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Corey?”
    â€œNell Corey. Coming off a nasty divorce. Hubby used to bounce her around. Woman’s got her faults.”
    â€œShe’s a foul-up?”
    â€œMore a don’t-give-a-damn type. Mind of her own. But only sometimes. Then there was that business with the knife?”
    â€œShe stabbed her husband?”
    â€œNot that I know of. A security tape outside a convenience store in Queens caught her beating up a suspect with unnecessary force. What the tape didn’t catch was that during the struggle the suspect pulled a knife, which was later picked up by one of several onlookers.”
    â€œIt’s happened before,” Beam said.
    â€œProbably happened that time, too. But since the knife never turned up, it doesn’t officially exist. At base, Corey’s a solid cop, and a talented detective. Trouble is, without that knife, she’s permanently screwed. And knows it.”
    Beam neatly swerved left and squeezed the Lincoln through a space between a van being unloaded and some trash piled at the curb. It was tight enough to make da Vinci wince.
    â€œAndy,” Beam said, “is there somebody in the department who doesn’t want this endeavor to succeed?”
    â€œSure, lots of them. Because of me. They think I’m coming on too fast. You know how it is, I’m a young Turk. Look like and act like one, anyway.”
    The last part was true, Beam thought. Though in his forties, da Vinci might pass for thirty. He was too young looking, good looking, and blatantly ambitious to be universally popular. It was as if a small-market TV anchorman had somehow gotten hold of an NYPD shield and was aggravating the piss out of his betters.
    â€œAm I gonna get cooperation when I need it?” Beam asked.
    â€œOh, yeah. I got the push to make it happen. I’ve got allies, Beam.”
    â€œYou must.”
    â€œYou don’t wanna ask who they are. I will say this: they see you pretty much the way I do.”
    â€œWhich is how?”
    â€œThey know your reputation as a bad ass who can’t be bought or bumped off course, that nothing will stop you.”
    Not even the law.
    Beam remained stone faced as he shot through an intersection barely in time to avoid colliding with a cab that had run the light. Da Vinci flicked a glance out the windshield but showed no emotion. There was a toughness and drive beneath all that smooth banter, cologne, and ass kissing. In truth da Vinci was one of the main reasons why Beam had agreed to take on this assignment. Not only did he rather like the brash, manipulating bureaucracy climber, but he still owed da Vinci for being willing to put his ass on the line seven years ago in Florida. The way it worked out, he hadn’t had to, but it was the willingness that counted. A lot of life was favors owed, favors paid.
    A bus hissed and paused in the traffic coming the other way, a billboard-size sign featuring a Mets star pitcher in full windup on its side. Beam hadn’t been to a ballgame in years. Looking at the sign, he felt his stomach tighten, a pressure behind his eyes. Florida…
    The bus roared and moved on.
    â€œSend me Corey and Looper,” Beam said, “along with copies of the murder books on the three killings. I don’t want to waste any more time.”
    â€œI’ll arrange it,” da Vinci promised.
    They’d circled the neighborhood and were approaching the diner. There was a break in traffic, so Beam took the big Lincoln up to sixty and abruptly spun and locked the steering wheel and brakes simultaneously. The car rocked and skidded to face the opposite direction, then sedately double parked so da Vinci had room to open the door and get out on the passenger’s side.
    Throughout the maneuver, da Vinci had braced himself with his feet against the floor and his hands on the dashboard.
    â€œSomebody oughta call a cop!” an elderly woman pushing a wire basket cart full of grocery bags yelled