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days, I think “Mousie” Massimino employs more hackers than hit men.’
    Joe McVitie came out of the kitchen holding up Jenna’s plate. ‘What the hell’s the matter, Jenna, this is best farm bacon, fresh eggs!’
    â€˜I know, Joe. It takes real talent to mess them up as bad as that.’
    â€˜So why do you keep on coming in here if you think I cook so shit?’
    â€˜That’s what Trixie asked me. I really don’t know, Joe. Maybe it’s a Catholic thing. Mortification of the palate – you know, like the nuns force themselves to eat gristle.’
    â€˜Well my advice to you is to go eat breakfast someplace else.’
    â€˜No, Joe. It’s not in my nature. I’m waiting for a miracle. I’m waiting for the morning when I walk in here and the bacon is crispy and the eggs are over easy and the pancakes are light and golden. An angelic choir will start singing and the whole diner will be filled with dazzling sunshine and I will know that my faith in you has at last paid off. And do you know when that will be?
    Joe shook his head, partly because he really couldn’t guess and partly because he thought Jenna was nuts.
    â€˜Sometime around the year twenty-thirty, if I’m lucky,’ Jenna told him.
    She climbed down off her red leather stool and lifted her coat off the back. As she did so, her cellphone played ‘Blanket on the Ground’. She slid it open and demanded, ‘ What ?’
    It was her partner, Dan Rubik. It sounded as if he were out on the street someplace, because she could hear traffic and sirens and people shouting in the background.
    â€˜Jenna – I’m here at the intersection of Green Street and North Twenty-second. Just outside the Convent of Divine Love. We got ourselves a very weird DB here.’
    â€˜Weird? What do you mean by weird ?’
    â€˜Looks like the guy got hit by a half a ton of rock, right out in front of the convent. Killed him instantly.’
    â€˜What? Did it fall off the roof or something?’
    â€˜Couldn’t have done. He’s nowhere near the roof.’
    â€˜OK – I’ll get right down there. Do you have backup?’
    â€˜There were half a dozen uniforms here by the time I got here, and the medical examiner’s on his way.’
    â€˜OK. Give me ten minutes.’
    Jenna took out her billfold to pay for her breakfast, but Joe McVitie said, ‘Forget it. It’s on the house. Go be a nun. Eat gristle.’
    Officers Steinbeck and Cremer gave Jenna a ride to North Twenty-Second Street. Officer Cremer had a head cold and kept noisily blowing his nose, and the interior of the squad car reeked of menthol.
    When they arrived, Jenna saw that the wide paved area in front of the Convent of Divine Love had already been cordoned off with POLICE DO NOT CROSS tape and that the side street was crowded with spectators. A black van from the medical examiner’s office was parked nose-to-tail with a van from the crime scene unit and another van from 6 ABC Action News.
    Dan Rubik came across the paved area and lifted up the tape for her. He was a young, intense detective with a bright ginger buzz-cut and pale green eyes and freckles. He always wore green coats because he thought that they complemented his gingery complexion.
    â€˜OK – we have at least five eyewitnesses already. They all say that the vic was crossing this forecourt, minding his own business, when crash ! This massive block of stone dropped on top of him, right out of the blue. No warning. Just crash !’
    Jenna elbowed her way into the knot of officers and CSIs and medical examiners who were gathered around the victim. When they saw who it was, they all stepped aside and let her through. Several of them gave her a wary nod of acknowledgement. One or two of them put on sour expressions and backed away.
    The body was that of a man about forty-five years old, wearing a dark blue linen coat and light khaki