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ONE OF THE things I liked most about working with Rob Trilling was that he was not a procrastinator. He didn’t find other things to do when we had an interview or some other casework to complete. We wasted very little time between making the decision to talk to Antonio Deason face-to-face and actually arriving on Greene Street in SoHo, looking for his building.

We found the building quickly. It’s pretty easy to find things down in SoHo. This was a typical six-story redbrick building with a clothing store on the first floor and the building’s entrance a little farther down. We walked past the recessed entry quickly to see how secure the door was. There was no doorman, but the door had a good security system.

The building was by no means flashy. I would call it nice. Maybe even trendy. But there were plenty of more luxurious buildings a big-time dope dealer who drove a Porsche could live in. I wasn’t worried about his housing tastes at the moment. All I wanted to do was get inside the building without having to buzz Antonio Deason’s apartment.

Surprise is often the key to a good interview. If we tried to buzz our way into the building, he could simply refuse to let us in. But if we knocked on his door, he’d be more likely to open the door, assuming we were the super or a neighbor. Then we might get a chance to talk.

Trilling said, “I don’t see his Porsche parked anywhere on the street.”

“I doubt he’d want to park on the street. He probably has a garage somewhere nearby where he keeps it.”

Trilling and I were both dressed casually, and we blended in with the crowds strolling along the street. I said, “Let’s take a stroll around the block and see if we can find a better way to get into the building.”

We fell into an easy conversation as we ambled down the sidewalk and pretended to window-shop. It was a minor respite in what had been a busy week, and really my first chance in days to talk with Trilling one-on-one.

As we walked, Trilling turned to me and said, “You ever get tired of this?”

“What? Walking around lower Manhattan or investigations?” Trilling gave me one of his looks and I knew exactly what he meant. I said, “Sure. Everyone gets a little tired of something they’ve done for so long. But then I get a note from someone I helped years ago, or we catch a killer before he can kill again, and I’m back to being excited about my work. I don’t know how many people can say that.”

As usual, Trilling didn’t say anything else right away. After we walked around the corner, I said to him, “What about you? Is the job wearing you down already?”

“No, not really. You and Terri keep me busy enough that I don’t even think about getting bored or complacent.”

“Is Terri still tough on you?”

“I’ve had tougher in the military.”

“I bet. It always takes Terri a while to warm up to someone. She barely spoke to me the first few cases we worked together.”

It was one of the most comfortable conversations I’d had with the young former Army Ranger. I said, “You still coming to dinner Sunday evening?”

“Are you sure it’s no imposition with Mary Catherine laid up?”

“Ricky’s in charge of the food. All the kids have really stepped up and made sure the apartment looks good. Maybe not quite to Mary Catherine’s standards, but as Eddie said, ‘She’s stuck in bed. She’ll never see it.’ You gotta love that kid’s practical view of the world.”

Trilling said, “I’m looking forward to a nice meal.”

We found an alley behind the building. Unfortunately, the rear door was as secure as the front. As we walked back around to the recessed entrance to the building, a deliveryman in a uniform was coming out of the door.

I said, “Hey, Chuck.”

The man looked at me and said, “It’s Bill.”

I edged past him through the open door and said, “Sorry. You look like my friend Chuck.”

The deliveryman just kept walking. But now Trilling and I were inside Antonio Deason’s building.