l HI:\" DRUM RDLL DF\" RAIN against the roof of the car paused when John Coglin drove beneath the elevated subway track and started up again as he rolled out the other side. The first parking spot he lucked upon was directly across from the precinct house, and he downshifted his beat-up hatchback, eased into it, and cut the engine. In the rearview mirror, the Bronx sky- line was indistinct, the mounds of low, rain-washed buildings like huge sculptures made of clay and paper bags. The only color at all came from the notches of yellow window light in the squat police station directly behind him. He listened to the rain drill down. Then he took a breath, lifted his midnight blue uniform shirt in its dry cleaner plastic off the passenger seat, grasped the inside door latch and got ready to run. The day sergeant talking on the phone behind the massive, raised wooden desk nodded to him gravely as he pushed through
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