Harry wisely decided to let Sipowicz get the last word. He stepped back and lowered his eyes, allowing Andy the opportunity to glower at him some more as he returned to his desk. It was about time to make his exit anyway. He was pretty spent from dealing with Martens all morning. Fancy had joined them in the break room and the three of them had a heated exchange of information for two hours.

They were able to come up a short list of possible suspects from among the cops that IAB was watching. Two were at the fifteenth, but three others were from different stations and could have had access to the holding cells the night before. It was anybody's guess who had actually gone in an shot Don Kirkendall.

He knew Diane would be in soon to make out her report and wanted to be at the door downstairs waiting when she arrived, partly to protect her, but mostly just to be near her again. Grabbing a can of Coke from the station lobby on his way out, he strolled out to the sidewalk and leaned against the building. He had polished off about a half a can when he saw Greg Medavoy approaching, alone.

Harry began humming a little tune about a certain cereal being magically delicious, then laughed to himself and tipped his head back for another drink. Greg came up beside him and pulled himself up to his full height, but still had to lift his chin considerably to address Harry directly.

"You done inside Denby?"

"That I am, for the mean time. Martens left about a half an hour ago."

"Then you'll be heading back down to narcotics?" Greg rocked up onto his tip toes and tried to look stern. He squinted his eyes and added, "I think we can take care of things from here on out."

Still smiling in a playfully menacing way, Harry replied, "I like it here, Medavoy. It's one of my favorite spots."

Greg considered him for a moment then slowly turned to go inside.

He was just to the door when he put one hand on his hip and returned saying, "You know, I don't think you get it, Denby. She needs more time. Can't you see that?"

Harry lowered his beverage and spoke reassuringly, "I know. Don't worry."

Greg didn't look too convinced as he left and Harry began pacing in silent conversation with himself. These men, so quick to stand between him and Diane, had known her for a long time. They watched as she became a young widow. They worked with her every day as she climbed out of her despair. Maybe they understand her better. Minutes passed quickly as he continued to fret. He tried to replay her every word and touch. Had he read her wrong last night? Was it just fear and need born from their shared danger that brought her to him?