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ROB TRILLING ATTEMPTED to read a file on his phone as he kept pace alongside Terri Hernandez. He wanted to mention to her that she could have given him the file ahead of time. But he decided things were already tense enough. So he was trying to fill in the blanks before they talked to a drug dealer named José Silbas. The man had done six years at Groveland Correctional but didn’t appear to have caused any problems in the three years since his release. He worked for a shipping company on the night shift. Unless that was some kind of cover.

Hernandez stopped right in front of the apartment building. She turned to Trilling. “This shouldn’t take too long. Then I thought we could check the warehouse to see who’s coming and going. Do you have anything going on tonight?”

Trilling said, “I have dinner plans.”

Hernandez let a smile slip out. “Really? Good for you.”

She took the steps up to the building without another word. Hernandez rolled her eyes at him when Trilling held open the front door. That was how he was raised. It was hard to break lifelong habits. To be fair, Trilling tried to hold the door for anyone walking into a building with him.

As they walked down the second-floor corridor toward the apartment, Hernandez turned to Trilling and said, “Just a reminder. This is my case. You’re assisting me. I’ll ask the questions. You keep your eyes open for any threat. Got it?”

Trilling nodded.

Hernandez knocked on the door firmly. Even the way she knocked sounded official. A few seconds later, a bleary-eyed man wearing a white undershirt and shorts answered the door. He was balding but kept his hair long and wild on the sides. A stubbly gray beard grew in patches across his chin. He stared at Trilling and Hernandez but didn’t say anything.

Hernandez held up her ID and said, “Mr. Silbas, I’m Detective Hernandez and this is Detective Trilling with the NYPD. We need to ask you some questions about the death of James Reyes.”

Silbas looked more interested when he heard the name Reyes. “Why do you want to talk to me?” His voice had a rough edge to it, like he had smoked most of his life.

Hernandez said, “We’re not trying to make a case on you. Reyes’s mother said you were his godfather. We just want to find out who shot and killed your godson.”

“You and me both. But if I find out who it is, there won’t need to be a trial.”

Trilling noticed that Hernandez let Silbas’s threat of a potential felony slide completely. Silbas turned and motioned them into his apartment. Trilling stifled a cough from the smell of stale cigarettes and beer.

All three of them sat at a small round table next to a window in the living room.

Silbas looked between the two partners and said, “Who do I talk to?”

Hernandez said, “I’m going to ask you some questions.”

“What if I don’t want to talk to a woman?”

“Then we’re that much further away from catching the man who shot your godson. We really don’t have time for bullshit, Mr. Silbas. Do you want to talk to us?”

“How do I know you’re tough enough to catch Jimmy’s killer?”

Hernandez kept perfectly calm. “If you want, after we’re finished speaking, I’ll kick your ass. Is that fair?”

Silbas smiled. “You’re a mean one. I like that. What if we just arm wrestle to see if I’ll help?”

Trilling didn’t like the look on Hernandez’s face. He hoped she wasn’t about to put him in an awkward position. Internal Affairs already knew his name.