"The what?”
"In your name.”
"Oh. Nelson," he said.
"Like the admiral?”
"Exactly.”
"How come?”
"My mother liked the ring of it.”
"Is she British?”
"No, but my father used to be a sailor.”
"Was he British?”
"No. American.”
"Then why didn't she name you after an American sailor? Like John Paul Jones?”
"I'll have to ask her one day," he said, and shrugged.
They came out of the museum at a little past three, into blustering winds and a day already ominously dark. The weather forecasters had promised more snow for the weekend, and the sky overhead was leaden, but so far they'd been lucky. She asked if he'd like a hot chocolate, and said she knew a nice little tearoom nearby. Her long mink coat flapping about her ankles, gloved hand holding the collar closed at her throat, she rushed him toward the avenue up ahead, thronged with pedestrians and passenger cars, taxis and buses. He was wearing a belted camelhair Burberry that he'd told her he'd bought in Chicago but that had been manufactured in England, was she familiar with the Burberry label? Smiling, she had said Yes, she'd heard of the label.
"Where'd the Darrow come from?" she asked.
"Darrow?" he said. "I have no idea.”
"You know there was once a famous lawyer named Darrow, don't you?”
"Oh, sure," he said. "The Leopold-Loeb case. That was a Chicago case.”
"Yes," she said, and guessed she felt relieved. She was never quite certain what he knew.
"But I don't think we're related to him,”
he said. "My father was originally from Rhode Island.”
Approaching the corner, stopping for the red light there. Scaffolding overhead, the inevitable razor wire running along its upper edge, windows being replaced in the corner building. Put up a scaffold in this city, somebody would climb it. And if it was climbed, and there was no wire on it, then whoever climbed it would get into the first-floor windows. If you worked for the window company, you had to watch out for the damn razor wire. It was like everything else in this city. The honest citizens paid for what the thieves were doing.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?" she asked.
"Nope. I'm an only child. How about you?”
"I have a sister in Los Angeles.”
"Older? Younger?”
"Younger.”
"If she looks anything like you," he said, "she must be a beauty.”
The light changed to green, sparing her an answer. She stepped off the curb, took two steps into the gutter, glanced automatically to her left to check on traffic-and saw the bus.
"Emma!" he shouted.
She would remember later that this was the first time he'd used her given name.
The bus was shiny and metallic and huge, and it was racing to beat the light, but the light had already changed. She stopped dead in her tracks, not knowing whether to move forward or backward, it was coming at her so fast. She heard the squealing of brakes. And then he shouted her name again- "Emma!" And suddenly she was being pushed at from behind, his hands on her back, shoving her, almost knocking her off her feet. She staggered - forward, struggling to keep her balance. The brakes kept shrieking at her, and now a woman on the sidewalk was screaming. She realized all at once that he was still immediately behind her, the bus hurtling past them, missing them by what had to be a scant six inches. They kept stumbling forward, both of them carried by their own momentum. She felt herself falling. She put her hands out ahead of her.
He reached for her, missed her, and she tumbled to the pavement, hitting her knees as she went down, but managing to break her fall before she landed on her face. He picked her up at once. Lifted her to her feet. Held her for just an instant. The woman on the sidewalk was still screaming.
"You okay?" he asked.
"Yes," she said, and caught her breath.
The bus was already half a block away, approaching the next corner. "You stupid bastard!" he yelled after it, and then he turned to her and said, "I'm sorry. I hope I didn't hurt you.”
"No," she said. "I'm fine.”
Her heart was pounding.
"Let's talk about that morning of August first again, shall we?" Addison said pleasantly.
Wade said nothing.
He had been talking about the morning of August first all afternoon. It was now almost three-thirty, and they were still talking about the fucking morning of August first. "You told me that you went to the house on Talley Road on information provided by ...”
"Yes.”
"... a prostitute named Dolly Simms, now deceased.”
"Yes.”
"Tell me, Detective Wade,”
Addison said, "on the morning of August first last year, had you obtained either an arrest warrant or a search ...?was "Objection, Your Honor!”
"Sustained. And please come up here.”
The attorneys approached the bench.
"Now what is this?" Di Pasco said.
"Sir?" Addison said.
"You argued this business of the warrants at the pretrial hearing, and I found that the circumstances that night did not require warrants. Your question now implies to the contrary. You know very well that this is not a jury question. So what are you doing?”
“Well, sir, I thought ...”
"Leave it alone. Do you understand me?”
"Yes, sir.”
"Good. No more shenanigans, please.”
Lowell smiled. Addison went back to the witness stand.
"So, Detective Wade," he said. "On the night of August first, you went to this house ...”
"Yes, sir.”
"... on information supplied by a prostitute ...”
"Yes, that the two men we were looking for ...”
"A prostitute told you ...”
"Yes, that was her trade.”
"Told you that Desmond Whittaker and Samson Cole were inside that house ...”
"Yes.”
"So you went there with ... how many other officers were there?”
"Before the hostage situation broke out?”
"I want to know how many police officers accompanied you to the house on Talley Road?”
"There were ten of us altogether.”
"In how many cars?”
"Two.”
"Ten detectives. All from the Forty-fifth Precinct?”
"No. Not all.”
"Was there a detective there who was not from the Forty-fifth Precinct?”
"Yes.”
"Who was that detective?”
"Detective Stephen Carella.”
"What precinct is he from?”
"The Eight-Seven.”
"What was he doing there?”
"I called him.”
"Why?”
"I thought he would like to be in on the arrest.”
"Why did you think Detective Carella might like to be in on this arrest?”
"These men had killed his father ...”
"Your Honor ...”
"Strike that," Di Pasco said. "You know better, Officer.”
"Was Detective Carella related to the victim in the case you were investigating?" - Addison asked.
"Yes, he was.”
"What was his relationship to the victim?”
"He was the victim's son.”
"So included among the detectives who were about to make an arrest was the son of the victim, is that right?”
"That's right.”
"Were there any other detectives involved in this arrest?”
"Yes.”
"How many of them?”
"Eight.”
"Also from the Four-Five?”
"No. From the Four-Six. Talley Road is in the Four-Six.”
"So that altogether, there were eighteen detectives involved in this raid.”
"It wasn't a raid.”
"Then how would you characterize it? Eighteen detectives descending upon ...”
"It was an arrest, not a raid. We knew from Dolly Simms where these two men were, which was why we were there to make the arrest. We already had specimen bullets and casings that were fired at us by these men during the course of our investigation. And these had compared positively with the bullets and casings from the murder weapon. So we knew that these men were in possession of the murder weapon. It was as simple as that. This was what you might call hot pursuit in that ...”