Monday

8:30 P.M.

Both detectives hustled to the front door as Detective Matty Boland rang the bell again. As he yanked on the antique door, Eddie reassured them he knew the guy. The hand-carved wood, curved on top to fit the arched doorway, swelled up and stuck in damp weather. It was the original door, and he'd been babying it for years, not wanting to think about the hassle of replacing it. Then he wondered what the hell he was worried about. Would it really matter if it crumbled today? He put some muscle into it and it popped open.

"Jesus Christ," Boland said, smiling. "We kicked down steel doors in Harlem faster than that."

"Nobody ever uses this door. I thought you knew that."

"How many years since I was here? I'm supposed to remember doors?"

Eddie had always liked Matty Boland. He was cocky, but not afraid to back it up. His looks and Manhattan social life made him a media darling, but he was a tough street cop. When Eddie was under the IAB microscope,

Boland went out of his way to support him. After Eddie was forced to resign, Boland came up to him and said that if he ever needed anything, he should just call.

"Anything new on your daughter?" Boland asked, as Eddie led him into the kitchen. "Jesus, I can't even imagine-"

"How did you find out?"

"Detective Panko, Yonkers PD, called the office, asking about certain names in the Russian mob."

"She called the Seventeenth squad?"

"No, I'm outta the Seventeenth, be a year in June. I made a move into a federal task force working Russian organized crime."

"Is that why you're here?"

"C'mon, Eddie. I'm being up-front about this. I'm working with the feds on the Russians. What more can I say?"

"Let me guess," Eddie said. "The feds smell an opportunity. They sent you because they think you'll raise my comfort level with whatever deal they're offering."

Boland smiled sadly and looked around the room. His teeth looked like they'd been bleached. He had an upscale haircut, and his handsome features had a pampered glow, like he'd been to a tanning parlor or invested in some expensive skin care.

"I remember this place now," Boland said. "Your wife is a redhead, right?"

"Eileen passed away a few years ago, but you're right, she was a redhead."

"I didn't know that, Eddie. Sorry. Shit, I still sound like an idiot, don't I? I probably should have let someone else do this… but I figured I'd look out for a cop better than… you know… them."

Boland gestured toward the living room and a Yonkers cop he'd assumed was a fed. The fed-hating thing was part of his act. Boland had a charming, bad-boy way that women fell for. Eddie remembered that Eileen, who had never liked any of his cop friends, spoke of Boland for days after she first met him.

"The reason I'm here," he said, "is because the powers that be in the Russian task force want to offer you a deal. It's a quid pro quo arrangement, according to them. They help out on this case, you help them with the Russians."

"We already have an FBI team working solely on the kidnapping. Why can't your task force guys pick up a phone if they hear something about Kate?"

"Because nobody's heard shit," Boland said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "And we're probably not going to. That's the problem. We know Brighton Beach is stirred up. Things are happening, but we can only watch it from a distance. You follow me?"

"You're not exactly subtle."

"Not for nothing, but what would be the point in subtle? You know what I'm here for. We need eyes and ears inside Borodenko's operation. If we had them in now, we might be kicking doors in tonight. Maybe your daughter is behind one of them."

"If I knew someone inside Borodenko's operation, I'd be all over him myself right now."

"That's exactly what I told them. But you're getting too far ahead here. It would be great if you could hand us Borodenko on a silver platter, but we're realistic. We have other, more immediate goals."

"Let me know when you get to the part about helping my daughter."

Eddie found a lime in the fruit bin and made a gin and tonic for Boland. He knew the drink wouldn't be

Boland's first of the day. He poured himself a club soda, but he didn't add the lime. He wasn't fooling anyone. Club soda is club soda.

"I have an offer," Boland said. "I figured you'd at least want to hear it."

"I can listen."

"First, tell me what this is all about. Why are you so sure that Borodenko's people grabbed your daughter?"

"Money," Eddie said. He knew the money idea would buzz comfortably around Boland's head. The why question is always foremost in the minds of cops. Greed is the easiest motive for them to understand. Eddie leaned against the sink and filled him in on Lukin's information: the black BMW, the aborted shipment of stolen cars from a New Jersey pier. He explained Lukin's reasoning-that Borodenko's henchmen had been looting every known Lukin associate. They'd searched Eddie's house for money because Borodenko thought he was holding it for Lukin. Kate had just been in the wrong place, at the worst possible time.

"I can call someone in customs," Boland said. "Have them search any vessel remotely connected to Borodenko."

"I'm indebted to you already."

"Don't be too quick," Boland said. "You know what they say about payback."

Boland's face, almost too pretty years ago, had benefited from some wear and tear. But, with the exception of a little gray, he hadn't changed much at all. The guys who kept working never did; it was the guys who retired who aged badly.

"If they want information on the Russians, I can do that," Eddie said. "If that's your deal."

"It's not my deal. I'm just the messenger on this. If it was mine, we'd be out there right now, no strings. But the feds want your old boss, Anatoly Lukin, Eddie. If you can deliver him, they'll have the task force make your daughter priority one. Just say the word and they'll start rousting Borodenko's people tonight."

