Stone struggled for a name. “Bill Eggers?” he managed finally.

Eggers stuck out a hand. “Haven’t seen you since graduation day,” he said, “although I’ve seen your picture in the paper from time to time.”

“So what have you been doing with yourself for all these years?” Stone asked. He remembered Eggers as a companionable fellow; they’d had a few beers after class more than once.

Eggers spread his hands. “This,” he said. “I joined a downtown firm after law school, but I’ve been here for the past eight years.”

“What sort of law are you practicing?”

“Oh, I’m the general dogsbody around here,” Eggers said. “I do whatever needs doing – some personal injury, a little domestic work, the odd criminal case, when one of the firm’s clients crosses the line.”

“Sounds interesting.” Stone looked around the plush office. Looked as though Eggers had done well at it too.

“More interesting than you would believe.” Eggers laughed. “You seeing Woodman about Sasha?”

“Yeah.”

“I wondered when you’d get around to him.”

“It took me a few days; I’ve been pretty busy.”

“Funny you turning up here; I’ve been thinking about you lately.”

“Kind thoughts, I hope.”

“The kindest, I assure you.” Eggers looked at his watch. “I’ve got a client coming in any second, but I’d like to buy you a drink sometime, chew over some things.”

“Sure,” Stone said, fishing out a card. “Give me a week or two, though. The Sasha thing is taking a lot of time.”

“Of course,” Eggers said, extending his hand again. “We’ll make it dinner, when you’ve got the time.”

On his way home, Stone reflected on Bill Eggers’s prosperous appearance, the handsome office, the prestigious law firm. Was it possible that Woodman amp; Weld might need someone with his background?

When he got home, there was a notice from the NYPD: his return-to-duty physical had been scheduled. Stone flexed the knee. Not bad; he’d begun to forget about it. He tried a couple of half knee bends. It was sore, but he could ace the physical.

“Can I buy you breakfast?” her low, pleasing voice said on the phone. “It’s the first real day of autumn outside, and we’ll have a walk in the park, too.”

“Oh, yes.” Stone exhaled. He was pitifully glad to hear from Cary. Their last, uncomfortable evening had been eating at him, and, in spite of her parting words, he had been unsure of his reception, should he call her.

“There’s a little French place called La Goulue, on East Seventieth, just off Madison. I’ve got a table booked in half an hour.”

“You’re on.”

They sat in the warm, paneled restaurant, a pitcher of mimosas between them, and drank each other in.

“I don’t know when I’ve been so glad to see anybody,” Stone said.

“I’m glad it’s me you’re glad to see,” she replied. She slipped off her shoe, and, under the tablecloth, rested her foot in his crotch. “Oh, you are glad to see me, aren’t you?” She rolled her eyes.

“That’s not a pistol in my pocket.” He grinned.

Her eyebrows went up. “You’re supposed to wear a gun all the time, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Are you wearing one now?”

He nodded.

“So that could be a pistol in your pocket.”

He laughed. “It could be, but it isn’t.”

“Where are you wearing it?”

“Strapped to my ankle.” He hated the bulge under his coat, hated being careful about inadvertently revealing the weapon.

“You have a badge, too, I guess.”

“That’s right. I wouldn’t be a policeman without a badge, would I?”

“Let me see it.”

Stone produced the little leather wallet and laid it on the table.

She flipped it open and ran a finger around the badge. “It’s gold,” she said.

“A detective’s badge is always gold. It’s what every cop wants, a gold badge.”

The waiter came and refreshed their mimosas from the pitcher, leaning over, eyeing the badge.

Stone flipped the wallet shut and put it back in his pocket.

“I want it,” she said.

“Want what?”

“The badge.”

Stone laughed and shook his head. “To get that badge, you’d have to sign up for the Police Academy, walk a beat for a few years, spend a few more in a patrol car, then get lucky on a bust or two, and have a very fine rabbi.”

“Rabbi?”

“A senior cop who takes an interest in your career.”

“Do you have a rabbi?”

“I did. His name was Ron Rosenfeld.”

“And he helped you?”

“He helped me a lot. I would never have made detective if not for him.”

“Why did he help you?” she asked.

“That’s a funny question. Why do people ever help each other?”

“But there must have been some specific reason, apart from just liking you. Did he help all young policemen?”

“No,” Stone admitted. He thought about it for a moment. “I think it may have been because he was a Jew and I was such an obvious WASP.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why didn’t he help Jewish cops, instead of you?”

“I think because he had been discriminated against when he was a young patrolman, so he felt some empathy with my situation. He saw me getting passed over for good assignments, and it rankled, I guess. Oh, he helped a lot of young Jewish cops, too. It wasn’t just me.”

“Did he retire?”

“He died. It was a lot like losing my father.”

“So who helps you now?”

Stone shrugged. “Nobody. Well, Dino helps me.”

“But he’s junior to you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s more inside than I am. I think he defends me sometimes; I think it’s made a difference, too.”

“It’s a funny situation, isn’t it?”

“I guess. I can live with it, though. At least I get to keep doing what I like; I have enough rank to get good cases, and I have a good reputation as an investigator.”

“I don’t want to pry, but I worry about you sometimes. How are you doing on Sasha? I read the papers.”

“The papers were accurate. It’s a brick wall; very frustrating.”

“Are you getting a lot of pressure from above? Political pressure, I mean?”

“So far, my commander has been able to keep the heat off Dino and me. The taxi murders diverted some attention from us at a good time, but they also took all the manpower we had on Sasha’s case.”

“Is that hurting your investigation?”

Stone sighed. “Not really; not much. The greater part of the legwork had already been done when the taxi shootings happened. We’d interviewed everybody who had anything to do with Sasha by that time. Dino’s going over the reports now, just to be sure we haven’t missed anything.”

“What’s going to happen on the Sasha investigation? I mean, what’s likely to happen?”

“We’ll get a tip,” Stone said. “Eventually. That’s how most cases are solved – never mind all the scientific stuff: fingerprints, DNA matching – most cases are solved because somebody finally tells us something.”

Their eggs Benedict came, and they ate hungrily.

When the check came, Stone paid the waiter, then looked Cary in the eye. “Sometimes, in cases like this, the person waits a long time to come forward. Sometimes it’s hard to do the right thing.”

She kept his gaze for a moment, then looked down at his jacket and frowned. “Where do you buy your clothes?”

She wasn’t going to talk to him; not yet, anyway. He glanced at the brown herringbone. “Different places. There are a couple of discount places downtown that have nice stuff, sometimes.”

“I said I’d help you furnish the house; I think I’d better start by furnishing you.”

“Okay,” Stone said, “I guess I could use some furnishing.”

“Come with me.”

Stone followed her out of the restaurant. She led him briskly around the block to the corner of Seventy-second and Madison and into a handsome stone building. He had seen the place, but he had never been in. It wasn’t the sort of place cops bought their clothes.