For CYRUS R. VANCE, Jr., District Attorney, New York County, whose wisdom, vision, integrity, courage, loyalty, and gift for friendship inspire me

THIRTEEN

“DO the notebooks go back as far as Naomi’s visit to Illinois?” Mike asked. We were both riffling through them to see what months and years were covered.

“Not any that I’ve found yet. How about the one you had with the torn-out pages?”

“That’s pretty recent. All about this winter and what she was up to.”

“Let’s make copies before you voucher it. What did Daniel rip from it?”

“The pages after Naomi was arrested in January. The half that’s left reads like a description of what she was doing with the other protestors. Has some names. Then a sweet bit about how she was grateful to Daniel. How she went to meet with him a couple of times.”

“Names?” I asked. “Her fellow protestors? Friends of Daniel’s?”

“Looks like he was ripping out most of what came after he got involved with her, whether to protect someone else or himself. You hoping to find an avenging angel here?”

“Anything that will help. We’d better do a run on Daniel’s father — who he is, whether he’s in the Midwest or traveling. Few things more personally virulent than an intimate partner gone bad. Is that your phone or mine?”

I dug into my bag, but Mike had answered his phone on the second ring. “Louder, Loo. I can barely hear you,” he said, sticking his forefinger in his other ear.

As he listened to Ray Peterson talk, he turned his back and walked away from me. “What do you mean ‘just now’? Where? Exactly where?”

There must have been a break in the case.

“We’re in Alphabet City. The vic’s apartment. I can be there in twenty if you can get uniform from the precinct here to secure the apartment. Hold tight, Loo, okay? I’ll check.”

Mike leaned over the sink and looked out the window, up and down the street. “Coop, you want to go out and give a yell to the cops in the patrol car?”

“Sure.”

“She’ll sit with the guys till Crime Scene gets here. It’s not a big job. I just want them to photograph the place and do a routine check.”

“Don’t even think about parking me here. Wherever you’re going, I’m with you,” I said, opening the door to summon the officers while Mike gathered the papers and books he wanted to bring along. “It’s Naomi, isn’t it?”

“Suit yourself,” he said as he nodded to me.

When I returned to take a last look around the small apartment, Mike was on the phone again, his back to the sink. I passed by him and he took a firm grasp of my forearm, stopping me in place until he finished his conversation.

We were face-to-face as he flipped his cell closed with his free hand. “You don’t have to prove anything to me by coming along, Coop.”

“What would ever make you think that was my purpose?” I said, raising my right hand to shield my eyes from the glare of the late-afternoon sun that streamed in over Mike’s shoulder, while trying to wriggle free from his grip. “It’s ridiculous. What’s eating at you today?”

I didn’t mean to sound as arch and strident as I did with just those few words.

“Easy, girl. I know you’ve got balls as big as any guy in the squad, and I know you can outthink me from here to the moon, but you don’t belong on the streets with all the garbage we’re used to chasing after and corralling. You should be in the courtroom, Coop—”

“Battaglia threw me out of the trial I was handling,” I said, confused by the tender tone of Mike’s voice. The sentiment was familiar, but he was softer and calm, not baiting me as he always did in front of the cops. “I told you that.”

“Then sit behind your desk and write a brief, for Chrissakes. Analyze the latest Court of Appeals decisions. Break some defense attorney’s chops.”

“What is it you don’t want me to see today?”

“It’s gonna get to you, kid. It gets to every one of us sooner or later. The street has a way of settling in your gut like a malignancy, small at first, then spreading till it infiltrates every pore in your body. It’s not just about today. Not just this case.”

He let go and I thought for a second that he was going to touch my face, cup my chin between his fingers. “I understand that, Mike. I’ve seen my friends, our friends—”

“But you think you’re different, is that it?”

“Not for a minute. There’s nobody here but us, you know? You don’t have to make me the butt of your jokes. Take out your frustration on something else.”

“Trust me, Coop. I’m not frustrated. You’d be the last to know about that.” He turned away from me and opened the faucet, splashing some cold water on his face. The moment had passed and now the edge was back in his voice. “You’ve got some kryptonite coating that protects all this shit from creeping into your soul and your brain and that underutilized thing you call your heart? You think you’re immune from it?”

“Not in the least. You asked for my help last night. I started out with you because you thought I had something to give you.”

“My mistake,” he said, wiping his face with a piece of paper towel. “I didn’t guess I’d be dragging you into what came next.”

I wanted to reach up and straighten the lock of hair that had lodged itself below his shirt collar at the nape of his neck, but when he stood, it fell into place. The line between my annoyance at his sniping and the affection that had grown for years was pencil-thin. “I might surprise you, Mike. Maybe I can help with the bigger picture.”

“Then saddle up, Coop. Let’s see if you can cross-examine a severed head.”