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embarrassed.”
    “So transfer him, ” Hardy said. “What does the union say?”
    “They say Gerson’s been doing okay so far, and it wouldn’t be fair to transfer him before he’s even really gotten his feet wet. It might look bad for him later. Whereas I’ve already proved myself.”
    “And so as a reward, they’re moving you out?” Frannie asked. “And down?”
    “Not down,” Treya said. “He’s going to be lieutenant of payroll.”
    “I don’t even know where payroll is,” Glitsky said, “much less what they do.”
    “That’s perfect,” Hardy said. “You wouldn’t want too many people working at jobs they know about.”
    “God forbid,” Glitsky said. “And the great thing, as they so graciously explained to me, is that this is not a punishment. It’s an opportunity to improve my résumé. I spend maybe a year in payroll; then they promote me to captain at one of the stations. Couple of years there, next thing you know I’m a deputy chief.”
    “His lifelong dream,” Treya added with heavy sarcasm.
    Hardy knew what Treya meant. Glitsky had worked fourteen years in the department before he got to inspector sergeant at homicide, and then another eight before they promoted him to lieutenant of the detail. Abe didn’t crave varied administrative experience. He wanted to catch murderers.
    “Have you talked to Batiste?” Hardy asked. This was Frank Batiste, recently promoted to deputy chief. For many years, as Captain of Inspectors, he had been Glitsky’s mentor within the department. “Maybe he could throw some juice.”
    But Glitsky shook his head. “Who do you think I talked to?”
    Hardy frowned. “I thought he was your guy.”
    “Well . . .” Glitsky made a face.
    Treya knew that her husband wasn’t comfortable complaining about a colleague, so she helped him with it. “It seems like Frank’s going through some changes himself.”
    “Like what?” Frannie asked.
    “It’s not Frank,” Glitsky said. He wasn’t going to let people bad-mouth another cop, even if there might be something behind it. “He’s stuck, too. His wife hasn’t sold a house in a year. They got kids in college. Times are not sweet.”
    “So he makes them bad for you, too? What’s that about?”
    Again, Glitsky wouldn’t rise. “I can’t really blame him, Diz. He can’t afford to lose his own job to make me happy.”
    “That wouldn’t happen,” Treya argued. “He’s too connected.”
    “People might have said the same thing about me last year,” Glitsky said. “It’s a different world down there lately.” He shrugged. “Frank got the word from above; then he got to be the messenger. If he didn’t want to deliver it, they’d find somebody else, and then he’s not a team player anymore. He had no choice.”
    But Treya shook her head. “He didn’t have to tell you good cops don’t go where they choose, they go where they’re ordered. That doesn’t sound like a friend.”
    “I could hear me telling one of my troops the same thing.” Clearly uncomfortable with the discussion, Glitsky looked around the table. “As for being friends, Frank’s my superior officer. He’s doing his job.”
    “So you’re really going to payroll?” Frannie asked. “I can’t really see you crunching numbers all day long.”
    The edge of Glitsky’s mouth turned up. “I’m sure there’ll be lots of hidden satisfactions. In any event, I’ll find out on Monday.”
    “You got a backup plan?” Hardy asked.
    Glitsky looked at Treya, tried a smile that didn’t quite work. “We’ve got a new baby,” he said. “What else am I going to do?”

2
    I t was a Thursday evening in early November. Daylight Saving Time had ended on the previous weekend, and consequently it was full night by six o’clock. It was darker even than it might have been because the streetlights on O’Farrell Street between Stockton and Powell had not come on—perhaps they hadn’t been set back for the time change.
    A