"And all they want is a rat?"

"Did I say rat? Where do you get rat?"

From the living room came the voice of Ricky Ricardo, who was frantically calling for Lucy. The cops had been watching CNN, but Grace took over the clicker, choosing laughter in black and white. Grace loved all the old shows, especially the ones on Nick at Night. Schooled by her mother, she knew all the adventures of the Ricardos by heart.

"Lukin is a sick old man, Matty. He won't live long enough to go to trial."

"They know that. All they want is a quick, easy win. They want the head of a vor to hang on the wall at a press conference. It's the feds, man. All PR."

"If I give up Lukin, they start looking for Kate right, now?"

"Not just lip service, Eddie, but a serious, pull-out-all-the-stops search. I'll be there to guarantee it."

"Tell the powers-that-be it's a deal," Eddie said.

"Okay," Boland said, hesitating. "Sure you don't want a night to think about it?"

"No. Call your boss now, Matty. I'll give them whatever they want, as long as I get my daughter back."

"You didn't ask about immunity."

"Are they planning to indict me?"

"You never know. Just do me a favor and take a little time to consider asking for immunity. It's easy to talk yourself into a jam with these people."

"Matty, listen to me. Will that jam be worse than the one my daughter is in now?"

"All I'm saying is that if you push a little, they might give you immunity, too."

"Call them now, Matty. Tell them I'll be their dancing rodent. No bag over my head, no disguised voice. I'll testify against Lukin, the whole operation. I'll appear on Oprah if they want me to. Just get my daughter back."

Eddie's living room phone rang and he bolted from the kitchen. He let it ring three times, just like they told him to do, then he picked it up as the nervous cop pirouetted around the couch. Grace stared up at him. Eddie put his hand over the mouthpiece and spoke directly to Grace. "It's Edie Porach from the hospital, honey," he said. Grace went back into Lucy Ricardo's world as Eddie thanked Kate's best friend. It was at least the tenth call for Kate that day. When he returned to the kitchen, Matty Boland was putting his cell phone into his pocket.

"We're on for tomorrow," he said.

"I'll get my brother to man the phones here."

"I know you don't care right now," Boland said, "but I hope you don't wind up getting screwed here."

"You hate the feds so much, why do you work for them?"

"Because our job changed, Eddie. More than you can imagine. I've got my twenty in. Something good pops up in the private sector, my papers are in immediately."

Grace stopped suddenly in the doorway; she'd forgotten Boland was there. Eddie had forgotten how Boland transformed around women. Six to sixty, the Boland charm kicked in. Pure reflex. His voice changed, suddenly deeper and softer. That smile and all his attention focused on Grace, as if he were trying to hypnotize her.

Eddie remembered Boland once saying that if he ever decided to pray, he'd pray to the Blessed Virgin Mary, because, as a woman, she'd see things his way. Grace stood there with a wacky smile on her face as he told her she was beautiful enough to be a princess. It was hard to tell who enjoyed the exchange more. Eddie chased Grace back to the living room.

"Think about what I said about immunity," Boland said. "The timing will never be better for you. They need you right now, especially after what happened today."

"What happened today?"

"Somebody firebombed Borodenko's Rolls-Royce. Our intelligence says he thinks it was Lukin's people retaliating for recent hits on some of his people."

Eddie wondered why Boland had held this bit of information to the end. Had he become more clever over the years? Some guys did that. Twenty years later, they became real cops.

"Any witnesses?" Eddie asked.

"One old lady. She says it was a big white guy wear; ing a Yankees hat. Big black car. Backed down the street like he was Dale Earnhardt in reverse."

People often mistook Eddie's dark blue Olds for black. He'd never thought before that it was a fortunate shade. Eddie went to refill Boland's glass, but the detective stopped him.

Boland lowered his voice conspiratorially. "You didn't hear this from me," he said, "but the Crime Scene Unit found traces of burned hair and human skin inside the Rolls-Royce."

Eddie unconsciously lifted Boland's glass to his lips. He could smell the gin. He'd always loved the smell of gin.

"Human skin?" Eddie said. "Somebody was inside the Rolls?"

"According to CSU."

"Whose skin?"

"Good question. Borodenko's wife-what a gorgeous broad, by the way-says she knows nothing about anybody getting burned. So we got a Russian mystery on our hands."

"Where did they find the skin?"

"Front seat. I should have been more clear about that. You looked worried all of a sudden. You were thinking the trunk, something like that, right? It wasn't Kate, Eddie. All indications are it was a male."

The sound of Grace's laughter came from the living room. Eddie wondered when he'd lost the ability to laugh that pure, uninhibited laugh of a child. He didn't know why he couldn't laugh anymore. Any one of the stupid things he'd done today would be plenty to keep him howling long into the night. He told Matty Boland he'd meet him early the next morning; right now, he had an angel foot cake to bake.