“What’s MM?”

“I’d bend my nose with my finger to show you what I mean, but my nose is friggin’ killing me.”

I nodded. “So Danny Z is with the Mafia? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“I don’t know if they call it that. I mean, I only heard that word in really old movies and whatever. I can only tell you Danny Z works directly for the head of MM. That guy is a legend.”

“What’s his name?”

“You for real? You don’t know? How do you live here and not know?”

“I don’t live here.”

“Oh.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“I owe you. So sure. Like I said, Danny Z is like the right-hand man for MM.”

“And MM is?”

An elderly woman stepped between us. “Hello, Harold.”

He gave her a big smile. “Hello, Mrs. H. How did those petunias work out for you?”

“You were so right about the placement in the window box. You’re a genius with arrangements.”

“Thank you.”

“If you have time . . .”

“Let me just finish with this gentleman and I’ll be right with you.”

Mrs. H shuffled away. Harold watched her, smiling all the way.

“Harold,” I said, trying to get him back on topic, “who is MM?”

“Come on, man, don’t you read the papers? MM. Danny Z reports directly to the biggest, baddest boy of them all—Maxwell Minor.”

Something clicked. My face must have shown it because Harold said, “Whoa, dude, you okay?”

My pulse raced. My blood started humming in my ears. I could have looked it up on my iPhone, but I really needed a full screen. “I need to use a computer.”

“Owner doesn’t let anyone use the Internet here. It’s all blocked off.”

I thanked him and hurried out. Minor. I had heard that name before in connection to all this. I drove like a madman to Northern Boulevard. I found the same Cybercraft Internet Café. The same yah-dude was behind the desk. If he recognized me, he didn’t show it. There were four terminals open. I grabbed one and quickly typed in the address for the New York local newspapers. Clicking on archives, I asked for May 25 again—the day after the surveillance photograph of Natalie had been taken. The computer seemed to be taking forever to grant my search request.

Come on, come on . . .

And then the headline popped up:

PHILANTHROPIST GUNNED DOWN

Archer Minor Executed in His Office

I wanted to shout “Eureka!” out loud, but I controlled myself. Minor. Oh, that couldn’t be a coincidence. I clicked the article and read:

Archer Minor, son of reputed mob leader Maxwell Minor and victim’s rights advocate, was executed in his high-rise law office on Park Avenue last night, apparently the victim of a hit authorized by his own father. Known as the Minor son who’s gone straight, Archer Minor worked with crime victims, even going so far as to publicly denounce his father in recent weeks and promising the DA’s office to provide proof of his familial wrongdoings.

The article didn’t have too many other details. I went back to the search engine and looked up Archer Minor. There was at least an article a day for the next week. I started sifting through them, looking for some kind of clue, some kind of connection between Archer Minor and Natalie. An article that came out two days after the shooting snagged my attention:

NYPD SEARCHING FOR WITNESS

IN MINOR SLAY

A source inside the NYPD claims that the department is currently looking for a woman who may have witnessed the murder of local gangster’s-kid-turned-hero Archer Minor. The NYPD would not comment directly. “We are actively seeking out many leads,” Anda Olsen, department spokesperson, said. “We expect to have a suspect in custody soon.”

It fit. Or it sort of fit.

I conjured up that surveillance photo of Natalie in what looked like the lobby of an office building. Okay, so now what? Put it together. Somehow, Natalie had been there that night, in Minor’s law office. She saw the murder. That would explain the fear on her face. She ran off, hoping it would go away, but then the NYPD must have gone through the surveillance video and found her walking through the lobby.

There was still something big here, something I was missing. I kept reading:

When asked for a motive for the crime, Olsen said, “We believe that Archer Minor was killed because he wanted to do the right thing.” Today, Mayor Bloomberg called Archer Minor a hero. “He overcame his family name and history to be one of the great New Yorkers. His tireless work on behalf of victims and in bringing those who commit violent crimes to justice will never be forgotten.”

Many are wondering why Archer Minor, who had recently denounced his father, Maxwell Minor, and his reputed organized-crime syndicate known as MM, was not placed in protective custody. “It was at his request,” Olsen said. A source close to Minor’s widow said that her husband had worked his whole life to make up for his father’s crimes. “Archer started out just wanting to get a good education and go straight,” the source said, “but no matter how fast he ran, Archer could never do enough to escape that horrible shadow.”

It was not for a lack of trying. Archer Minor was a vocal advocate for crime-victims’ rights. After attending Columbia Law School, he worked closely with law enforcement officials. He represented victims of violent crimes, trying to get lengthier sentences for those convicted and restitution for his clients’ suffering.

The NYPD would not speculate, but one popular albeit shocking theory of the crime is that Maxwell Minor put out a hit on his own son. Maxwell Minor has not directly denied the charge, but he did release the following brief statement: “My family and I are devastated by the death of my son Archer. I ask the media to allow my family to mourn in private.”

I licked my lips and hit the “next page” link. When I saw the photograph of Maxwell Minor, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It was the man with the thin mustache from Otto Devereaux’s funeral.

It was coming together now.

I realized that I’d been holding my breath. I sat back and tried to relax for a moment. I put my hands behind my head and closed my eyes. My mental timeline/connection sheet had all kinds of new little lines on it. Natalie had been there the night of Archer Minor’s high-profile murder. She had, I theorized, witnessed the crime. At some point, the NYPD realized it was Natalie in that surveillance video. Natalie, fearing for her life, decided to hide.

I would continue to check, but it was a pretty safe bet that no one had ever been convicted of Archer Minor’s murder. That was why the NYPD, all these years later, was still looking for Natalie.

So what happened next?

Natalie hooked up with Fresh Start. How did that happen? I had no idea. But, really, how did anyone hook up with Fresh Start? The organization kept an eye out, I supposed. Like with Benedict né Jamal. They approached those they felt needed and deserved their help.

Anyway, Natalie was sent up to the Creative Recharge Colony, which was, at least in part, a front for the organization. A brilliant one, I might add. Perhaps some of the attendees were really there for artistic reasons. Certainly Natalie was able to do both. Talk about hiding in plain sight. Natalie was probably told to hide there until they saw how the Archer Minor case played out. Maybe the cops would be able to make an arrest without her, and then she could return to her normal life. Maybe the NYPD wouldn’t, or at least hadn’t yet been able to, identify the woman in the photograph. Whatever. I was guessing here, but I was probably close.

At some point, reality reared its ugly head, crashing in and killing any hope of staying put with her new boyfriend. The choice became clear: Vanish or die.