was moving in on his turf.”

“None of that has checked out. That’s why we’re going up there tonight. See if there’s any truth to what he gave us.” Mark Greene patted his chest. “You want to borrow a vest, Connie?”

“Never wear one,” Jackie Ahearn said. “I hate those things. Can’t move around. I’m not afraid of bullets.” Ahearn smiled. “Connie, use mine. Get it out of my locker on the way out. You know the combination. But hurry up. It’s almost four-thirty and we haven’t made any arrests yet.”

“I’ll put it on in the car,” Connie said. “What about the two witnesses Ward gave us? He said they hang on Magnolia. If we find them, we can hit them with subpoenas for the grand jury. Maybe they can corroborate Ward’s story.”

“Or blow it out of the water.” Greene said.

Sleep entered Momma’s bedroom and drew the shades. It would be getting dark soon and he couldn’t risk anyone seeing the splendor of what he had done with the old place. They wouldn’t understand. But Momma appreciated it, he knew she did. Now she could relive those days, the happy times.

He opened the yellowed wedding album, flipped the gorgeous slip of parchment inscribed with his parents’ names and the names of their attendants. Sleep loved most the photograph of his mother alone, standing before a lush fall of velvet drapery. There was a corona of light behind her, perfect as the Virgin Mary’s halo, her skirts fanned out around her invisible feet. She is holding a bouquet of pale roses-probably yellow, her favorite. A cap of white artificial flowers interspersed with tiny bows of netting is perched jauntily on her head. Her hair is the deep auburn of his childhood, shining, curled and brushed away from her heart-shaped face, revealing her widow’s peak. She is smiling shyly at the camera.

The photo, of course, had been taken before all the disappointment in her life, before the old man stopped loving her. Before he started blaming her for giving him a freak for a son.

This room, the house itself, was a special gift Sleep had given her. He sauntered across the darkened room and flipped the switch on the wall. The room had a warm glow, the pink walls reflecting beautifully. His Little Things loved it. The perfect atmosphere for them.

It was also the perfect backdrop for the handsome couple as they began their lives together. Sleep walked around the room, admiring the photos he had taken of them as they sat in this room only yesterday. They looked so happy, sipping champagne, eating finger sandwiches, laughing. Then off to the park, their little Garden of Eden, away from the rest of the world. She must have been a little drunk at that point, willing to give in to him. And that was where he had to stop them. They would be frozen in time, just at that moment before she gave in to temptation, the moment before she made the decision that would lead both of them to misery. Now they could both feel the anticipation, the longing, the magic of true love. For all eternity.