The fact is, I don’t have a plan. I just want to see where the man lives, and to let him know that I know. I’ve already played the voicemail from Salazar to Cavallo. He must have left it while I was still at the hospital, though I didn’t think to check until I left the Paragon, already determined to reach out and touch him.

“I heard what happened, man, and I just wanted you to know, whoever this dude was you met with, he was no informant of mine. In case you’re thinking I might know him or something. Yeah, I know I said I’d help you out and all, but after you left… I don’t know, it just kinda slipped my mind. So I never even… Well, anyway, I hope you’re doing okay, man. You can call me if you need to, but… Anyway.”

Funny thing is, if he hadn’t called, I might have given him the benefit of the doubt. As bad as it looked, as much as it looked like a setup, me getting a call from a would-be informant the day after I request an assist from Salazar, coincidences do happen. But for him to phone in with an alibi first thing, covering himself in case I shot my mouth off, all that does is solidify my suspicion. Wilcox tipped me that the guy was dirty. I should have believed him.

“With guys like this,” I can hear myself telling Cavallo, “you can’t let things go unanswered. You have to look them in the eye, let them know that you know.”

“Is that really smart?”

“Maybe not, but you still have to do it. They have to realize that coming after you is gonna cost them something.”

She processes the information, nodding slowly. “So what’s this going to cost Salazar? You can’t beat him down if he’s not at home.”

“I’m not so sure I could beat him down if he was. He’s built like a welterweight and looks like he can take a few punches. And anyway, when a man tries to have you killed, you don’t put up your dukes and slug it out. This problem requires some lateral thinking.”

I lift the field glasses again. They’re nothing fancy – my budget doesn’t stretch to night-vision gear – just a pair of beat-up binoculars I keep in my scene bag just in case. Looking the property over, I run a few scenarios through my head. That picture window is crying out for a rock through the center, but minor vandalism won’t make my point. Something major would. He’s bound to have a grill out back, some accelerants handy, and I’ll bet his house, having been built in the heyday, is chock-full of asbestos. The idea of Salazar coming home to a bonfire. That starts to feel like retributive justice.

“Just so you know,” Cavallo says, “I’m not going to sit here and be a party to anything illegal. If that’s what you’re thinking, you don’t know me too well.”

“The man did try to have me killed. An eye for an eye, doesn’t the Bible say something like that?”

Her smirk, glimpsed in the golden streetlight, mingles frustration and amusement. “Well, if you want me to hold him down while you put a round through his leg, okay. But I draw the line at damage to property.”

I consider this. “Maybe he has a cherished pet in there.”

“March.”

I hand her the binoculars. “Any ideas?”

She studies the scene awhile, then lowers the glasses. Her head cocks slightly. “You know, if Hannah were here, I think I know what she’d do.”

“Or her friend,” I say, cracking a smile.

The nice thing about being a cop for so long – or, depending on your perspective, the unfortunate, morally dubious, unconscionable thing – is that not only do you get to meet the worst sort of people but some of them end up being, if not friends, at least fond acquaintances. If Salazar can send a couple of gangbangers out with instructions to punch my ticket, I have to know somebody who could even the score up a little.

“I’ll bet that car over there means a lot to him,” I say.

“Well, I was joking about smashing up the car.”

“There’s a guy I know…”

“March, really. I’m not going to sit here and be a party to anything – ”

“Why’d you come if you’re not going to help?”

“I am here to help, to help prevent you from doing something stupid. If you really think Salazar tried to put a hit out on you, then a little property damage isn’t going to make any difference. You have to report it, that’s all you can do. This isn’t some macho high school testosterone contest. It’s serious.”

“So I do nothing? I don’t think I can just do nothing.”

“Here’s what you do,” she says, turning in her seat. “Look at me, March. This is the plan. If you want to get him, then wait for those test results, and if they link Hannah to that house – ”

I open the door, easing my leg out. “I already have the results.”

“And?” She rattles her hands in the air, like she’s shaking a tightlipped kid. “And?”

“And nothing.” I step outside, pushing the door shut.

Cavallo jumps out after me, rounding the hood, and we stomp off in the general direction of Salazar’s house. Moving down the sidewalk, we set off one motion detector after another, lighting our way in stages.

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing, it won’t solve anything,” she says. “I understand now. This is your anger talking. You wanted there to be a connection and there isn’t. But taking it out on a house or a car, that’s not the way to cope. You’ll make trouble for yourself, and it won’t help anyone.”

“It’ll help me.”

“Will it really? March, look at me. Will it really help?”

She grabs my arm and pulls. I could twist free. I could whip my arm away and start running – limping, anyway – but I know she’s right about this.

“I want to hurt him,” I say. “I want to hurt them all.”

She stares at me, breathing hard, moving her hand in a calming but tentative way, as if she’s working herself up to touch something that might scald.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says.

“Not yet.”

I walk up the driveway, bending over to catch the bottom of the tarp, pulling it free to reveal a shiny patch of red metal. I hike the crackling fabric all the way to the windshield, then flick the wiper up.

“What are you doing?”

From my wallet I slip out a business card, tucking it under the wiper. Then I slide the tarp back in place, giving the hood a tap. I pause to eyeball the video camera. I don’t know whether the feed goes to tape, but if it does, I want there to be no mistake.

After dropping Cavallo off, I head home, pulling up the driveway at a little past three. On the way to the back door, my foot hits something round and glassy, sending it spinning across the concrete. A beer bottle by the sound. I glance up at the garage apartment entrance, but there’s no crack of light under the door.

Charlotte’s asleep in bed, the covers pooled at her knees as if, feeling warm, she’s unconsciously kicked them down. I undress quietly and slip beside her. Overhead, the fan turns, lulling me to sleep.

I dream about Hannah Mayhew. She’s younger than her picture, a little girl, walking around our kitchen like she owns the place. Charlotte pours a glass of milk, makes her sit at the breakfast table, ruffling her hair with exaggerated tenderness. I pause in the doorway, frozen by the pretty scene.

“You’re here,” I say. They both look up at me in surprise. “They told me… never mind what they told me.”

And she gets up, bouncing toward me, bare feet slapping the tile. “What did they tell you about me, Daddy? What did they say?”

The phone starts ringing. I open my eyes. The nightstand clock says four hours have passed and there’s a faint brightness behind the closed window shades. I reach for the sound, miss, then try again. I can’t quite find the handset. The next ring prompts Charlotte to vault over me, elbow digging into my side. She grabs the phone and presses it into my hand before remembering my injuries.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

I push a bunch of buttons but with no effect, then open my eyes wider to locate the right one. Is this Templeton calling at this hour? If so, I’ll wring his neck. On the other end of the line, though, a serious-sounding Captain Hedges starts asking questions about my fitness.