She turned and ran straight into the street, but the sedan had circled and cut off her path. It drove right at her. Denise jumped to one side. Ocks and Ellery started to move in from the right. The car was advancing from the left. Denise saw no escape. Only an alleyway.

She backed into the alleyway, turned and ran, only to come up against a locked garage door and a brick wall. She looked round: the car had turned and the light cut into the darkness. Ocks and Ellery appeared either side of the car.

‘Now, let’s do this,’ said one of them. ‘Let’s finish it.’

Brownsville, Brooklyn

March 8, 9.08 p.m.

The car screeched around the corner. Harper spotted the black sedan at the head of an alleyway. They pulled to a halt, rushed out and ran across the ground, guns out.

The sedan was blocking the entrance. Harper jumped on to the trunk and leaped on to the roof and across the hood. Eddie followed. There, in the headlights of the car, four men were standing around Denise Levene.

She was in the center, a jagged broken bottle in her fist.

Harper jumped off the hood and into the alleyway.

‘Police,’ he shouted, raising his gun. ‘Move away!’

Tommy Ocks grabbed Denise and pushed her out in front of him. ‘You going to shoot? Then shoot.’

‘That’s dumb, that’s so fucking dumb,’ said Harper. He took his gun and handed it to Eddie. ‘No chance for a shot. This has to be done by hand.’ He moved fast down the alley, took the first thug by the collar and pushed him to one side. There was no reaction. He shoved past Leo Lukanov and Paddy Ellery, then stood in front of Tommy Ocks. He took Denise by the hand. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he said. ‘You okay?’

‘I’m okay,’ said Denise. She stared with anger at her four attackers and Tommy released his grip.

‘Let’s not make this worse than it is,’ said Harper. He patted Tommy Ocks on the shoulder. ‘Because I would just relish the opportunity too much.’

Denise walked back up the alleyway to Eddie. Harper held them in his gaze for a few seconds. ‘Uniform are on their way. Empty your pockets.’ He spat on the floor.

Tommy Ocks was first. He landed a heavy blow on the back of Harper’s neck. Harper fell to his knees. Eddie darted forward and raised his gun. Harper looked up to Eddie. ‘Take her to the car, Eddie. Call back-up.’

‘I can’t leave you,’ said Eddie.

Harper pushed himself to his feet. ‘Take her to the car, Eddie, and call back-up.’

He watched Eddie leave and then turned and looked at the four guys. ‘Your third dumb move.’ Harper considered. Four to one. The odds weren’t good, but he was feeling something he’d not felt for three long months and it was running through every vein and artery, pulsing in every muscle.

Running away was not an option. He’d needed this feeling in the ring, but it’d deserted him — yet it was there now, like a fire. His fists clenched, his body felt strong and agile, his eyes narrowed. Tommy Ocks positioned himself on his front foot. His aim was to hit Harper hard on the side of the head. The other three thugs had already closed in.

Harper moved so quickly and decisively that they had no time to react. He threw his foot out wide in a great sweeping movement, hooking the feet of Tommy Ocks and jerking his ankles back with sudden force. Ocks lost his footing and fell flat on his back, his arms in the air.

‘Fucking help me,’ shouted Tommy.

Paddy Ellery and Ray Hicks moved in. Harper caught Leo Lukanov circling round behind him. He turned, but Lukanov wasn’t coming round for an attack, he was heading up the alleyway.

Harper pushed a boot into Tommy Ocks’s neck and held him on the ground. He eyed Ellery and Hicks. ‘You’ve got to make a calculation here. You must be half-smart. So far, you’ve got harassment. That’s not good, but your chance of getting away is quite high. You want to add assault on a cop?’

He watched the two guys move nervously on their feet. Lukanov was getting away. It was Lukanov he wanted. He had to act.

Harper felt Tommy Ocks try to rise. He pressed hard on his neck. Ocks screamed. Paddy Ellery pulled a knife out of his jacket. He smiled like some moron who felt he’d suddenly got the upper hand.

Harper’s right hook was so fast, that they only saw the recoil. By which time, Paddy Ellery was lying on the ground with his nose mashed up. Ray Hicks ran in and kicked.

Harper reached out, grabbed his leg, locked it, jerked it up violently and threw Hicks on the ground. He looked down on all three. ‘Now, I can hand you over to my partner.’

Harper raced up the alleyway. Lukanov was in the sedan, staring out from the driver’s seat. The car’s engine growled. ‘Eddie,’ shouted Harper, pointing at the car. ‘Help me out here. Block this bastard in.’

Eddie’s Pontiac roared across the back of the sedan and screeched to a halt.

Harper raced to the door. Lukanov pressed on the gas and swerved the wheel towards Harper. The car lurched forward, scraped the wall and jammed Harper against the car. Lukanov shoved the door open and clambered out. His big fist hit Harper hard on the side of the head. Once, then twice. Harper felt the power of the blows and struggled to get his arms free as Lukanov came in again. Harper swerved his head and the third shot missed his face and landed hard on the wall. Lukanov cried out and Harper saw his chance. Leaning back, he threw the whole weight of his head forward. His forehead connected hard with Lukanov’s face and the big man dropped against the car. Harper squeezed out from behind it and grabbed Lukanov’s collar.

‘Leo Lukanov,’ said Harper, breathing heavily, ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of David Capske.’

Forest Park, Brooklyn

March 9, 9.55 a.m.

Denise Levene stayed in the taxi for a few minutes, staring across the road at the unremarkable suburban house in a row of other unremarkable suburban houses. She had coped better than she’d expected with the ordeal in Brownsville. Maybe Mac was helping, but she wasn’t feeling sorry for herself; she was feeling angry. She wanted to do something. She needed to.

The driver didn’t speak English too well, but he was happy to keep the meter running. She looked down at the note in her hand. Detective Gauge had provided her with the home details, but had warned her that it wouldn’t be easy. No one coped well, and Dr Goldenberg was worse than most.

She noticed that the drapes were shut in every room. Maybe he was sleeping. Sometimes it was the only way if the worry and the strain kept your mind whirring all night long.

She’d called a colleague at Columbia and heard that Dr Goldenberg hadn’t gone back to work. He was on compassionate leave. Since Lukanov’s arrest, she had tried not to imagine what might have happened to Abby. But she felt the sadness deeply. There was nothing here to hate: a small suburban lot and a divorced man bringing up his daughter. Now it was shot to pieces. He was in hell because of racists like Leo Lukanov.

Denise had spent the morning reviewing the case with Harper, gleaning what she could from the new information. Abby was the golden girl by all accounts — a grade-A student with charisma, musical ability and an independent mind. It was terrible to imagine that people like Lukanov could take it all away for nothing, for some messed-up sense of history.

Denise handed a twenty through the Plexiglass and got out. She steeled herself, walked to the door and rang the bell.

Dr Goldenberg answered quickly, almost as if he was expecting Abby or news about Abby at every moment. Behind him, the house was in darkness. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the light.