"The Copperline Tap," the cop said at last. "On Fairfield. You know it?"
"I know where it is. I never went inside."
"Three weeks ago their bar manager brought her drop here at two-thirty in the morning. Thirty-eight hundred dollars, a Friday night. Next morning the bank says it never came in. The owner says she's the only one who had it. She says she put it in the box. I took the report." He was still looking at the pan. "I took the report and I worked it and I got a warrant for her bank records, and she'd paid off a car loan the week after. Eleven hundred dollars. She said her grandmother gave it to her. I said, sure. I said, that's what they all say." He stopped. "She's charged. Level six felony theft. She's got a hearing in two weeks. Her name's Jazmyn Haddix. She's twenty-four years old." He looked at the blue bag sitting on the open door of the night drop in the floodlight. "Danko, the owner. He fired her, and then he gave the bag job to the other bartender, the new guy. I guess it's the new guy brought that down tonight."
He lowered the pan.
"I told her," he said, "at the station, in the interview room. I told her it would go better if she just told me where the money was. I said that to her about six times."
He stood there holding the pan. Lorenz sat in the back of the cruiser with his hands behind him and looked up at him, and did not know what to say, and so he said the only thing he could think of that was true and useful.
"Officer," he said. "My left hand. I can't feel it."
Brodersen looked at him as though he had forgotten there was a man attached to the voice. Then he set the pan down on the roof of the cruiser, very carefully, on its back so that the dot faced up, and he said, "Turn," and Lorenz turned on the seat, and he felt the cop's gloved fingers at his wrists, and the key, and the left cuff came off, and then the right, and the blood went back into his hand all at once like a thousand needles, and he bent over it in his lap and held it and breathed through his teeth.
"Get out of the car," Brodersen said. "You don't have to sit in there."
Lorenz got out. His legs were stiff. For a while neither of them said anything. The money still lay across the hood of the cruiser in its neat rows. A few of the bills on the end had begun to stir in a small wind that had come up from the south, lifting at the corners, and Lorenz went over without asking and weighted them down with the rolls of quarters, one roll on each stack, the way he would weigh down parchment on a sheet tray, and the cop watched him do it and did not stop him.