'No shit. Got to be his father's. Only old men drive Buicks.' Holiday winced. 'I didn't mean-'

'There he is,' said Cook, who had not taken offense and had kept his eyes on the house.

Holiday saw the curtain on the bay window part and, behind it, the indistinguishable face of a middle-aged man. It looked like a shadow and disappeared as the curtain drifted back into place.

'He's seen you out here?' said Holiday.

'I don't know if he has or hasn't. And you know what? I just don't give a morning crap. 'Cause eventually he's gonna make a mistake.'

'We need more information about the Johnson death.'

'You saw the body.'

'I was at the crime scene, too, the next day.'

'Damn, boy, did you speak to anyone?'

'Not yet. I know the homicide detective who caught it. Guy named Gus Ramone.'

'Will he talk to you?'

'I don't know. Me and the Ramone have a history.'

'What'd you do, fuck his wife?'

'Worse,' said Holiday. 'Ramone was in charge of the IAD investigation that was trying to take me down. I didn't let him finish the job.'

'Beautiful,' said Cook.

'That guy's strictly by the book.'

'Be nice if you could talk to him, just the same.'

'He pulls that stick out of his ass,' said Holiday, 'maybe I will.'

After a couple of bonefish sandwiches with hot sauce and tartar from an eat-shack on Benning Road, Ramone and Rhonda Willis drove to the Metropolitan Police Academy, set on Blue Plains Drive in a clear tract of acreage between the Anacostia Freeway and South Capitol Street, in Southwest. They passed the K-9 training unit, located on the grounds, and the barracks where both of them had once stayed, and parked in a lot nearly full of cars and buses.

The academy looked like any high school, with standard-sized classrooms on the upper floors and a gymnasium, swimming pool, and extensive workout facilities below. Veteran police, including Ramone, used the weight room and pool to stay in shape. Rhonda's vanity had shrunk with the birth of each successive child, and she had not exercised in many years. If she managed to put together a half hour of free time, Rhonda felt that a hot bath and a glass of wine were more valuable to her physical and mental health than a visit to the gym could ever be. Entering the building, they noticed that the trim and rails had been painted a bright, almost neon shade of purple.

'That's soothing,' said Rhonda. 'Wonder what committee of geniuses decided to use that color.'

'I guess Sherwin-Williams was all out of pink.'

They badged a police officer inside the entrance and proceeded up to the second floor. It was afternoon, and many cops were in shorts and sweats, using weight machines, treadmills, and free weights before reporting to their four-to-midnights. Ramone and Rhonda stood on a landing overlooking the gymnasium.

'There's the man I'm looking for,' said Ramone. 'He's showin them something he learned at Jhoon Rhee.'

In the painted lane extending out from under a basketball hoop, a uniformed officer was demonstrating to a large group of recruits the proper stance and motion of a punch. His left hand came up choplike to protect his face as he threw a right, turned his hip into it, and pivoted his rear foot. The group then attempted to copy his action.

'That was us, not too long ago,' said Rhonda.

'They got a higher class of po-lice comin in now. You need a two-year associate's degree to get accepted these days.'

'That would have prevented me from getting in. And you know, they'd have pushed away a good cop.'

'It does stop the retards from joining the force.'

'Gus, someday you gonna learn the correct terms for this new century we're in.'

'Okay. The mental defectives.'

'You see those Caucasian girls down there?' Rhonda nodded at the numerous white female recruits on the floor. 'They get out on the street, most of 'em gonna wash out or land behind a desk in about two weeks.'

'Now, why you gotta go there?'

'You know that blond lieutenant, the girl you always see on television, that spokeswoman? She never did walk hard pavement in any of the hot wards. Made her name protecting those pale gentrifiers from the negroes loitering on the sidewalks in Shaw. The MPD just keeps promoting her 'cause that porcelain skin and blond hair look good on camera.'

'Rhonda.'

'I'm just sayin.'

'My mother's white.'

'She's Italian. And you know what I'm sayin is true.'

'Let me catch this guy,' said Ramone, as the instructor disbanded the group of recruits.

'I'll meet you downstairs.'

Ramone took the stairwell, passing the doorway to the indoor swimming pool. As it always did when he descended these stairs, the movie in his head rewound to his first full year on the force. It was through the frame of that same open doorway that he had gotten his initial look at Regina, standing in her blue one-piece suit on the pool's edge, looking into the water, preparing to dive. The sight of her, muscular but all woman, with shapely buttocks and nice stand-up breasts, had literally stopped him in his tracks. He was not a guy who was particularly adept at talking to the opposite sex, nor did he have the striking good looks to compensate for his lack of game, but he was not afraid, and he walked right into the pool area, introduced himself, and shook her hand. Please let her be as nice as she is beautiful, he thought, as his hand gripped her smooth fingers and palm. Her big brown eyes drooped a bit with her smile, and, swear to God, he knew.

She wasn't a cop for long. Six months of training, another month of riding with someone experienced, then a year as a rookie on patrol, and Regina had had enough. She said she realized the first week on the street that it wasn't for her. That she wanted to help people in some way, not lock them up. She went back to college, got her education degree, and taught for a few years at Drew Elementary in Far Northeast. When Diego was born, she changed up again and became a full-time mother and part-time school volunteer. In his prayers at church, Ramone sometimes gave thanks for Regina's ill-advised decision to join the MPD. Ramone knew that if he had not been walking down those stairs that day, passing by that door, and if she had not been contemplating that dive, he would not have what he had today. And to him, what he had was everything. Not that he wasn't fully capable of fucking it up.

The strange thing was, he hadn't even planned on marriage and a family, but they had come to him, and it was right. All because of the path he had taken one afternoon, and a woman who had hesitated before entering a pool. Like most folks, he wasn't always certain about the existence of a higher power, but he damn sure did believe in fate.

Ramone crossed the gymnasium floor. He caught the eye of the instructor, John Ramirez, and waited until the last recruit had gone toward the lockers. Ramirez, with a weight-room chest and arms, gave him a weak handshake and cool eyes.

'Johnny.'

'Gus. Enjoying the new job?'

'I been at it for a while now.'

'Must be more satisfying to lock up bad guys than your fellow officers, right?'

'It was all the same to me. If they're wrong they're wrong, you know what I mean?'

It wasn't true. Ramone had always known the import and consequence of going after cops who had abused their powers or committed minor crimes. But he wasn't going to let a guy like Johnny Ramirez, a hothead who had gone from street cop with insecurity issues to gym teacher with a badge, beat him up about his stint at IAD. Ramone had learned how to investigate cases there, done his job with competence but not vengeance, and used the experience as a bridge to Homicide.

'Not really,' said Ramirez. 'I really don't know what you mean.'