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last night.”
    “The Night Sniper phoned us last night after it happened, Vin. I gave him your answer. He didn’t like it.”
    Repetto knew where Melbourne was going with the conversation. “It isn’t my fault those two people were shot last night. It’s entirely the fault of the asshole who squeezed the trigger.”
    “Sure. But does he see it that way?”
    “He’s insane,” Repetto pointed out. “We don’t know how he sees it, and it might not make sense to us if we did know.”
    “You’re the expert with serial killers, Vin, but we both know they follow their own weird logic. It’s why they kill. It’s why they get caught.”
    Repetto sipped coffee. “I’m not personally responsible for any of that.”
    “We agree. But folks in the mayor’s office are in a tizzy. So’s the commissioner, and so’s the chief of department, my boss.”
    “You don’t sound in a tizzy.”
    “It’s my job not to, but I’m all tizzied up inside. Two people shot to death; then the killer called and said you had a few days to think over my offer—his offer, really—then he’d kill two more. He said for me to tell you their deaths would be on your conscience.”
    “Anything else he tell you?”
    “He said he had plenty of bullets.”
    Repetto said nothing. He sipped his coffee. He didn’t like the way his heartbeat had picked up. The way his blood was racing. The cold rage in the core of him.
    “I can hire you as an official consultant and give you two good detectives full-time until the Sniper is nailed,” Melbourne said. “You won’t be officially out of retirement, so you can still draw your pension and keep your promise to Lora.”
    “Isn’t that a difference without a distinction?”
    “That’s the kind of bullshit we hear every day in court, Vin, and it floats there but not here. You do this thing for us, for the city, and you won’t be bothered again. Travel, go to all the Broadway shows you want, eat well, drink well, rot the rest of your life away happy. That’s fine. But we both know before God, you’re the only one who can do this thing.”
    “Lou—”
    “Okay, the one who can do it best.”
    “Lou—”
    “Do this for me as an old friend. Ask Lora again. After last night, things have changed. She’ll see that, I’m sure.”
    “Did the chief ask you to call me?”
    “The mayor asked.”
    Repetto didn’t know whether to believe him. Melbourne could be deceptive, relentless, and remarkably persuasive. That was why he’d been promoted over so many cops with more seniority. Why he’d be chief of department someday, and possibly even commissioner if he didn’t stumble over his own ambition like so many before him. Melbourne wouldn’t lie to Repetto directly, because he was too wily to have to lie , but he could massage the truth until it sighed and surrendered to him.
    The bare facts were out there. The Night Sniper had killed twice because he didn’t like Repetto’s answer. If Repetto didn’t change his answer, two more people would die, and soon. Maybe he’d kill more people anyway, but those two, like the two last night, would be Repetto’s responsibility. That was the way the Night Sniper thought.
    The way Repetto thought.
    “I’ll talk to Lora,” he said.
    “Thanks, Vin. You’re gonna prevent a lotta blood being shed.” Repetto had never heard Melbourne sound more sincere. “I’m gonna hang up now before you change your mind.”
    And Melbourne was gone.
    Repetto killed his cell phone and sat for a moment staring at it. Blood ...
    He took his time with his coffee, reading the rest of the paper casually, until he got to page two of the front section and his name jumped out at him. Someone had leaked the reason why the Night Sniper had claimed his last two victims, and what he wanted. There it was in the Times , the paper of record.
    He wanted Repetto.

6
    Repetto wanted a piece of cake. He hadn’t realized it had been so long since lunch, and he and Lora had cabbed to the