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YEARS AGO, WHEN I was assigned to a robbery task force, my sergeant told me, “After four in the afternoon you should be done with your work or out on the street for an investigation. Never be sitting at your desk after four.” It was the sergeant’s way of saying work hard but don’t neglect your family. It’s too bad a lot of cops fall into the trap of endless hours, which often leads to the trap of endless divorces.

Unfortunately, by late afternoon I was back at my desk. And still in the damn office. But at least the office was quiet. I appreciated the peace. I was questioning my decision to rush out and interview Antonio Deason earlier. Maybe we had jumped the gun. I was not sure what I’d been expecting to accomplish. A confession? No way. I suppose all I really had wanted was to get a decent read on the guy. Was he a copy of his badass father? Was he smart? Was he just a street thug? I hadn’t gotten an answer to any of those questions, and now I felt like an idiot. An idiot sitting alone in Manhattan North Homicide’s office late in the afternoon. Maybe I was just a dumbass.

Terri Hernandez had said she had a date tonight and there was no surveillance scheduled, so I’d sent Trilling home an hour ago. He needed some time off. I worried about him. Not just because he was new to a dangerous job or because he was a long way from home. Although he had filled me in generally about his mental health treatment from the VA, I worried about putting too much pressure on the young man. I knew he was still talking to his VA counselor, but Trilling didn’t share any specifics. And I didn’t ask.

I also wanted him to spend a little more time away from the job. God knew what kind of effort he had to put in at his apartment to keep those five roommates of his comfortable and fed.

I leaned back in my chair and stretched. That quick trip to Florida had really taken it out of me. I felt like I could put my head down on the desk and sleep. I decided it was time to go home. But before I could finish up and hit the road, I heard the main door to our offices click open. Someone had slid their security pass across the lock. I looked up and muttered, “Oh, shit,” a little too loudly.

“What’s wrong, Bennett, not happy to see me?” Detective Sergeant Dennis Wu, from Internal Affairs, glided through the workspace. He glanced at each desk as he went by to see if anyone had left any sensitive material out in the open. He may not have said that’s what he was doing, but I knew.

I tried to take the high road. “What do you need, Wu?” Then I heard the tone in my voice and quickly added, “How can I help you?”

Wu sat down at Trilling’s desk next to mine, and wiggled in the chair to find a comfortable position. Then he faux-casually said, “Had a few questions that no one at One Police Plaza could answer.”

“What sort of questions? No one’s falsifying any time sheets here.” It was a minor dig about some of the petty bullshit Internal Affairs usually looks into. I had to admit, I felt a butterfly in my stomach wondering what he was up to. I knew how this guy operated. Wu never came directly at you. It was always an oblique attack.

He put his overly polished Bruno Magli shoes up on Trilling’s desk. “That’s funny, Bennett. You know I don’t handle any issues like that. I’m more interested in why you submitted a Flying Armed form to the TSA.”

“What?”

“I saw you had Lieutenant Stiorra Stasha sign your form to fly to Fort Lauderdale. But I didn’t see any travel documents or how it was related to a case. What’s the story, Bennett? You go down there to scare an old boyfriend of your wife’s?”

“No, I thought I could visit your mom and heard she lived in a rough neighborhood.”

“You’re full of jokes today, aren’t you?”

“Look, Dennis, I’m trying to wrap things up here and get home. I don’t really understand why an Internal Affairs detective sergeant stationed at headquarters would come all the way uptown just to harass me.”

He chuckled and said, “It’s kind of a hobby of mine. Besides, Harry told me to keep an eye on the squad.”

That made me laugh out loud.

Detective Sergeant Wu said, “What the hell’s so funny?”

I leaned forward in my chair and said, “I don’t really know algebra. I don’t understand European politics. But I know for a fact that Harry Grissom would never ask you for anything.”

Now Wu was all business. “Why’d you go to Florida?”

“A case.”

“What case?”

I could drop Celeste Cantor’s name and this would be over. But I had to admit I was having fun. I kept going. “A classified case. I couldn’t wait for travel approval, so I paid for it myself. Stasha approved a legit Flying Armed request. So don’t give her any shit.”

“What if you explain this case to me.”

I nodded. Then I stood up. “Okay, we’ll do it the easy way. Follow me. This will explain everything.”

To his credit, Dennis Wu didn’t ask any more questions. He just followed me out the main office entrance and down the corridor to an unmarked door.

I stood next to the door until he caught up to me. I didn’t say anything. I just opened the door and gestured, like all of his answers were on the other side. He stepped through the doorway. I heard him say, “Hey, this is just—” as I let the self-locking door slam shut.

I gathered up my stuff and headed out for the night in a damn fine mood.