And how stubborn. Loney had insisted on following their Wednesday night ritual, which involved dinner at the Old Bradford Inn in midtown and the movies afterward, even though he had not slept eight hours in the past ninety-six. It was the only recreation she got, Loney had said, flattening out his chin, and she wasn’t going to lose out just because the flu hit the department and he had to work double shift four days running. He could get a night’s sleep tonight, Mert Peck was out of bed and Harry Rawlson was back on duty, too.

“How about a bite at Elwood’s?” he said at the car. It was a beatup Saab he had picked up for $650 the year before, their old Plymouth had collapsed at 137,000 miles. The big Pontiac special he drove on duty belonged to the town.

“I don’t think so,” Ellen said. “I’m kind of worried about Bibby. Nanette had to leave at ten thirty, her mother’s down sick, and I said it would be all right. But with Bibby home alone-”

“Sure.” He was relieved, she knew every pore in his body. Then she saw him stiffen and turned to see why.

One of the New Bradford police cars had torn past the intersection of Grange Street and Main along the Green, siren howling. It was being chased by several civilian cars.

“I wonder what’s up,” Malone said. “Something’s up.”

“Let it. You’re coming home with me, Loney. Get in, I’ll drive.”

Malone got in, and Ellen went round and took the wheel. He was looking back at Main Street and she saw him feel for the gun under his jacket. Ellen hated Chief Secco’s rule about his men carrying their revolvers off duty.

“Lay off the artillery, bud,” Ellen said grimly, starting the Saab. “You’re going nowhere but beddy-bye.”

“It’s something big,” Malone said. “Look, Ellen, drop me off at the stationhouse.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll only be a couple minutes. I want to find out what gives.”

“I’ll drop you off and I won’t see you till God knows when.”