morning to keep the rain off me.â
âYou managed to find a space right in front. I half expected to see an NYPD placard on your dash.â
The air smelled fresh from the recent rain. The street and sidewalks were still wet. A few of the cars and cabs swishing past still had their wipers working.
âI figured youâd come around again,â Beam said.
âOf course. Want to go back in for some coffee and conversation?â
âLetâs drive and talk,â Beam said, and stepped off the curb to get behind the wheel of the Lincoln. He and Lani had bought the car new ten years ago, with money sheâd inherited from her wealthy family in Philadelphia. Lani had been rich with her own money when Beam married her. That bothered a few of his fellow cops, but the circles her wealth allowed them to travel in had been useful to Beam. He could talk to people otherwise inaccessible without a warrant.
As soon as he pressed the button on his key fob, the doors unlocked and da Vinci was climbing into the other side of the car. Beam settled into the plush leather seat and fastened his safety belt. As he started the engine, the car began to chime, and he noticed da Vinci wasnât using his seat belt.
âYou forgot to buckle up,â Beam said.
âNever do.â
âShame on you.â Beam pulled out into traffic. The warning chime finally stopped. âWe making progress?â
âComputer guy will be at your place tomorrow afternoon. Heâll make sure youâre plugged into the department network,â da Vinci said.
âHe didnât say âplugged intoâ I bet.â
âI didnât talk to him personally, but youâre probably right. They think in terms of ports. The thing is, we donât want there to be any glitches.â
âWe donât,â Beam agreed, swooping the big car around a corner to beat a traffic signal.
âThis old boatâs amazing,â da Vinci said. âYou donât even feel the potholes.â
âItâs like new. We didnât drive it much. I mostly drive it now to keep up the battery.â
âAnybody ever mistake it for a limo?â
âSometimes. When I tailed or staked out suspects, I wore my eight-point uniform cap and they thought I was a chauffeur.â
âI never asked you,â da Vinci said, âdo you happen to be Jewish?â
âMy father was. My mother wasnât.â
âWas your father of the faith? Wear a yarmulke, all that stuff?â
âHe went to synagogue for a while, then he drifted away from religion. I asked him why once, and he said heâd lost his faith in Korea, and it took him a while to realize it.â
âHe was a cop, wasnât he?â
âSergeant, Brooklyn South.â
âDidnât heââ
âHe ate his gun,â Beam said. Didnât leave a note.
âShit deal. Korea? The job?â
Beam knew what da Vinci was thinking, that people close to Beam tended to commit suicide, as if he carried an infection.
âThat when you joined the department?â da Vinci asked.
âYou know all these answers,â Beam said.
Da Vinci smiled. âI guess I know most of them.â
âI dropped out of college and joined the Army, became an MP, then applied at the NYPD when I got out.â
âBecause of your father?â
âIâm not sure. It seemed the natural thing to do.â
They drove without talking for a while, the big sedan seeming to levitate over bumps.
âIâm giving you Corey and Looper,â da Vinci said.
âWhatâs a Corey and Looper?â
âDetectives, and good ones. Looperâs early fifties, gone far as heâs gonna get in the department and knows it. Heâs a good cop, but heâs burned his bridges behind him, far as promotionâs concerned.â
âWhatâs his flaw?â
âToo honest. Nobody trusts him.â
âAnd