'An accountant,' Tess replied.

Craig studied her with greater intensity. 'You're better than good. Right. An accountant. Clearly, Joseph was trying to increase the smokescreen that protected his privacy. So I spoke to Hoffman. He told me that Joseph and he had never met. They conducted all their business through the mail and over the phone.'

'But Hoffman paid Joseph's major bills,' Tess anticipated.

'No compliment this time – you're correct.'

'Okay. With Hoffman's records and cooperation from Con Edison, you ought to be able to find out where Joseph lived.'

'In theory.'

Tess frowned. 'Another smokescreen?'

'Right. Joseph's arrangement with his landlord was that the landlord would pay the utilities and Joseph would reimburse him. So Con Edison couldn't help us.'

'But the landlord could.'

Craig didn't answer.

'Whenever you purse your lips like that… What's the matter?' Tess asked.

'The landlord is a real-estate conglomerate that owns thousands of apartments. All their records are stored in a computer. They looked up Joseph Martin's name, gave me his address – in Greenwich Village – but when I went there, I discovered that the agency had given me the wrong address, that Joseph didn't live there. In fact, the real-estate firm didn't even own that apartment.'

'You mean, someone made a mistake and typed the wrong information into the computer?'

'That's one possibility. The agency's looking into it.' Craig scowled toward a traffic jam on First Avenue.

'One? What's another possibility?' The lieutenant's somber expression made Tess nervous.

'Suppose… I keep thinking of smokescreens. I'm suspicious by nature. I keep wondering if Joseph found a way to access the firm's computer and tamper with their records. He might have been that determined to keep someone from finding out where he lived. Or maybe he bribed a secretary to falsify the records for him. However Joseph did it, it makes me more determined to find out why,' Craig said.

'But if you don't know where Joseph lived, where are we going?' Tess rigidly clasped her hands together.

'Did I say I didn't know? I made a few assumptions. One was that since Joseph's bank is on the East Side and he arranged to meet you at Carl Schurz Park- '

'And died there.' Tess squeezed her eyes shut, repressing tears. 'The upper East Side.'

'That maybe Joseph's apartment is in that direction. Of course, his mail service is on the opposite side of town. But given his phobia about secrecy, it's logical for him to break the pattern. So I asked the precincts around here to find out if anything unusual happened from Friday night onward, something that might help us. That's how we caught Son of Sam. While the bastard was shooting his victims, he overparked and got tickets. On the weekend, there were lots of incidents. But after I sorted through the reports and eliminated several possibilities, I read about a fight in an apartment building on East Eighty-Second Street. An apparent attempted mugging. One of the tenants, a man, was assaulted. He ran from the building, chased by several men. They made enough noise that several other tenants woke up and peered out their doors, seeing shadows struggling on the stairs. Someone coming in late from a party noticed what appeared to be a gang chasing a limping man down the street.'

'East? Toward the river?'

'Yes.' Craig sighed. 'And this happened on Saturday night – or rather at half-past two on Sunday morning.'

'Oh,' Tess said. 'Jesus.'

'I spoke to some of the tenants who were wakened. They said the fight began on the seventh floor. That building has only four apartments per floor. This morning, I got there early enough to talk to the people who live in three of those apartments, but I didn't get any answer at the fourth. The tenants in the other apartments said it had been several days since they'd seen the man who rents that apartment. Not unusual apparently. They hardly ever see him. He's a loner. Friendly but distant. Keeps to himself.'

Tess frowned, more rigid.

The name on the downstairs mailbox for that apartment is Roger Copeland. Of course, that means nothing. Anyone can put a false name on a mailbox. The neighbors describe the man as handsome, tall, in excellent physical condition, in his early thirties, with dark hair and a tawny complexion.'

'My God.' Tess winced. 'It certainly sounds like Joseph.'

The thing is, what the neighbors noticed most were his eyes – gray, with what they described as a glow.'

Tess quit breathing.

'And his unusual way of speaking,' Craig added. 'On the few occasions they spoke to him, he didn't say "Good-bye," but "God bless. "'

Tess felt a chill.

'Joseph used that expression often, you told me. So I got some keys from the landlord, checked the apartment…'

'And?' Tess fought to restrain a tremor.

'I'd rather not describe what I found,' Craig said. 'It's better if you see it fresh, without expectations. But I really don't understand what I… That's why I'm taking you there. Maybe you can make sense of it.'

Craig steered toward the side of the road, parking in a narrow slot. Tess all at once realized that she'd been so engrossed by their conversation that she hadn't noticed they'd turned onto Eighty-Second Street.

'It's just up the block,' Craig said.

'You learned all this since yesterday afternoon?'

'That's why I phoned you early and told you I wouldn't be in the office. I had plenty to do.'

'But shouldn't Homicide be working on this? Not Missing Persons?'

Craig shrugged. 'I decided to keep my hand in.'

'But you must have hundreds of other cases.'

'Hey, I told you yesterday. I'm doing this for you.' With a cough, Craig stepped from the car.

Puzzled by Craig's statement -

–  was he saying he'd become attracted to her? -

– Tess joined him, her confusion immediately changing to apprehension as she walked past garbage cans along the curb, approaching the mystery Craig wanted to show her.

TWENTY

The apartment building, one of many narrow structures crammed together along the street, looked different from the soot-grimed others only because its brick exterior was painted a dingy white. At each window, a fire-escape ladder led down from a rusted metal platform.

Craig opened the outside glass door, escorted Tess through a vestibule Hanked by mailboxes (ROGER COPELAND, 7-C), pulled out a key, and unlocked the inside door.

The interior smelled of cabbage. They proceeded along a hallway and reached concrete steps on the left that crisscrossed upward. An elevator faced them on the upper landing.

The architect saved costs,' Craig said. The elevator stops at only every other floor.'

'Let's walk,' Tess said.

'You're kidding. To the seventh floor?'

'I didn't get my run in this morning.'

'You're telling me you run every morning?' Craig asked.

'For the past twelve years.'

'Holy…'

Tess glanced at Craig's beefy chest. 'A little exercise might strengthen your lungs. Can you manage the effort?'

'If you can do it, I can.' The lieutenant stifled a cough.

'Just a guess. Did you ever smoke?'

'Two packs a day. For more years than you've been running." He coughed again. 'I stopped in January.'

'Why?'

'Doctor's orders.'

'Good doctor.'

'Well, he's certainly persistent.'

'That's what I mean. A good doctor,' Tess said. 'As long as you stop lighting up… Well, it'll take a few more months to get the nicotine out of your system, and a few more years to purge your lungs, but you're in the right age group. Late thirties. On balance, you've got a good chance of not getting lung cancer.'