The commissioner’s private conference room at the Roundhouse was large and rectangular, and contained a long walnut table with a single piece of polished glass protecting its costly surface. An American flag stood furled in one corner behind the head of the table, and in another corner Anne recognized the blue polyester flag of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania she’d seen in state courtrooms. Air-conditioning chilled the room, but it could easily have been her emotions.

Ten high-backed leather chairs sat around the table, reflected in fuzzy shadow on its shiny surface, and Anne, Bennie, Mary, and Judy took seats in the ones on the left, across from Deputy Commissioner Joseph Parker, Detective Sam Rafferty, his partner, and a young black man in a suit, who introduced himself as a lawyer from the city solicitor’s office. The city lawyer shook hands all around and began taking notes on a fresh legal pad as soon as he returned to his seat. Anne reminded herself it wasn’t a war, despite the battle lines on opposing sides of the table, the lawyer making notes in anticipation of litigation, and the woman entering the room and quietly taking a seat at the head of the table, the putative plaintiff, one Terry Murphy. Anne’s mother.

No doubt it was her, though Anne hadn’t seen her in so long. She seemed shorter than Anne remembered, perhaps five two, and years of pills and alcohol had destroyed a woman once lovely enough to attract dozens of men and entertain fantasies of movie stardom. Her cheeks looked sunken, her skin withered, and the blue of her eyes seemed watered down, especially in contrast with too-thick liquid eyeliner. Her mouth was enlarged by coral lipstick, and she wore a matching melon-colored T-shirt with a scoop neck and white cotton Capri pants, with white Tod knock-offs. Something about the shoes made Anne sad.

She watched her mother shake hands with the police brass, extending a small hand with frosted fingernails. Her mother nodded in a wobbly way, as if she’d gotten out of her umpteenth stint at rehab, and her shoulder-length hair had been newly colored jet-black to hide the graying of its dark red. She shook Bennie’s, Judy’s, and Mary’s hand, not looking at Anne until the last.

“Hello, Anne,” her mother said, her voice thin, but Anne didn’t reply, because she didn’t know where to begin, and once begun, would never end.

The deputy commissioner cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, let me first welcome our guests, and thank them for coming down here on the holiday to discuss this subject, which I know is important to all of us.” He was black and heavyset, balding, with dark, kind eyes and a soft smile. An unfortunate neck wattle hung over the tight collar of his stiff white shirt, which Anne gathered was worn by top cop brass, if his stripes, gold-eagle pin, and police-shield tie tack were any indication. The deputy commissioner continued, “The commissioner wishes he could be here, but, as you may know, he is out of the country.”

“In Ireland, I had heard that,” Bennie said, and Anne sat back against the cold leather. She was happy to let Bennie run the show, because it was clear from the jump that nothing meaningful was going to take place here, and for all of her newfound self-control, Anne was embarrassed at being in the same room as her mother.

“Most important,” he continued, “permit me to apologize to Mrs. Murphy, here and now, for the judgment exercised by Detectives Rafferty and Tomasso. After an investigation, which I assure you is ongoing, it has come to my attention that these detectives may have permitted certain false information about your daughter’s whereabouts to persist uncorrected. For that, and for any undue pain this may have called you, Mrs. Murphy, we, as a department, are heartily sorry.”

Terry Murphy nodded graciously, but that didn’t stop the apologies, which Anne knew were for the record and rendered solely on the advice of counsel, undoubtedly higher up than the one taking notes at the table. They knew that under the circumstances, Anne’s mother could sue the city and department for emotional distress and collect big-time. Only Anne knew that her death didn’t cause her mother any distress at all.

“I assure you, Mrs. Murphy, that these detectives have excellent records of service to the department, Homicide Squad, and city. Their actions were taken not only at your daughter’s request, but also in the sincere and reasonable belief that they were protecting her from further harm. You do understand that, I hope, Ms. Murphy.”

“Yes, of course,” her mother said, nodding again, and Anne detected a trace of a pseudo-English accent as bad as Madonna’s. Nice touch, Ma. Is that the acting part?

The deputy commissioner smiled his nice smile. “However, it remains true that the detectives’ actions were unorthodox, certainly, and also against police procedure, though they were undertaken in all good faith. We will be meeting with the press later today, to make clear our position in this matter. You should be aware, Mrs. Murphy, and we will tell the press, that we as a department are considering taking disciplinary action against the detectives for their actions.”

Detective Rafferty bowed his head slightly, a gesture that showed the sincerity that her mother lacked, and Anne was moved to speak.

“If I may, Deputy Commissioner Parker,” she said, raising an index finger. “As you correctly point out, Detective Rafferty and his partner took the actions—” she shook off the police speak and started over—“they kept quiet about the fact that I was alive because I begged them to, and to help me protect myself. I think it showed excellent judgment on their part, in addition to a really good heart.”

“Thank you,” the deputy commissioner said, and the city lawyer scribbled furiously. Rafferty looked up, a slight smile creasing his face, and Anne smiled back.

“I would hope that the police department would take no disciplinary action against either of these detectives. If the department would like me to submit a statement to that effect, for your purposes or for submission to the press, I would be happy to do so.”

