The boy knew he had the attention of all the grown-ups. His jeans drooped so low, they barely covered his rear end; the pant legs crumpled on top of his sneakers. He pushed them even lower when he shoved his hands in his pockets as he considered what to say to us.

“You talk to the judge for me? It’s my third time.”

“I’ll sing to the judge, Shalik. You tell me about Travis.”

“I seen him before in all these different clothes,” he said. “Dressin’ stupid and stuff sometimes when he go out. But he always go out alone. And I never seen him in no police officer’s uniform. He ain’t no cop.”

I thought of Tina Barr’s attacker and the fireman’s gear. I remembered the man in a brown uniform who had broken in to Jane Eliot’s apartment.

“Travis Forbes’s coatrack, Mike,” I said. “All those jackets that were hanging in the hallway, remember? I’ll get a warrant to see what kind of stuff he’s got there.”

“You know real cops, Shalik,” Mercer said. “Did his uniform look real?”

“It do. It really do. Had a hat, too, and a shiny silver badge.”

“Did he see you?” Mike asked. “Or did he just keep on walking down the street?”

Shalik’s chest puffed up. “He didn’t walk nowhere.”

“What did he do?”

“He had a chauffeur, Mr. Mike. Big fat guy gets out of a limousine and opens the door for him. Travis, he like got in the back with his date.”

“His date?” Mike said. “You’re doing real good for me, Shalik. Tell me, did you see the woman?”

“Dark-haired lady. Skinny. Skinnier than her,” he said, tipping his elbow toward me. “Older than her, too. Long red fingernails. Smoking a cigarette.”

Travis Forbes dressed himself like an NYPD cop for a night on the town with Minerva Hunt. Now all we had to do was figure out where Carmine Rizzali had driven them.

FORTY-THREE

Mercer had his arm around Shalik’s shoulder, trying to cut him a deal.

“We’re taking him from here, Terry,” Mike said.

“I could lose my shield for this, anything happens to the kid. Rules are different for juvies.”

“I’ll stay with him,” I said. “I’ll go to the judge myself.”

She walked back to her car, got inside, and slammed the door, while Mike and I followed Mercer and Shalik down the dark side street until we hit Fifth Avenue and went around the block.

“How are we going to raise the fat bastard?” Mike asked. “Yesterday he wouldn’t even take my call.”

“Let Alex do the talking. He won’t blow her off so fast,” Mercer said.

“You’d better script it for me.”

“Tell him you’ve got something urgent to discuss with Minerva,” Mike said. “He must have driven her to Jane Eliot’s apartment. Let him know the old lady’s talking about what she gave to Minerva. He’ll want to collect on that tidbit. Makes him look useful. Eliot’s safe, isn’t she, Mercer?”

“Cops are with her in the hospital room. Not a problem.”

“If TARU can find his cell phone pings, we’re in business,” Mike said, as he and I got into the front seat of the car. The Technical Assistance Response Unit had the latest gadgetry and technology to solve almost every communication and surveillance problem investigators needed.

“Who’s this? Hey, Sonny-Mike Chapman here. I got two known numbers; one’s going to place a call to the other. The caller’s in the car with me, midtown. If I give you both, can you pinpoint the other guy’s location for me?”

The answer was short and obviously positive.

“Ready for me? First one is Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cooper,” Mike said, dictating my number. “The receiver is Carmine Rizzali. Yeah, used to be on the job. I need to find him pronto. The nearest cell phone tower would be great. Coop’ll dial him to see if he picks up. I’ll stay on with you.”

I punched Carmine’s number into my key pad. My caller ID would be blocked, so he’d have to answer in order to know who was calling at this late hour.

One ring and Carmine spoke into the phone. “Hullo?”

“Carmine? It’s Alex Cooper. I met you with Mike-”

“Is this more of his bullshit?”

“No, no. This is something urgent that I’m trying to speak to Ms. Hunt about, just between the two of us. I think Mike’s on his way to her home now-”

“What is he, nuts? It’s the middle of a Saturday night. She ain’t even there.”

“Look, there’s a woman who lives in the Village, on Bedford Street. She’s made a complaint that Minerva Hunt stole something from her. I…uh…I-” I held my hand out, palm upward, trying to figure a direction to go.

Mike just nodded at me and mouthed the words You’re doing fine.

“She didn’t steal nothing. I drove her there myself. The lady had a present for her. All very civilized.”

“I think Mike’s blowing this totally out of proportion,” I said. “I disagree with him completely. I thought you might want to give her a heads-up, and maybe I can set up a meeting with her tomorrow.”

He wasn’t ready to trust me.

“Is Minerva with you now?”

“Cute, Ms. Cooper. Real cute. Then you tell the homicide dick whatever I tell you, so I’m just the schmuck who’s out of a job.”

He disconnected me the second he finished the sentence.

“Sonny? You got a location for me?” Mike asked. “Thanks, buddy. I owe you big-time.”

He dropped the phone on the seat and started the engine, making the turn from Forty-second Street onto Fifth Avenue.

“You did good, Blondie. It seems that Carmine took the odd couple downtown-Second Avenue, between Second and Third streets. Nearest cell tower is in front of Provenzano’s, a funeral home.”

“A little late for a condolence call, isn’t it?” Mercer said.

Traffic moved well on the straight run south to the point at which Broadway intersected Fifth Avenue, then Mike wound his way farther east.

As we crossed Third Street, I could see the limousine parked on the west side of Second Avenue.

Mike pulled over to the curb, several cars behind Carmine, and turned off the engine and headlights. “What do you think, Mercer? Him sitting in the limo all these hours, don’t you think all that weight would have flattened one of his tires by now?”

“I could do that,” our young charge said.

“You stay with me, Shalik.”

“C’mon, Coop,” Mike said. “Let’s all have a look around.”

As we got out, Mike walked ahead and peered into the window of Carmine’s car. Then he kneeled down. I tried to keep Shalik occupied while Mike scored one of the tires with his Swiss Army knife.

“I don’t think he should eat such heavy meals at night,” Mike said, coming back to get us. “He’s sleeping like a baby. Least they can’t make such a quick getaway if Minerva and Travis aren’t happy to see us.”

Mercer was on the sidewalk, checking out the block on either side of the avenue. “There’s a pizza joint, a Thai restaurant, and a neighborhood pub. We can look in each of those.”

He kept one arm on Shalik’s shoulder, and I walked on the other side of the kid, closer to the buildings. We watched as Mike tried the front door of the funeral home, but it was locked and all the lights were out.

We passed an alleyway fronted by a wrought-iron gate, and kept going. The night was clear and getting cooler. Mike went into each of the open restaurants and bars on both sides of the street but didn’t spot Hunt or Forbes in any of them.

“Go another block north,” Mercer said. Mike did, while I tried to find out from Shalik whether he had gotten inside Travis Forbes’s apartment before getting caught.

By the time Mike doubled back, the kid had described how the cops had arrived and nabbed him just after he’d jimmied the back door and wriggled in.

“No trace of them,” Mike said. “Time to interrupt Carmine’s dream cycle and have a chat. Worst he can do is call and alert them that we’re here to break up the party.”

We turned around and started walking back toward the limousine.