Free Devil's Bridge by Linda Fairstein

growing up in the projects don’t exactly know the folktales you were brought up on. Might not be the same risk/reward ratio.”
    “Don’t distract me, Vickee. I’m on a high here. I’ve got everybody but Pug spellbound.”
    “Heard it before, Chapman. The little old lady—aye, your auntie Bronwen herself—she deceives the devil. He builds her a beautiful bridge in the most unlikely of places—”
    “And instead of giving him a living soul to ravish, the clever woman sends her dog on ahead of the beautiful young maiden,” Mike said, lifting his glass in the air. “The first living thing, only it happens to have four legs.”
    “So this smart cop used the dog to roust Raymond Tanner from his hiding place,” I said.
    “And like the devil, who was so enraged by the old lady’s trick that he leaped into the falls and was never seen in those parts again, the rookie has rid us of the evil Tanner.”
    “Yeah, he built his own bridge to Rikers Island for the night,” Pug said as the waiter tried to get everyone’s attention to announce the dinner specials. “The devil played right into the kid’s hands.”
    For the next two hours, we did what cops and prosecutors do when thrown together with good food and an excess of alcohol. We told war stories. Pug on the homicidal maniac who had paralyzed the subway for half the summer; Alan on the child molester who dressed in his mother’s clothes to lure kids into the apartment; Catherine on the guy who jumped bail fifteen years earlier only to be nabbed in Georgia by her cold case unit and charged with a dozen more rapes along I-95.
    When Vickee finished her chicken piccata, she left the table to go outside to call the public information office to see whether there was any word on the Tanner arraignment.
    I was still working on my orecchiette con broccoli rabe, enjoying a cool glass of pinot grigio, when Mike walked around the table and took Vickee’s seat next to me.
    “You okay, Coop?”
    “Yes,” I said, smiling back at Mike. “This time I think it’s just mind games, not physical threats. You’ve heard what Antonio Estevez pulled off?”
    Mike nodded. “Yeah, Drew called me about it. Really slick. And sticking stuff into your document files by uploading it from another DA’s office computer? The dude’s got game.”
    “Next time I see him, I’ll tell him you’re a fan.”
    “At least you get a reprieve from the trial. Maybe we can figure something to do with the weekend.”
    “A last Vineyard trip for the season? Give me something to look forward to.”
    Mike and I were still trying to feel our way through the rhythms of a relationship. We each had apartments of our own and had spent few nights together since we’d starting dating. The irregular assignments of a homicide detective rarely synched with my litigation schedule.
    “Sounds like you’ve got a full plate till then,” Mike said.
    “Tomorrow I get to put my head on the block for Battaglia to chop away at.”
    “Estevez?”
    “You probably haven’t heard the whole story about Reverend Hal yet. I may have lots of time on my hands once the DA finishes with me.”
    “The reverend don’t scare me. I got scores of snitches who’d drop a dime on him in a heartbeat. Federal tax fraud, which means city and state are bound to follow; kids out of wedlock that he supports with money from his phony church; ruining the life of an innocent prosecutor in the Twainey Bowler case ten years back, and still not paying his dues on that. Bring him on, babe, ’cause I’d like nothing better than to spit in his face.”
    “Thanks. I hope whatever you spit is even half as toxic as Hal’s own venom.”
    “Keep drinking, kid. It’s good for your attitude,” Mike said. “I’ve got three more midnights to work and then off for two days. You want me to drop you at home when I leave?”
    “I’ll hang for a while.” I looked at my watch again. “I’m good. It’s nice to see everybody again.”
    “I