I stood up, practically face-to-face with Vin Statler. “We haven’t got any answers to give you, Mr. Mayor. This wasn’t the direction we were hoping the case would take.”

“How did the girl die?”

“Too early to know.”

“And here? Was she killed on this property?” Statler was agitated, and clearly not used to being the last to know.

“That’s unlikely.”

“Congressman Leighton, what does he have to say about this?” Statler looked from me to Mike to Mercer. “I see, I see. You’re not giving me anything. You’re treating me like I’m irrelevant.”

“We haven’t spoken with Leighton yet. I’ll call his lawyer when we leave here.”

“I’ve got a lawyer, too, Alex. I’ve got the best. You call Justin Feldman from now on if you have any questions for me.”

“Good choice, sir,” I said, venturing a smile at the mayor. “Smart man. I may need to come back and see the grounds again. Check the access to the property from every angle. May I call him for that? Or would you prefer I stay in touch with Detective Kitts?”

“My assistant will make all those arrangements, as you need them. Roland, will you give her Nancy’s number?”

Mike had walked to the window and pulled back the curtain, watching as the CSU men worked at processing the scene before dusk.

“And you, Chapman, you like your assignment? Homicide’s a big deal in the department, isn’t it?”

“I like it fine, sir.”

“Then show me the proper respect, Detective. Do I look like a common criminal to you?” The mayor smoothed his tie and tried to joke with Mike.

“You see that water out there, Your Honor?”

“The East River? Are you talking about the river?”

“I’m talking about what people call a river.”

Vin Statler smirked. “But you’re going to prove to me you’re smarter than I am, Chapman, aren’t you? I guess I was supposed to say it’s an estuary. It’s the place where the river and the ocean mix, is that where you’re going?”

“Sorry, sir. But it’s not an estuary either.”

Statler’s expression changed, and the men standing beside him stiffened. “What are you doing here, Chapman?”

“See, it’s a tidal strait, Your Honor. It’s a water passage between Manhattan and Long Island. It’s not an actual river because rivers flow from freshwater sources like springs and mountain runoffs. This? This connects on both ends to the Atlantic Ocean. So it’s a strait, really, but because of the tides, it seems to flow just like a river.”

“What’s your point?” The three words came out sharply, like bullets at a target.

“Congressmen, governors, prosecutors, mayors, police commissioners. They don’t necessarily look like common criminals, to answer your question. But just like this river, sir, things aren’t always what they appear to be.”

EIGHTEEN

“You went way too far, Mike.”

“He pressed the wrong buttons with me.”

“Your buttons are so loosely attached that anybody pressing them might get tangled in the threads,” I said. “I’m only surprised Battaglia hasn’t beeped me yet to try to rein you in.”

We were just leaving the back steps of Gracie Mansion.

“Relax. Statler will never admit to being humiliated by the likes of us. You want to see how Hal’s doing with Salma’s apartment?”

“Sure.”

“Here, Alex,” Mercer said, reaching into the pocket of his overcoat. “This should get you past the photographers without a problem.”

He handed me a black knit watch cap, and I stood at the curb, twisting my hair into a knot and pulling the hat down to cover half of my face.

“Perfect. You look like an ordinary mook,” Mike said. “Nobody’d ever make you.”

Cops had set up wooden horses to keep the paparazzi back from the entrance of the building. “Why don’t we back-door it?”

No one seemed to notice as we trekked around to the rear. Mike buzzed, and this time, with a uniformed cop at his side and the camera focused on the badge Mike held up next to his face, we were let in immediately.

When we stepped off the elevator on the tenth floor, the apartment door was ajar and Hal waved us in from the foyer. “Hey, guys. Alex. You here to get in my way?”

“Nah. Just trying to make sense of all this,” Mike said. “ESU did a great job getting the body out.”

“So I heard. My second team’s over there.”

“You alone?”

“No. Jack Egan’s beginning to work the back rooms.”

“What’s taking you so long, Hal? You’ve been here half the day.”

“Interruptions like you, pal. Explaining things to all the big-wigs.”

“Like who?”

“Like Scully. Like the mayor’s office. Like Leighton’s old man, who thinks he had a right to come in here ’cause his son paid for the pad. I’m trying to get it done, Mikey. You want to help? Gloves and booties, please.”

“Have you found anything of interest yet?” I asked as Mike passed us each another pair of latex gloves.

“Sarge called from ESU. Took a white wool blanket covered with blood out of the bottom of the well,” Hal said. “Jack found white fibers in one of the trash bins they use to take recyclables down in the service elevator.”

“We saw some of those out in back.”

“That must be how whoever did it got her out of here.”

“But she had these awful gridlike marks on her shoulders,” I said. “What do you think could have caused those? Is there any surface like that in the apartment?”

We were following Hal through the living room toward the kitchen.

“I’m not sure exactly what you mean. Nothing in here that I’ve seen.”

“I can do a sketch of it for you,” I said.

“Coop’s not content unless she’s butting into everybody’s job,” Mike said, throwing up his hands. “The ME will tell you what did that to her skin.”

Two people rarely saw the same things when they looked at a dead body. The medical examiner searched for signs of the fatal injury, cops for any clues that might offer a solution to the killer’s identity, and often I was hoping-quite unrealistically-that the corpse would tell me how its final moments were spent.

“Any word yet on your corkscrew?” Hal asked.

“Human blood. Now they’ll have what they need to compare,” Mike said.

“Isn’t it odd that the place would be in such good order but the killer would leave that behind?” I asked.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Yes.”

Hal planted himself in the middle of the living room floor. “First of all, Salma wasn’t entertaining a stranger, right?”

“She may have started life here as a hooker,” Mike said, explaining the tattoo to Hal. “Can’t rule that out entirely.”

“This guy knows the building well enough to get himself in, and there’s nothing in the apartment to suggest a struggle.”

“So it was a blitz attack,” Mercer said.

“She’s in her nightie,” Hal went on. “Gets rid of her kid for the evening-no word on that front?”

“Nothing.”

“Sets out the vino and the glasses, and when she goes into the kitchen, bam! Her buddy gets her into a chokehold and jabs the tip of the screw right into her neck.”

“Good thinking, Hal,” Mike said. “He’s either a surgeon or a damn good wine steward, right?”

“I’d expect blood to be everywhere,” I said, holding my hand to my throat as Hal spoke.

“And it was, Counselor. And it was.”

“No, Hal, there was nothing when we got here last night except the wine opener.”

“Bleach, Alex. He bleached the kitchen floor and sink. Just took a couple of minutes to sponge it down. Might have been more blood on him than on the tile. But we picked up some spatter in there. Probably thought he’d gotten the corkscrew too. Then he sprayed air freshener to mask the smell.”

“The princess wouldn’t know from cleaning the kitchen floor. The only bleach she cares about is the kind that keeps her hair blond.”

“What does that tell you about him?” I asked. “Chance he’s an ex-con?”