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It’s a question of being smart. And acting smart, too.”
    Leal watched him closely. He sure was taking his time getting to the point.
    “So that’s why I called you in a little earlier than the rest,” O’Herleighy said. “You and me being from the old neighborhood,
     and me knowing your dad and all.”
    Leal wondered where this was going.
    “I don’t know if you heard or not,” O’Herlieghy said, tapping the end of the cigar into an ashtray, “but I split up with Dora.”
    “No, I didn’t. I’m sorry to hear that.”
    O’Herlieghy waved dismissively, then brought the cigar back to his mouth. “It was for the best. Besides, I met somebody new,
     and she’s made me feel ten years younger. Her name’s Bambi.”
    Bambi, thought Leal. That sounds like the name of the Playmate of the Month.
    O’Herlieghy stood, turning so his profile faced Leal. “I lost fifteen pounds, too.”
    “You look good, Captain,” he said. But he thought, What the hell is going on here? I came expecting to get my ass chewed out
     and bounced back to uniform, and he’s acting like it’s I-need-a-hug day on Oprah.
    “Ahh, shit, Frank, can that ‘Captain’ shit, will ya? We got too much history for that.”
    Leal grinned and nodded, his hand instinctively patting his pocket for the pack of cigarettes that was no longer there. He
     leaned back in the chair and clamped his hands together.
    “Like I said, we got history,” O’Herlieghy continued, sitting down again. He took another drag on the cigar. His breath was
     cloudy when he spoke, staring directly at Leal.
    “But I gotta tell you, telling off that fucking judge was stupid. But I guess you already know that, huh?”
    Leal looked at the floor and nodded.
    “Not that I ain’t come close to doing it myself at times,” O’Herlieghy said with a chuckle. “But do I have to tell you how
     many markers I had to call in to smooth it over?”
    “No, sir.”
    O’Herlieghy winced slightly, then leaned back in his chair and took another long draw.
    “So, you know that the sheriff’s up for reelection next month, right?” he asked. “Well, with Shay gaining in the suburbs and
     parts of the city, it’s gonna be a close one. Real close.”
    Leal nodded.
    “Shay’s making a big issue of the Walker case,” O’Herlieghy said. “You’re familiar with it, right?”
    Leal recalled reading about it: Miriam Walker, female judge, wife of a prominent businessman, and a high-ranking board member
     of the nonprofit Coalition of Women Against Domestic Violence had disappeared the previous spring. Her body had been subsequently
     found in a pond in unincorporated Palos Township.
    “Shay’s been making it into a campaign issue,” O’Herlieghy said. “Saying that if he’s elected he’ll get to the bottom of
     it.” He leaned back and blew out a large smoke ring. “So Sheriff O’Hara’s given the green light to the formation of a special
     task force to work the case.”
    Oh, my God, Leal thought, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. “You mean I’m not going back into uniform?”
    “Uniform? Nah. You’re going to the Walker task force. At least until the election.” He grinned broadly. “Didn’t I tell you
     I’d take care of you when I came to see you in the hospital?”
    Leal had been so doped up on pain medication that he barely remembered anything of that period. But this was almost too good
     to be true.
    “Sean,” he said, his voice cracking, “I really owe you—”
    “Ah, forget it,” O’Herlieghy said, tapping some residual ash into the tray. His expression got serious. “But keep one thing
     in mind. We can’t afford to stand around holding our cocks on this one. We’re putting a couple of inexperienced people in
     the unit with you and Tom Ryan—he’s the other sergeant—but the outcome of the election just might be riding on this.”
    Leal nodded, then asked the question. “What do you mean ‘inexperienced’? Wouldn’t it be better