"Now, what have we here?" she sighed as she unfolded the old newspaper clipping and read it out loud:

"New York Daily News, blah,blah,blah...May,16th, 1997....hmmm. Two killed in freak accident. Police Department divers today retrieved the bodies of two victims of last night's accident on the 3rd Avenue bridge. Their 1996 Volvo was involved in a head on collision with a moving truck at 5:30 PM last evening. The driver of the truck, who authorities confirm lost control due to a blown tire, was treated for minor injuries at the scene. Services for Susan Denby, 29 and her son, Robin Denby, 4, will be held at St. Mark's Cathedral on March 20th at 1:00 PM.

"Oh my god..."

She sat stunned for several minutes, feeling horror and pity and rage all at the same time. Her hands stuck to the steering wheel with sweat. All she could hear echoing over and over again was her own voice saying, "Hurt anybody I care about and I'll kill you" and Harry's desperately empty voice saying back to her, "Do you really think I'd care?"

In the file room of the 10th precinct Diane pawed through the overstuffed cabinets with Harry's note in her mouth. Every five minutes or so, she popped it out and read the case number again. With a satisfied grunt, she pulled out the matching file and tucked it under her arm, closing the bin with a shove from her hip.

There was a small table by the window, and she opened the file on it, laying the pages in the afternoon light. She didn't recognize the case, which involved an undercover narcotics arrest from almost three years ago, or the name of the arresting officer, Roberta Gould.

What is it, Harry? Why am I here? But as she read through the details of the case it became clear. The undercover officer, Roberta, had been rescued by a daring but controversial shoot-out started by none other than Officer Harry Denby.

"A couple of lucky collars in narcotics, huh? So this is what got you upped you to Detective." She stuffed the folder back in place and headed for the offices.

"Could I speak with officer Roberta Gould? Is she in today?" Diane asked the desk clerk.

"And you are..." she responded with practiced politeness. Her teased hair and manicure gave her the look of a beauty salon gossip.

"Detective Russell from the 15th."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, Detective. I mean, no. She's not in. She's on assignment."