"But the killer might not know that," I said.

"Yeah, but-"

"Just suppose, Mike. If I heard that a Double Eagle sold for seven million dollars, and I knew where to find another piece that was identical to it, it would never occur to me that it wasn't a legitimate coin. Maybe I'd still move heaven and earth to get my greedy little hands on one."

The car service driver was outside the building, flashers blinking, with the company name and car number displayed on a plate in the windshield.

"Why'd you call for this? I would have driven you to the airport," Mike said.

"I took you away from Val long enough last night. You don't need to chauffeur me around. Call me if anything breaks, guys, okay? I'll be home by the weekend."

I got in the car, slammed the door, and sat back for the slow trip over the bridge and out the BQE to La Guardia.

"U.S. Airways terminal, please."

"What time's your flight, lady?"

"Six-fifteen."

"You live dangerously. Cutting it mighty close. I'll do my best."

When I reached the check-in counter it was almost six o'clock. I showed my photo ID and e-ticket. "We've had some weather delays, ma'am. Your aircraft is coming in from Pittsburgh a bit late. We won't be boarding for another hour."

"How does it look on the Vineyard end?"

The small airfield on the Vineyard gets socked in regularly, subject to all the weather variables of an island surrounded by both cold ocean waters and warmer bays. You couldn't be a Vineyarder if you were unable to cope with the likelihood of getting stranded at an airport because of summer fog or winter storms.

"They've got a minimum ceiling now," she said. "If the visibility holds, you'll get in fine. Stick around the boarding area. They'll try to turn the plane around pretty quickly."

I went through security and down the concourse to the departure gate. There were only three other passengers waiting for the nineteen-seat Beechcraft. I looked for a quiet place from which to make a call and settled into a corner with my cell phone.

I checked my office for messages, and my home machine as well. Jake had called both places, trying to find out whether I was holding to my plan of flying to the country. Assistants had phoned in updates of the cases on which they were working, and friends had left snippets of social gossip to lighten my spirits. The last voice mail, only fifteen minutes earlier, was from Will Nedim. He had finished his first interview with Tiffany Gatts.

"Will? It's Alex. I'm calling from the airport, on my cell. Can you hear me?"

"So far, so good."

"Everything go as planned with Tiffany? You run into any problems?"

"She's a piece of work, Alex. But I guess you knew that."

"Happy to leave her in your lap. I've got all the aggravation I need right now. Did you get anything from her?"

"I think she's ready to roll over and give up the boyfriend, Kevin Bessemer."

"That's a huge step. How'd you get her there?" I asked.

"Don't give me any of the credit. She hates being in the slammer. She's only sixteen, remember? It doesn't exactly seem fair to her that it was Kevin's idea to go break into Queenie's apartment, and now he's running around free, while she's locked up behind bars."

"Does she know where Kevin is?"

"She's not sure. He hasn't signed up for visiting hours yet, so except for her mama's hand-holding, it's lonely in the jailhouse. There's a piece of Tiffany that wants to Tammy Wynette him," Will said. "Stand by her man and all that. But her resolve is definitely weakening, and it isn't helped any by the fact that two of the other prisoners beat the crap out of her the other day because she wanted to watch Oprah while they were tuned in to Judge Judy."

"How about specifics, Will? Did you try to squeeze her on what she and Kevin did to Queenie, and why they killed her?"

"I've seen you interrogate teenage girls, Alex, and maybe I'm just not as tough on them as you can be. But I'm leaning toward believing her."

"About what?" I asked.

"Tiffany is absolutely adamant that McQueen Ransome was already dead when they got to the apartment. I couldn't budge her from that story no matter which way I came at her. She describes exactly how the old lady looked when they went in, how the drawers were pulled out of the dressers and cabinets, with her belongings all messed up."

I didn't speak.

"Don't be pissed off at me, Alex. Doesn't what the kid says mean anything?"

"That's certainly the way Queenie's body-and the apartment-looked when Tiffany left it. Whether that's what she walked into, I guess time will tell. Did she admit stealing anything?"

"Well, the fur coat."

Good job, Will. It would be hard to lose that larceny count at a trial. "Anything else?"

"She said Kevin found some things on the floor that were silver and had initials on them. Like cigarette lighters and tie clips. There were a lot of old snapshots-Tiffany said they were 'pictures of naked ladies.' Kevin helped himself to those."

So much for the pornographic photos. "But she didn't pick anything up?"

"Said she scooped up some coins from the closet floor, but they all had foreign writing on them that she couldn't understand, so she just dropped them back on the floor where they had been. Didn't think she could spend them on Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard. And one other photograph she said that must have fallen off the night table, right next to Queenie's body."

"What did she do with that?" I asked.

"Tiffany thought she had it in her pocketbook when she got locked up. Thinks the police gave the bag to her mother when she came to the station house after the arrest."

"Does it sound like a photo of anything we need?"

"Nah. She can't even explain why she took it. It's the deceased-McQueen Ransome-and a young boy. Like an adolescent. Tiffany called him 'a little white boy.' She thought he looked real pretty."

"Could be Queenie and her son, Fabian. She had lots of pictures of him in the apartment. Guess we ought to get it if we can, to corroborate her story. And to make sure we didn't miss anything else in the handbag. Give Helena Lisi a call and ask her to have Mrs. Gatts bring it in," I said.

"I forgot to tell you yesterday. You know, when I was talking to you while Mr. Battaglia was in your office? I could tell you were trying to get me off the phone," Will said with a nervous giggle. "Helena Lisi doesn't represent Tiffany anymore."

"Well, lucky you. That should make your life easier. Who's her new lawyer?"

"Josh Braydon."

"Big step up. Maybe you'll get some real cooperation now. Did Lisi put up a fight when the family fired her?" I asked. "Hope she got her money up front. Mrs. Gatts is in for quite a struggle if she thinks Helena Lisi won't kick back and scream for her retainer."

"Helena's not exactly out of it yet, Alex."

"What do you mean?"

"I hope you don't mind what I did. I didn't want to get in a hassle with you while Battaglia was sitting in your office, so I just went ahead and used my judgment."

"To do what, Will?"

"When Tiffany Gatts called and asked to talk to me, I could tell she was really frightened. She thinks her life is in danger. Her mother's, too. She begged me not to tell Helena Lisi."

"So how'd you get to Josh Braydon?" I asked. "How'd he get into the case?"

"I had the court appoint him, Alex. I know you're not going to like this. Josh Braydon? He's shadow counsel."