“What have you got?” I asked him.

“Oh, no. This isn’t one of those ‘run it by me and if it’s sexy enough I’ll keep it’ cases, Miss Cooper. You either accept this mission on faith, or I do this the legitimate way and call whichever one of your mopes is on the homicide chart today. There’ll be some eager beaver looking to get his teeth into this-I can’t help it if he won’t happen to know the difference between DNA and NBC. At least he won’t be afraid to-”

“All right, all right.” Chapman had just said the magic word and I was sitting straight up in bed now. I wasn’t certain if I was shivering because of the bitterly cold air that was blowing in from outdoors, or because I was frightened by the prospect of plunging back into the violent landscape of rapists and murderers that had dominated my professional life for almost a decade.

“Is that a yes, Blondie? You with us on this one?”

“I promise to sound more enthusiastic after some coffee, Mike. Yes, I’m with you.” His exuberance at this moment would be offensive to anyone outside the family of police and prosecutors who worked in the same orbit as he did, since it was fueled by the unnatural death of a human being. The only comfort it offered was the fact that the particular murder victim in question would be the undistracted focus of the best homicide detective in the business: Mike Chapman.

“Great. Now, get out of bed, suit up, take a few Advil for that hangover-”

“Is that just a guess, Dr. Holmes, or do you have me under surveillance?”

“Mercer told me he was in your office yesterday. Got an overheard on your evening plans-Knicks game with your law school friends, followed by supper in the bar at ‘21.’ Elementary, Miss Cooper. The only thing he couldn’t figure was whether we’d be interrupting any steamy bedroom scene with a call at this hour. I assured him that we’d be the first to know when you gave up on abstinence.”