"She hangs out in a dyke joint off Stillwell called Alice B's," Boland said. "Don't go there; you ain't tough enough to drink in that place."

Zina's arrest record included a few assaults, all upon males. The rest were car thefts, starting as a teenager and including her high school principal's Honda. She lasted only two months into her senior year, then went to work in the junkyards.

"I bet she still steals cars," Eddie said.

"You're thinking she stole the black BMW?"

"Parrot said it's her face on both sketches. I also think she broke into my house, and killed Lukin."

"Let's find a reason to bring her in. Maybe she's more than just a chauffeur."

Eddie kept quiet on the fact he'd tailed Mrs. Borodenko and a slender dark-haired female to lunch on Staten Island. Although he never got a good look, he was sure now that the other female was Zina. For the few minutes he was able to see both of them clearly, he'd focused on Mrs. Borodenko.

"Do you have a booking photo of Zina?" Eddie asked.

"Yeah, but don't look at it yet. You're an eyewitness. We'll need you to be a virgin, so give me a chance to put together a decent photo lineup."

Eddie kept hearing a jangle as Freddie wore out the floor in the interview room. The noise came from a huge ring of keys clipped to Freddie's belt loop. At least fifty keys. Eddie got closer to the window. It looked like each key had a piece of tape with a notation, probably an address.

"Look at all those keys," Eddie said slowly, emphasizing the last word. "I bet he has a key into everything that Borodenko owns."

Boland took a step closer, his nose almost against the glass. "Holy shit," he said. "I gotta get my hands on those keys."

"Hold him overnight."

"I smell an immigration violation coming on," Boland said. "He'll be out in the morning, but it'll give me enough time to find out if we need a warrant to copy keys."

"Screw the warrant; just copy them."

While Boland was on the phone, the squad lieutenant entered the observation room and told them he'd cut Freddie loose. Boland immediately hung up the phone and chased the boss back to his office. The lawyer picked up his briefcase and thanked them for their considerate treatment of his client. Eddie watched from the doorway as Freddie Dolgev stared down at the tiles. Then Boland dropped the news that unless they came up with Freddie's green card, he was going to be held on his questionable immigration status.

"That's pathetic," the lawyer said. "That's low even for you people."

"Show us he's legal," Boland said, "and then he's a free man."

"It's harassment, pure and simple," the lawyer said. "You guys are dying to spend a week in civil court."

While Boland and the lawyer chest-bumped, Eddie stood in front of Fredek Dolgev, trying to force him to look up. The Russian appeared intent on memorizing the floor tiles. Eddie grabbed his scorched chin and raised his head. Dolgev jumped back, his eyes wide and locked on Eddie Dunne. He began pointing and yelling, "Razborka, razborka." Then he leaped at Eddie, reaching for his throat. Eddie stood his ground, but a young squad detective swiveled in his chair and wrapped his arms around the charging Russian. The other cops jumped in. They staggered back between desks. Eddie kept whispering, "Let him go, let him go." Files and desk lamps hit the floor. Eddie edged closer, inviting the man to choke him. They all went down in a pile. Somebody yelled, "Watch your weapons." When it ended, Eddie made it plain that he wanted Mr. Dolgev arrested for assault.

"He never touched you," the lawyer said.

"He attacked me," Eddie said. "Everyone here is a witness. I never saw him before in my life, and he threatened me."

"You inflamed him," the lawyer said.

"I never said a word."

"He knows you," said the female interpreter from the DA's office. "Razborka means an account that needs to be settled. A judgment on you. He knows you."

"This is patently wrong," the lawyer said. "This is an unfair stunt pulled on a man with diminished mental capacities. I won't stand for it; the courts won't stand for it."

The lawyer stormed out, but not before taking everything Fredek Dolgev had on him-his money, his wallet, and his keys. With the keys gone, it didn't really matter what happened to Freddie.

"Those keys would have made all the difference in the world," Boland said. "The keys to Yuri's kingdom. We could have gotten every single bug installed in one night."

In the letdown that followed, Eddie talked to a young detective about the old-timers: who'd retired and who'd died in Florida. He pulled names out of his memory. The cop didn't have much history in the precinct. Squads turned over more quickly these days. He kept typing an arrest report as the radio on his desk blared rap music. The cleaning crew dumped trash cans and swung a damp string mop over floors of a forgotten color. Eddie sat sipping the strongest black coffee he'd had in years and realizing how much he missed it all. With Boland gone, he asked the young detective if he could look around.

Eddie strolled around reading wanted posters,

Detective Division memos, and personnel orders. Then, when the cop went into the boss's office to drop the typed form in his in box, Eddie lifted a booking photo of Zina Rabinovich and put it in his pocket. He didn't need any lineup. This was the face.

Chapter 30

Monday, April 13

1:00 A.M.

Except for the fact that every patron was female, Alice B's could have been any neighborhood bar in town. It had once been a raucous Coney Island beer joint, and the new owners apparently liked the blue-collar ambience, as very little appeared to have changed. Centered on the wooden frame above the bar was a piece of stained glass too lovely to remove. Embedded in the glass was the image of a harp, the national symbol of the Emerald Isle, and the name of the previous owner: O'Gorman. Eddie took a stool in the corner, far away from the other drinkers. His back was against the wall, cop-style. At that angle, he could see everyone in the place.

Midnight on Sunday finds most New York bars dozing. Alice B's had that hushed feel, everyone whispering but not knowing why. Even though he wasn't drinking anymore, Eddie still liked the calm of gin mill Sunday nights. It was a time for the bar's family to reconnect, for the bartenders and waitresses to sip the owner's good stuff and trade dirty jokes. The obnoxious weekend crowd was gone, so the regulars finally got the attention they deserved. Eddie figured the people in Alice B's tonight were regulars. So when he walked in, he interrupted not only girl talk but family hour.

The attractive slender woman behind the bar wore leather pants and a black turtleneck sweater. She didn't rush right down to Eddie, waiting a few beats instead, hoping he'd figure things out on his own. When he didn't, she sighed and made a big show of schlepping down to his end of the bar. Most bartenders slap a coaster down in front of you, then invite you to name your poison. This one did neither.

"I think you picked the wrong place, pal," she said. 'Try Nevin's, down the block. I think you'll feel more comfortable there."

"Club soda," Eddie said. "Twist of lime, if you have it."

"Look around, big guy. The diddly-diddly crowd ain't here anymore."

"Forget the lime if it's a problem."

"You didn't hear me."

"I heard you," Eddie said.

Eddie watched to make sure she didn't play games with his drink. He put his money down on the bar; there was no way she was going to let him run a tab. As his eyes got used to the light, he could see there were four women at the bar, another half dozen at tables, and two moving slowly across the dance floor. One of the dancers was a redhead. Her hair, full and wild, made him look twice, but she was much shorter than Kate. Eddie took out the photograph of Zina and leaned it against his club soda.