N Forty minutes later, Fourth Precinct, Irving standing by the window of Captain Farraday′s office. Farraday had cut short a telephone call to see Irving, thinking perhaps that Irving′s urgency was due to some progress, not an insane scheme to bring the New York City Sanitation Department on board. ′They have a system,′ Irving reiterated. ′Every single drain is on their screen. Someone puts a body down there—′ ′And he′s armed, and dangerous, and he′s alert for the slightest sign that he might be being followed, and you have some poor schmuck of a sanitation engineer coming up behind him and getting his fucking head blown off. Jesus, Ray, are you even thinking straight?′ ′Captain—′ ′No,′ Farraday said. He came from behind his desk and stood in the middle of the room. ′I understand what you have . . . this letter, the fact that there′s every possibility that this is the next murder, but do you have any idea what it would take to instigate a collaborative action between the NYPD and the sanitation department, the amount of money it would cost, the lives you would put at risk?
