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