“That is absolutely out,” Furia said. “I ain’t stashing no twenty-four grand with a bunch of rubes.”

“Are you kidding? They’d break a leg running to Chief Secco with it. Ma’s the big wheel in her church, and my old man thinks having a bottle of beer in your car is a federal offense.” Goldie laughed. “But Nanette’s no square. She’s looking to cut out one of these days, too. I know from her letters. She does a lot of babysitting nights and one of her steady jobs is for a couple named Malone, they have a kid Barbara. The Malones live in a one-family house on Old Bradford Road. It’s one of the original streets of the town, never any traffic, and the neighbors pull their sidewalks in at nine o’clock. Well, Wesley Malone is a cop.”

“There she goes again,” Hinch said.

“On the New Bradford police force.”

“What gives with this dame?” Hinch demanded of Taugus County. “Some idea! We should park our loot with the town cop!”

But Furia was heavily in thought. “How old did you say their kid is, Goldie?”

“Must be eight or nine by now.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

“But Fure,” Hinch protested.

“That’s the beauty part,” Furia said. “A cop’s got to know the facts of life, don’t he? He ain’t going to panic and try something stupid. Okay, Hinch, get going.”

“Where to?” Hinch asked sullenly.

“This Old Bradford Road. Direct him, Goldie.”

Goldie directed him. They went back into the cloverleaf and across the bridge, past three blocks of midtown, and sharply right into a steep road called Lovers Hill, Goldie said, because there was a parking strip on top where the town kids necked. Halfway up she said, “Next right turn,” and Hinch turned in grudgingly. There were no street lights, and towering trees. It was a narrow street, almost a lane, lined with very old two-story frame houses in need of paint.

The road swooped and wound in an S. At the uppermost curve of the S Goldie said, “I think that’s it. Yes. The one with the porch lit up.”