Jessicacontinued toward him. 'We met last year. You're Joseph Novak, right?'

    Theman offered a half-smile but not one that fully committed himself to thisconversation. 'I am. But I must confess I don't remember your name.'

    'Myname is Jessica Balzano.' She produced her ID, held it up. 'I just need to talkto you for a few moments.'

    JosephNovak looked at her badge, then back into her eyes. In this light his eyes werea pale blue, almost colorless. 'We've never met, have we?'

    'No,'Jessica said. 'That was just a bold subterfuge on my part.'

    Theman smiled. 'Well played. But I can't imagine what it is I could tell you.' Helooked over her shoulder. 'Or your partner.'

    Itwas Jessica's turn to smile. She always had to remind herself that she andByrne were not that hard to make as cops. 'It won't take a minute.'

    Novakheld up a #10 envelope. 'I just need to post this.' He pointed a half-blockaway, at a mailbox on the corner. He turned back to Jessica. 'I promise not torun.'

    Jessicaglanced at the envelope. It did not look like the paper found at the crimescenes. 'In that case, I promise not to chase you.'

    Anothersmile. 'If you'll excuse me.'

    'Ofcourse.'

    Novakthrew one more glance at Byrne, then turned on his heels and walked toward themailbox. Byrne got out of the car, crossed the street.

    'Thatwas good,' he said.

    'Iknow.'

    Novakmailed the letter and, as promised, began to walk back up the block. His sizeand bearing made for a striking silhouette in the afternoon light.

    'Whydon't you call Josh, tell him where we are?' Byrne said.

    Jessicagot on her cell, filled Bontrager in. She closed her phone just as Novakreturned to the steps in front of his apartment building. Novak turned his attentionto Byrne.

    'I amJoseph Novak.'

    'KevinByrne,' Byrne said.

    'Howcan I help?' Novak asked.

    Jessicapointed at the door to Beau Rive. 'Do you think we could chat inside? As Isaid, we won't take up too much of your time.'

    Novakdid not answer right away. When he saw that these two police officers were notabout to leave, he relented. He gestured to the door. 'Please.'

Chapter 31

    Atthe rear of the building, Joseph Novak's apartment was a large two-bedroom flatwith ten-foot ceilings and an open floor plan. The furniture was modern, mostlybrushed aluminum and leather. Against one wall, nearly floor-to-ceiling, wereCDs in custom-made birch shelves. There had to be a thousand of them. Jessicanoticed that they were sectioned off by category: Classical, Electronica, NewAge, Jazz. There were also subcategories by composer, artist, era. Brahms,Beethoven, Bach, Enya, Parker, Mingus, Tyner, Mulligan, Chemical Brothers. Theeffect of sunlight streaming through the windows, playing off the crystal casesin rainbow hues, was dizzying.

    Uponentering the apartment Novak immediately crossed the room to the large desk atthe other side and lowered the screen on his laptop, clicked it shut.

    'Wewon't take up too much of your time,' Byrne said.

    'Notat all,' Novak replied. 'Whatever I can do to help.'

    'Doyou know why we're here, Mr. Novak?' Byrne asked.

    Novaksat at the desk, crossed his long legs. 'I'm afraid I do not.'

    Byrneplaced a sheet with six photographs on the desk in front of Novak. KennethBeckman's picture was in the upper right-hand corner. They decided to startthis way, inquiring about Beckman as if they were looking for a witness.

    Jessicawatched Novak closely as his gaze fell on the photo lineup. If the maninstantly recognized Beckman there was no indication.

    'Doyou recognize any of these people?' Byrne asked.

    Novakgave the process a few seconds. 'No,' he said. 'Sorry.'

    'Noproblem.' Byrne left the photo array on the desk. He leaned against the wallnear the large window, looking around the room, especially at the rack ofcomplicated-looking electronic equipment and what might have been a soundmixing board.

    'MayI ask what it is that you do for a living?' Byrne asked.

    'I ama recording engineer by trade,' Novak said. 'But I keep my hand in with allaspects of the music world. I review for jazz and classical publications.'

    'Interesting,'Byrne said. 'I'm a fan of classic blues, myself.'

    Novaksmiled. 'I have a small but rather interesting collection of old blues. Mytreasure is the box set of 78s with early recordings of Mary Johnson, ScrapperBlackwell and Kokomo Arnold.'

    'Sweet.Any Roosevelt Sykes?'

    'Notyet.'

    Jessicastepped forward. In a situation like this, she and her partner liked totag-team the person they were interviewing. If you split the person's attentionit gave your partner the opportunity to look around, checking the small detailsof the room. One wall had a series of shelves with objets d'art on it.Small sculptures, Maori carvings, as well as a unique stainless steel braceletwith a single garnet stone inlaid.

    Jessicaturned her attention back to the CDs. 'This is quite an impressivecollection of music you have here,' Jessica said.

    'Thankyou,' Novak said. 'I've been at it for quite a while. But I did not purchasemost of them. Receiving free and promotional CDs for review is one of the perksof being a music critic.'

    'What'sthe downside?'

    'Listeningto terrible music.'

    Jessicascanned the wall. 'So, from all of this music, do you have a favoritecomposer?'

    Novaksmiled again. 'I imagine that is like asking an Eskimo if he has a favoritesnowflake. If pressed, for me there is Johann Sebastian Bach, and then there iseveryone else.'

    'I'msorry to impose, but do you think I might use your restroom?' Jessica asked.

    Thiswas another old ploy for investigators. It gave you the opportunity to see alittle more of a person's dwelling while they were talking with your partner.Not to mention the opportunity to check out their medicine cabinet and perhapsdiscover what meds they were taking. Someone's medications could tell you a lotabout them. Plus, it was a hard thing for people to say no to.

    Novakhesitated. His stare shifted to the hallway, then back. The question hung inthe air.

    'Yes,of course,' he said finally. 'The second door on your right.'

    'Thanks.'

    Jessicawalked down the hallway. The kitchen was on the left, the bathroom on theright. At the end of the hall was the bedroom, its door slightly ajar.

    Jessicastepped into the bathroom. It was spotless. On one wall was a large print, ablack and white photograph of a man conducting an orchestra. The man wasdark-haired, darkly handsome. He wore white tie and tails. Jessica looked atthe caption: riccardo muti, 1986. Muti was the Italian conductor who hadreplaced Eugene Ormandy as the musical director of the Philadelphia Orchestrain 1980.

    Jessicapeeked into the bamboo wastebasket to the right of the toilet. Empty. Sheopened the medicine cabinet gently. Gently, because she had once opened amedicine cabinet in a similar situation, without thinking, only to have a fewbottles crash loudly into the sink.

    Inthe cabinet were an array of skincare products. No meds. If Joseph Novak tookany medications, he did not keep them in his bathroom.

    Whenshe had exhausted her search, Jessica flushed the toilet. She washed her handsanyway, to keep up the illusion, and because it was a deeply ingrained habit.

    Shestepped out of the bathroom, listened. Byrne and Novak were still talking. Shestepped to her right, inched open the bedroom door. The bedroom continued therather industrial look of the apartment. There was a king-size platform bed, apair of night stands bearing stainless steel lamps with rectangular linenshades.