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arms behind his back and handcuffed him. Lieutenant Slyman came up to Conor, casting a shadow across his face. Conor didn’t look up but he recognized him by his Cerruti aftershave and his immaculately polished brogues.
    â€˜Well, well,’ said Lieutenant Slyman. ‘You’ve certainly done some spectacular damage today. How much do you reckon they cost, those stretch limos? Fifty K? More?’
    He held out his hand to help Conor onto his feet. Conor ignored it. He stood up and brushed himself down and then said, ‘I’ll write you out a full statement, lieutenant, if it helps.’
    Lieutenant Slyman shook his head in mock admiration. He was a thin man, with a very narrow head.He had black slashed-back hair and bulbous but hooded eyes. His mouth was red lipped and bow shaped, almost like a woman’s.
    â€˜Still the knight in shining armor, aren’t you, O’Neil? One man struggling alone against the forces of darkness. You’ll be even more of a hero after this.’
    Sergeant Wexler was scarlet and sweating. ‘What’s this hero shit? He stuck a gun in my goddamned gut.’
    â€˜Oh, get real, sergeant. He apprehended an armed felon without killing any civilians and he recovered the very valuable property he was paid to protect. Nobody’s going to make a fuss about a few wrecked vehicles.’
    â€˜He took me hostage, for Christ’s sake.’
    â€˜He took steps to prevent you from making even more of an asshole of yourself than you already are. You were supposed to go in there to contain the situation, not re-enact the Battle of Antietam.’
    Two paramedics had managed to lift Darrell out of the Brinks-Mat truck and were wheeling him on a gurney up to their waiting ambulance. He had suffered a deep gash on his forehead and his eyes were closed. His head was held in a bright red neck-brace and his nose and mouth were covered by an oxygen mask.
    â€˜How is he?’ asked Conor.
    One of the paramedics shrugged. ‘Hard to tell with a head injury like this. Could be nothing more than a minor concussion. Could be a fracture.’
    â€˜Take him to Roosevelt-St Luke’s. They have an emergency room there, don’t they? His uncle owns most of Spurr’s Fifth Avenue. I’ll have somebodycall and work out the insurance details later.’
    He watched as they wheeled Darrell away. Lieutenant Slyman came up and stood next to him and said, ‘Answer me one thing, O’Neil. How could you be sure that guy wasn’t going to shoot the hostage?’
    â€˜I wasn’t. But you get a feeling about people, you know? You can always tell when somebody is really capable of killing, and when they’re not. You can
smell
it.’
    Lieutenant Slyman laid a long-fingered hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll look forward to your report,’ he said.

Chapter 6
    Before he went home he visited Salvatore’s wife, Maria. The Morales lived in a second-story apartment on 104th Street, up in El Barrio, with window-boxes crammed with geraniums. The windows were wide open because of the heat and he could hear samba music and somebody laughing. He had been half hoping that Maria would have been watching television and would already know what had happened.
    He paid off his cab and climbed the steps to the front door. A small boy with a runny nose was sitting against the railings, staging a fight between two identical Batman dolls. Conor recognized him from the photo on Salvatore’s desk.
    â€˜Who’s winning?’ asked Conor, hunkering down beside him.
    The boy stared at him as if he were a mental defective. ‘Batman,’ he said.
    â€˜I see. Ask a stupid question.’
    The boy took pity on him. ‘This Batman is good and this Batman is bad. The bad Batman is winning.’
    Conor said, ‘Maybe I should help the goodBatman, huh?’ He reached into his coat pocket with his left hand. He kept it there for a moment, and then he