“Let me ask you, Ms. Hunt, did anyone ever get the two of you confused?”

She looked at Mike as though he had just punched her in the face. “Confused? The girl could barely form a proper sentence in English. She cleans house, makes the beds, washes the dishes.”

“Physically, Ms. Hunt. Karla was about your height, had a nice figure, hair about the color of yours-”

“And she was the help, detective. I’m not sure who would have had trouble getting that clear. My friends? The dry cleaner? The butcher? I don’t know if you meant that as a compliment to her or an insult to me.”

“We’ve got to figure out if whoever killed Ms. Vastasi was looking for her,” Mercer said, “or consider the possibility that she was mistaken for you. You own that apartment, don’t you?”

“Yes, but I didn’t spend any time there.”

“You went tonight.”

“Obviously. I think that’s the second or third time I’ve set foot in it. And I sent Karla there this morning.”

“Why?” Mercer asked.

The detectives were playing Hunt off against each other, Mercer distracting her from Mike’s comment that she found so offensive.

“Because I got word that the tenant had moved out. It was rather abrupt, and I wanted to know what shape the apartment was in. I wanted it cleaned out.”

Mike flashed me his best I-told-you-so look, then shook his head. Tina Barr was gone. I’d been puzzled by her connection to this tragic event from the moment I saw Karla’s body, and now the urgency of Battaglia’s directive to find Tina made sense.

“You lived there at one time, didn’t you?” Mercer asked. Billy Schultz had told us Hunt’s name used to be on the buzzer.

“Never.”

“Someone using your name, before Tina Barr moved in?”

“Ridiculous. What reason would anyone have to do that?”

No point pushing her on that tonight. There would be neighbors and witnesses to confirm or deny what Schultz said.

“Ms. Hunt, Karla seemed a bit overdressed to be cleaning an apartment,” I said.

She gave me a glance. “Remind me, young lady. Who are you?”

“Alex Cooper. From the district attorney’s office.”

“Well, then, you’re working overtime. I’m so glad I voted for Paul Battaglia, darling. Four times already, or has it been five? ‘Don’t play politics with people’s lives’-that’s a good mantra for a prosecutor.”

I was tempted to ask her whether she had spoken to Battaglia early this morning, but I knew better than to give her that advantage. I would call him as soon as we took a break.

“The clothes Karla was wearing-”

“They’re mine, Ms. Cooper. Old clothes, of course. It’s either the staff or the thrift shop. I hate to say I wouldn’t have been caught-well, dead-in that outfit again this fall.”

From Park to Fifth avenues, it was often hard to tell the matrons from the nannies, au pairs, and housekeepers strolling the sidewalks. The latter often sported last year’s fashions, handed down at the end of the season. They carried home leftover food and goody-bag giveaways in the instantly recognizable shopping bags tossed out by their employers: the robin’s-egg blue of Tiffany, the bright orange of Hermès, the pale lavender of Bergdorf Goodman, and the shiny black and white of Chanel.

“The tote with your initials on it?”

Hunt stood and crushed the cigarette with the ball of her black patent pump.

“I hate those logo bags, Ms. Cooper. One sees oneself coming and going. It was a gift, and I passed it on to Karla.”

“It’s a bit odd that she went to clean an apartment without taking some work clothes to change into,” I said.

“How do you know she didn’t?” Hunt snapped at me. “Maybe she put them down on her way in, somewhere else in the apartment. Maybe the thief took them.”

“The police didn’t find any clothes.”

“We’ll give the pad another look,” Mike said. He wanted to be the good cop again. He would like the challenge that this arrogant woman presented, perhaps as much as he liked her looks. “The ME was wrapping up when we left to come back here. Taking Karla’s body to the morgue. We’ll go over the place more carefully in the morning.”

“Listen, Detective Chapman,” Hunt said, softening as she talked. “I’ll try to get a number for her sister. If there’s any issue about funeral expenses, I’ll take the bill.”

“Thanks for that. We’ll be doing a lot of work with you on this investigation, so you might as well get to know us. First thing is, call me Mike.”

“Okay, Mike. You do the same.”

“Fair enough. Just tell me what you like. Min? Minnie?”

“Minnie’s a mouse, Detective. I’m Minerva.”

“Minerva, the warrior goddess.”

“Now that, Mike, is only a myth.” Hunt crossed her arms, and one side of her mouth lifted into a smile. She was practically nose to nose with him. “Just a myth.”

There was nothing about military history-from Roman mythology to real-life conflict-that Chapman didn’t know.

“The warrior part?” he asked, and Hunt laughed.

“We’ve got to talk about getting you some coverage,” Mercer said. “The lieutenant has someone standing by to take you home. And if you don’t mind, we’d like to give you a guard for tomorrow.”

The commissioner wouldn’t allow the same mistake the department had made, refusing my request to provide protection for Tina Barr.

“I’ve got my own security. Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need yours.”

“Security?” Mike asked.

“The gentleman who dropped me off at the apartment tonight and followed us here. Didn’t you make the tail, Detective? You’ve surprised me again.”

Mike chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“What’s that about?” Mercer asked. “Why have you got protection?”

“I’m a Hunt. And if you were thinking tomato sauce and ketchup, you’d be wrong.”

“I was thinking oil, actually,” Mike said. “Something thicker than tomato sauce.”

“Even better than that, Detective. Real estate. New York city real estate. My great-grandfather was a partner of John Jacob Astor’s. Jasper Hunt was his name. We still own more of Manhattan than it’s polite to talk about. Be careful where you walk, Detective. I wouldn’t want you stepping on me.”

“Well, what makes you Hunts so unpopular you need security 24/7?”

She looked at her watch as she answered. “We’re not unpopular in most circles, Mike. But my father made a point of teaching me early on to protect my assets. All of them.”

Mercer shook his head at me. He didn’t like the direction Mike was going any more than I did.

Minerva Hunt’s name was familiar to me from society columns and media coverage of philanthropic events. It made no sense that she, an heiress to a great family fortune, was micromanaging a basement apartment in Carnegie Hill.

“Going back a bit, Ms. Hunt. Perhaps I didn’t understand what you meant, but you own the apartment in which Tina Barr was living?” I asked.

“Not that dank little apartment,” she said, tsk-tsking at me without missing a beat. “We own the building, Ms. Cooper. The whole row of brownstones on that street.”

Then why didn’t Billy Schultz recognize her name when he saw it on the buzzer, as he claimed he had before Tina Barr moved in?

“And the tenants pay rent to-?” I asked.

“Not to me, Ms. Cooper. I don’t go around collecting with a tin cup on the first of the month. There’s a management company, of course.”

“Of course,” Mike said, taking Minerva’s part, as though the questions I was asking made no sense. “What’s that called?”

“Mad Hatter Realty.”

“ Alice in Wonderland?” Mike asked, laughing.

“Don’t laugh. My grandfather, Jasper the Second, was mad. Eccentric is what the rich like to call it, but mad is what he was. My father named one of the companies for him.”

“So you did have a special relationship with Tina Barr, then?” I asked. “It’s not just a coincidence that she lived in your apartment.”

“Tina worked for my father for a period of time.”