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hungry but not in the mood to cook. She boiled some water, measured out spaghetti, and reheated the meat sauce that was left in the fridge from the weekend.
    The colander had disappeared. It was not on its shelf or in the sink. She searched fruitlessly before realizing it was packed. She started to laugh. Some days it was hard to win. Luckily it was near the top of a carton, and she pulled it out in time to catch the spaghetti. She was starving. The catered lunch on Centre Street seemed like yesterday. She poured the sauce over the spaghetti, which was on the one dinner plate she hadn’t packed, and carried it to the table that had been old when she moved in to this place. But she would move it anyway, scratched and burned as it was. There were too many expenses involved in getting settled; a new kitchen table could wait, as dinner could not. She inhaled the mass of food in front of her and dug in.
    The phone rang just as she was finishing. She grabbed it, still sitting at the table.
    â€œJane? It’s Flora.”
    â€œFlora. How are you? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”
    Flora Hamburg had made it on the job when women didn’t. If ever someone marched to her own drummer, it was Flora. About sixty now, she had become a cop when pretty women on the job were snapped up to assist men moving to higher places, and plain women went almost nowhere.
Plain
would have been a compliment to Flora. Matronly, tough, rarely without a cigarette dangling from her lips, she had succeeded because she was smart and for no other reason. Her clothes looked like leftovers from the Salvation Army, and if she owned a handbag, no one ever saw it. An unfashionable shopping bag held whatever she chose to carry to work. Her weapon, which she was rumored to have drawn to good effect on several occasions, flapped on her hip. Jane had met her at the Policewoman’s Endowment Association when Flora was still a lieutenant and Jane was still in blues. For over fifteen years, Flora had kept an eye on Jane.
    â€œMore to the point, how’re you? I’ve been hearing things. Is it true you’re retiring?”
    â€œIt’s true. I’ve got a few months left.”
    â€œWhere’re you going?” the gravelly voice asked, blowing smoke.
    â€œI’ve got a job with an insurance company.”
    â€œYeah, yeah. Lots of money and an office with a window.”
    Jane smiled. “Right.”
    â€œYour initiative or theirs?”
    â€œThey came to the union looking for a few good men. I accepted the invitation.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you come and talk to me?”
    â€œIt seemed the right time. I didn’t think you’d approve.”
    â€œWell, you’re right about that. You should think about this, Jane. You’re only forty. The hard work is all behind you. How’s your dad?”
    â€œHe’s OK. Got some heart problems, but he’s pretty good.”
    â€œYou’re giving me heart problems. I hate to see you go. If you wanna talk, you know where to find me. Not next week. I’m going to Atlantic City to make some money.”
    â€œThanks, Flora.” She hung up feeling the old conflict. But although Flora knew a lot, she didn’t know everything. The decision to leave had not been all about pensions and more money.
    â€œRun that by me again.” Defino’s thin face was one big frown.
    â€œThe five tenants living in Quill’s house at the time of the homicide are all gone. I walked by the building yesterday when my subway train stopped for good at Fifty-ninth. The woman on the first floor, Mrs. Elaine Best, she’s been gone or dead for almost four years. I didn’t talk to anyone else. We have to talk to the super or the owner before we do anything else.”
    â€œWe’ve gotta be at Midtown North at ten.” He glanced at his watch. There was plenty of time. “MacHovec, how ’bout you dig up a super or landlord while