Fierenzo shook his head. "Neither the man nor the boy would have just run away," he said mildly.

"At least, not at street level."

Green's face had suddenly gone very still. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean I know all about these folks," Fierenzo said, watching him closely. "They don't run alongside buildings. They climb them."

He had expected some kind of guilty reaction. To his mild surprise, Green merely settled back into his chair and leveled a hard stare at the detective. "So you're working for them."

"I'm working for New York City," Fierenzo corrected. "Why do all you people assume I'm working for the other side?"

"Because there are only two sides," Green bit out. "If you're not with us, you're against us."

"Whatever." Fierenzo tapped the stack of sketches. "You want to tell me now why you wanted these?"

"You're the clever one," Green countered. "You tell me."

"Okay," Fierenzo said agreeably. "These two are part of the group your people are gearing up to fight. You saw them playing Waverly Place Chicken, possibly over who was going to get first crack at the Whittiers. You do know who the Whittiers are, don't you?"

Green didn't answer, but the question had been rhetorical anyway. Fierenzo had already caught the reaction in the other's eyes at his mention of the Whittiers' name. "At any rate, you saw them, but didn't recognize them," he went on. "You could have gone back to your group and tried to describe them, but verbal descriptions to untrained people are always a little dicey. So when Detective Powell showed up, you decided to avail yourself of a police artist's services to get some actual pictures made. How am I doing?"

Green pursed his lips. "You can't keep me here, you know."

"I know," Fierenzo agreed. "Fortunately for you, I have no interest in doing so." He stood up and stepped to the door. "Thank you for your assistance; you're free to go. Have a nice day."

Green's forehead creased uncertainly. "If you're not going to hold me, why did you keep me here all afternoon?"

"Mostly, to make sure we were both on the same page," Fierenzo told him. "And also to make sure you knew where I stood on this; namely, for life, liberty, and peaceful streets. I hope your people won't get in my way on that."

Green snorted. "You'd better hope instead that you don't get in our way."

Fierenzo lifted his eyebrows. "Is that a threat?"

"Merely a statement of fact." Almost leisurely, the other unfolded himself from his chair and got to his feet. "What about my pictures?"

"I'll hold onto them for now," Fierenzo said. "If your friends want to see them, they're welcome to come down here and discuss it."

"I'll tell them that," Green said, circling the table. "I can find my own way out."

"I'm sure you can," Fierenzo said, stepping out of his way. "The officer down the hall will make sure you don't get lost. Good-bye, Mr. Green."

Silently, Green pulled the door open and left the room, leaving it ajar behind him. Fierenzo watched long enough to make sure the duty cop down the hall was escorting him to the exit, then returned to his chair and sat down. Swiveling the sketches around to face him, he spread them out again.

There had been something about the boy's picture that had been nagging at him earlier. Now, having given his subconscious time to mull it over, it practically leaped off the paper at him.

The boy was a younger version of his new houseguest Jonah. Brothers, most likely, or at least close cousins.

He leaned back in his chair, scowling. Yet another puzzle piece that didn't seem to connect with any of the others in his collection. This kid was almost certainly the Jordan that Jonah had been talking to back in his kitchen, the Jordan who was apparently sitting somewhere near Canal Street collecting traffic reports.

Only from the way the rest of the conversation had gone, he had the feeling that it was actually Jonah, not Jordan, who was supposed to be on spotter duty out there.

But what it was all ultimately about, he still didn't have a clue.

With a sigh, he gathered the sketches back into a pile. He might not know what was going on, but he would bet dollars to donuts that Jonah did. Actually, from the way the other had been behaving earlier, he'd rather expected him to have shown up here already. Apparently, he'd decided catching up on his sleep was a higher priority.

Which was fine with Fierenzo. He was going to have to spend the next couple of hours here anyway, trying to come up with something plausible to write about this case.

Once the paperwork was done, though, there was definitely going to be an earnest little conversation back at the apartment. Folding the sketches lengthwise, he slid them into his inside coat pocket and headed back to his desk.

21

"Before we continue," Aleksander said when they were all seated in the living room, "I'd like to apologize to you, Roger, for Sylvia's behavior yesterday morning. I'm afraid she was a bit overzealous in her desire to obtain your cooperation. Please understand that what we do, we do for the best."

"I'm not sure 'overzealous' even begins to cover it," Roger countered, his heart pounding painfully in his ears. Aleksander, the Persuader. Was that how they intended to get Melantha back? "She was trying to use the Persuader's Gift on me, wasn't she?"

" 'Trying' being the operative word," Aleksander said, smiling faintly. "At best, it was pure intimidation. At worst, it was probably fairly ludicrous. Sylvia has no more ability to persuade than a three-year-old finger-painter could reproduce a Renoir masterpiece."

"Unlike you?" Caroline asked, her voice tight.

Aleksander shook his head. "I'm not going to try to persuade you," he said. "For one thing, I'm not even sure it would work. Particularly on you, Caroline, now that you've successfully resisted one attempt. Besides—" the lines in his face deepened "—you don't know where Melantha is anymore, do you?"

Roger felt Caroline's hand tighten in his. "Of course we do," he insisted.

"There's no need to lie," Aleksander said. "People like you would never have simply deserted her in the park last night or this morning."

Roger sighed. "You win," he said, ignoring Caroline's sudden stiffness. "So what happens now?"

"We have dinner, of course," Aleksander said, sounding surprised. "That is why you were invited."

"I thought you just wanted Melantha," Caroline said.

"Melantha is the key to our survival," Aleksander said. "But that doesn't mean we can't pause to thank those who have been our friends."

"Are you sure we're your friends?" Roger asked bluntly.

"You took in a helpless child and protected her as best you could," Aleksander said. "Those are the actions of a friend, whether you understood that or not."

"And if we'd rather leave?" Caroline asked.

Aleksander shrugged. "You'd miss a good dinner. But no one will try to stop you, if that's what you mean."

Roger looked sideways at Caroline. But her face held no cues. "Personally, I'm too hungry to go hunting for a different restaurant," he decided. "Besides, I'd kind of like to see how this tree thing of yours works."

"Then you shall," Aleksander promised, standing up. "But first things first. Dinner is ready."

"Thanks," Powell said, dropping the phone back into its cradle and scribbling a final note. "Bingo, Tommy. They found the Parks truck."

Fierenzo looked up from his report. "Where?"

"Way the hell down in Chelsea, near Pier 59," Powell said. "The branch was still in back, too, which pretty well proves picking it up was just a pretext to get something else. You want to get down there before they take it back to the garage?"

Fierenzo hesitated. But at this point, finishing his report and having that talk with Jonah were higher priorities. "No, I'd better stay here. You can go check it out if you want."