ONLY THREE BLOCKS from the Hall, Le Fleur du Jour is a popular morning hangout for cops. At 6:30 a.m. the smell of freshly baked bread made noses quiver up and down the flower market. Joe, Conklin, and I were at one of the little tables on the patio with a view of the flower stalls in the alley. Having never been with Joe and Conklin together, I felt an uneasiness I would have hated to explain.

  Joe was telling Conklin some of his thoughts about the arson-homicide cases, saying he agreed with us, that one person couldn’t have subdued the victims alone.

  “These kids are show-offy smart,” Joe said. “Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur.”

  “And that means what?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Did everyone know Latin but me?

  Joe flashed me a grin. “It means, ‘Anything said in Latin sounds profound.’ ”

  Conklin nodded, his brown eyes sober this morning. I’d seen this precise look when he interrogated a suspect. He was taking in everything about Joe, and maybe hoping that my boyfriend with his high-level career in law enforcement might actually have a theory.

  Or better yet, Joe might turn out to be a jerk.

  No doubt, Joe was appraising Richie, too.

  “They’re definitely smart,” Conklin said, “maybe a little smarter than we are.”

  “You know about Leopold and Loeb?” Joe asked, sitting back as the waiter put strawberry pancakes in front of him. The waiter walked around the table distri............