“Upstairs,” Dan said, leading Mike to the staircase.

“Fine. Follow me, Alex. We’ll show you the private quarters. When you’ve satisfied your curiosity in the basement, Mike, come right along.”

I was trying to elevate the spirit of the conversation with Mayor Statler. “This house has such wonderful bones.”

“Indeed. A great classic center-hall layout, wonderful symmetry, and it’s completely flooded with light.”

“I can see that, even on a gray day.”

When we reached the foyer, I could hear the staircase creaking. Rowdy Kitts was descending from the rooms above. He greeted both of us and removed the burgundy rope that normally blocked access as the mayor and I approached.

“All in order, Roland?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did we have any guests this week?” The mayor was climbing ahead of me.

“Not since before Christmas, Your Honor. It’s been very quiet.”

“Let’s show Alex what we’ve got up here,” the mayor said to Kitts. “Living history, young lady.”

He led me to the northwest corner of the house, an enormous room with sweeping views of rivers and bridges. “The mayor’s bedroom. I suppose this intrigues you.”

There was a wood-framed canopy bed that anchored the space, a pair of inlaid chests under the windows, a large bathroom with modern fixtures to provide the most up-to-date comforts.

“It does, actually. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Remind me, Roland. Whose portrait is that?”

Rowdy Kitts rubbed the scar under his left eye, as though that would help him think of the answer.

The mayor was growing more impatient. “The artist is Thomas Sully. The woman is-well, some nice Quaker girl with rich folks is who she was.”

I stepped in the sun-filled room to look around and paused at the painting.

“Nelson Mandela slept here, can you imagine? All the Gracies and their fancy Federalist friends, and still we’re adding historical importance to this home,” Statler said. “It’s great that we can let the city use this for special occasions.”

I was thinking of the Lincoln Bedroom in the White House, and the bundles of cash that swirled around the players in this investigation. “Since you’re not here at night, do you rent it out to contributors?”

“Nonsense. The fact that neither Bloomberg nor I lived here makes it easy to simply offer it to dignitaries and important guests.”

Statler never set foot in the room. He watched me explore it and then guided me across the wide hallway. I stopped to admire a graceful sofa, upholstered in a bright red fabric. “Someone found that at City Hall, just crying out to be here.”

Mike was coming up the stairs.

“Satisfied, Detective?” the mayor asked. “We call this the mayor’s study. A little office that guests can use. That’s its primary purpose, isn’t it, Roland?”

“What are you, Rowdy?” Mike asked. “The concierge?”

“I’m whatever the mayor tells me to be.”

Dan Harkin, who had come up behind Mike, nodded in agreement.

“Then we have the State Sitting Room,” Statler said, leading us down the hallway. “It used to be the family room, when some of the mayors lived here with their children. We’ve changed all that.”

Mike was opening closets and pulling on desk and dresser drawers.

“You looking for some official stationery?” Rowdy joked. “Or Gideon’s Bible?”

“Your staff has lists of people who’ve stayed here, do they?” Mike ignored him.

“Pretty impressive DNA the mansion’s guests have, Detective,” the mayor said. “How far back would you like to go? Washington Irving spent the better part of a summer here one year. And of course if you’re keen on history, then you would have enjoyed sitting at that grand dinner table when Mr. Gracie was entertaining some of the regulars. History-that’s your territory, Mike, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You know the name Gouverneur Morris?” Statler asked.

“Widely credited for writing the Preamble to the Constitution,” Mike said. “He’s the ‘We the people’ guy.”

“I should have learned my lesson Thursday not to trifle with you,” he said, taking us down the stairs and back to the foyer. “Morris, John Jay, Alexander Hamilton. They were all part of Archibald Gracie’s circle of friends.”

I reached the bottom step and could tell from the mayor’s body language-a slight grimace, his feet planted firmly in place, and his arms crossed on his chest-that he was ready for us to be out of his hair.

“So Hamilton Grange,” I said, “was that designed with this mansion in mind?”

“Exactly, Alex. Hamilton was quite close to Archibald Gracie. He admired this house tremendously. He even hired the same architect to design his. You should visit the Grange sometime. There aren’t many of these original Federal masterpieces still standing in Manhattan. How many would you say, Roland?”

Rowdy Kitts shrugged and held up his hands. “Not my thing, sir. I don’t have any idea.”

“Why don’t you and Dan show them out?” Statler said. “We’ve got to be on our way. There’s an event at Madison Square Garden before we get to City Hall.”

“Mind if we leave by the front door?” Mike asked. “I never get tired of looking. It’s got to be one of the most spectacular views in Manhattan.”

“Help yourself,” Statler said, stepping aside so one of his aides could open the door.

“Gracie didn’t have the same political prominence as his friends, did he?” Mike asked, backing away from the mayor.

“He never held office like the others. Gracie was a merchant, first and foremost,” Statler said. “Built up his great shipping enterprise but then everything collapsed-first his businesses, then giving up this home he loved so dearly-as a result of the War of 1812. Many of his fleet were captured or burned or lost at sea.”

“Interesting that he was so involved with all the great political figures of the day,” Mike said, turning to walk with me.

“By virtue of a gentlemen’s social group, Detective, Gracie dined with Hamilton and the others regularly. Turtle soup and oysters and pomegranates, all from his own lush property, right here.”

“What is it you want to know from us, Mr. Mayor?” Mike asked.

“How fast are you moving on this case?”

“Do you mean Salma’s murder, or the Golden Voyage investigation? They’re all part of one big picture, and even as pieces fall into place, none of it will be so quick to resolve,” Mike said. “Why?”

“The rumors flying around are outrageous,” Statler said. It was obvious he was trying to keep his temper from flaring. He was used to being the man in control and seemed helpless without his hand on the helm.

“Which ones are you referring to exactly, sir?”

“If they’ve reached City Hall I’m sure they’ve filtered down to the homicide squad. Scandal smells, Detective. It’s got a disgusting, rancid odor that compromises everything around it.”

“Especially when you’ve got your sniffer aimed on higher office, I guess.”

“It’s not just rumors about me. Those are hogwash.”

“Rumors about you?”

“I understand that Commissioner Scully let it leak that I refused to let your team work up here on Thursday, like he asked me to.”

“Right in the same breath when you assured us that Salma was bound to turn up,” Mike said. “My crystal ball wasn’t so optimistic about that as you were.”

Rowdy Kitts took a step in Mike’s direction. “C’mon, Chapman. Take it outside.”

“What would you like to know, Your Honor?” I asked, as Rowdy guided Mike onto the porch.

“These cases-the shipwreck and the mess with Leighton’s girlfriend-exactly how are they related?”

“I don’t mean to be difficult, Your Honor, but we don’t know the answer to that yet. It’s possible that Salma Zunega was originally trafficked into this country from Mexico, like the women on the boat from the Ukraine.”

Vin Statler lowered his head and paced across the patterned floorboards. “Scully and your boss are both treating me like I’ve got leprosy. I’m the goddamn mayor of this city. The whole place seems to be up for sale and I can’t get the attention of the police commissioner or the district attorney.”