“Excellent, that would be most appreciated,” the deputy commissioner said, and the city lawyer thought it was Christmas. Anne knew he’d send a follow-up letter as soon as he got back to his office, bearing the computer-generated signature of the City Solicitor and confirming her offer. The city and the department had just gotten a free release, but that was fine with Anne. She’d be damned if her mother would make a penny off of her alleged death, when she hadn’t bothered to show up for her alleged life.

Bennie was nodding in agreement. “Anne’s analysis is exactly correct, and my firm would be happy to state as much in a separate letter, if you wish.”

“A letter from Bennie Rosato, supporting the police?” The deputy commissioner chuckled softly, his heavy chest moving up and down.

“Credit where credit is due, sir.” Bennie smiled and leaned over the glossy table. “Now that we’re done with that, tell me what the department is going to do to catch Kevin Satorno.”

“We have assigned every available man to the search, and coordinated with the FBI and authorities in New Jersey. We remain staked out at the Daytimer. How did you find Satorno, by the way?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Bennie said dismissively. The deputy commissioner didn’t press her, evidently in return for the nice letter she’d offered to write, like a referee’s compensatory call. “But can you offer Ms. Murphy any protection at all? We’re sure that Satorno will be stalking her, to finish what he started, both on the West Coast and here.”

“At this point, there’s not much we can do. As a policy matter, we don’t usually assign personnel to an individual victim of crime, and we’re severely short-handed today, because of the Fourth.” The deputy commissioner paused. “But when we free up somebody after the holiday, maybe we can put a car at her house or office.”

“That may be too late. She needs protection now. Don’t you have anybody, in a department this size? I can’t believe there’s nobody. What if a VIP came into town?”

“Unfortunately, there are already plenty of VIPs in town. We do have a Dignitary Protection Squad, but they’re already deployed. The Secretary-General of the U.N. is getting an award today, and half of Hollywood is arriving for the fireworks ceremony at the Art Museum tonight. There’s not a soul to spare.” He turned to Anne. “Ms. Murphy, if you want my advice, the best thing for you to do is to take a vacation out of town, until we apprehend Mr. Satorno.”

Anne had expected as much. “Thanks, but no. I have to work, I have to live. I’m trying a case tomorrow. I can’t go hide out, and I wouldn’t anyway.”

The deputy commissioner looked sympathetic. “Then use your common sense, which I think you have in abundant supply. Leave the police work to us, Ms. Murphy.”

“I understand, sir.” Anne rose slowly, her hands leaving fingerprints on the table, and Bennie and the others took their cue from her, rising from their seats. “Then, if there’s nothing more, we should probably get to work.”

The other side of the table rose, too, led by the deputy commissioner, who eased his girth from his chair. “We won’t keep you. Thank you for coming and we’ll call you the moment we have Mr. Satorno in custody. If you want an escort through the media outside in the parking lot, I can have my driver accompany you.”

Anne looked at Bennie, who answered, “That’s okay, thanks. What time is your press conference?” She headed for the door with the other lawyers, and Anne trailed behind.

The deputy commissioner hustled to open the heavy, paneled door. “In two hours, and we’re taking the same tack. I’m telling them what I just told you. With your permission, I will restate your position.” He waited for Bennie’s nod, then glanced at Terry Murphy, who remained seated at the table. “Mrs. Murphy isn’t yet sure of her position, but she has kindly agreed to attend the press conference with us.”

Cameras, lights, attention? “Why am I not surprised?” Anne muttered, but her mother heard it and turned in her seat, her face an almost-professional mask of pain.

“Honey?” she called out. “Can we talk, for a minute?”

But Anne was already gone, walking out the door without looking back. Just as her mother had, a decade earlier. Returning the favor felt good, and bad, but Anne had something better to do. Like save herself.

The women trooped down an empty hall to the elevator, piled into the cab and rode down without a word, at first. Anne felt everybody’s eyes on her, and appreciated it. They cared about her. They worried about her safety; they worried about her emotional state. Bennie, Mary, and even Judy were her true friends now, and she was theirs. But that meant they wouldn’t be able to go with her any longer. She couldn’t endanger them.

The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor, and they got out. Anne could see the media mob thronging in the parking lot, through the glass double-doors of the entrance. They extended all the way to the sidewalk, but she wasn’t unhappy to see them anymore. They were going to help now. But not with flyers, with something better.

“Get in wedge formation, girls,” Bennie said, taking the lead and gathering the associates behind her like baby chicks. Then she looked back and frowned. “Murphy, where’s your hat and sunglasses?”

“In my pocket.” Anne patted the hat and sunglasses, rolled up together. “I’ve worn my last disguise. I’m going as myself from now on.”

“No, you’re not. Put them on. Now.”

Mary touched Anne’s arm. “Anne, you should get in disguise. Otherwise you’ll be all over the TV and the news. The way you look now, your new haircut and color.”

But Anne had already broken formation. She hurried to the double door before anybody could stop her, and on the other side, the reporters were already clamoring for her. Shouting questions. Shooting pictures.

“Murphy, no!” Bennie shouted, but she was too late.

Anne was heading out into the sunlight.

Alone, except for a really good idea.