you. You always do what you want, right?” She gazed at him stonily before

saying, “You just keep piling on the insinuations, don’t you?” “Is that what you

call them?” “What do you call them?” “I don’t have to call them anything. I’ve

got a case to investigate.” “You really do like to dance in circles, don’t you?”

He kept his gaze on the road. Finally he said, “What would you do?” She started

to say something but then seemed to catch herself. “Talk to the Williamsburg

cops who worked the case.” “We’ve seen the files.” “But we tracked down DiRenzo,

and look what he delivered up that was not covered in the files. Maybe the

Williamsburg cops will do the same.” “We need to find out who they are.” “I

already did that. The two lead detectives are still on the force.” “From thirty

years ago?” “They were young when they worked it. They’re close to retirement,

but not quite there. I set up a meeting with them for later this afternoon.”

“Without telling me?” “I’m telling you now, Puller.” “And you wonder why I can’t

trust you?” She stared at him for a moment and then broke it off and kept her

gaze pointed out the window the whole ride back. * * * Always concrete walls,

thought Puller.

 

Unlike on TV shows with all the glitzy bells and whistles, real cops lived on

frugal department budgets that tacked far closer to painted cinderblock and

dented gunmetal gray desks.

 

Puller was sitting opposite homicide detectives Jim Lorne and his partner Leo

Peckham in a precinct building in Williamsburg.

 

They were both tall, thin, balding men in their sixties. Their faces carried the