Hardy finished a macaroon, sipped some coffee. "What?" he asked. "Somebody from the office saw you in the apron? I bet that's it. We can sue them for discrimination. You should be allowed to wear an apron if you want."

"Dismas, shut up," Frannie said. "What, Abe?"

"Well, the PD will of course welcome me back, but maybe at a different job."

"What job?" Hardy asked. "Maybe they're promoting you."

"I didn't get that impression. They're talking payroll."

"Head of payroll's a sergeant," Hardy said. "Isn't he?"

"Used to be anyway." Glitsky hesitated. "Seems there's been some concern that I was excessively close to my work in homicide."

"Evidently this is a bad thing," Treya added.

"As opposed to what?" Frannie asked. "Bored with it?"

"You haven't even gone to work for a year," Hardy said. "How does that put you excessively close to it?"

Glitsky nodded. "I raised some of the same points myself."

"And?" Hardy asked.

"And in the past few years, as we all know, my daughter was killed, I had a heart attack, and I got shot in the line of duty."

"One of which actually happened because of the job." Treya was frowning deeply. "He also got married and had a baby, as if there's some connection there, too."

Glitsky shrugged. "It's just an excuse. It's really because my extended disability made them put a new guy in homicide for the duration…"

"Gerson, right?" Hardy said.

"That's him. They probably told him it was his permanent gig when they moved him up. And now that I've had the bad grace to get better, they're embarrassed."

"So transfer him," Hardy said. "What does the union say?"

"They say Gerson's been doing okay so far, and it wouldn't be fair to transfer him before he's even really gotten his feet wet. It might look bad for him later. Whereas I've already proved myself."