“You know,” Rune said, speaking her first words since they'd started to walk. Her voice snagged. “You know that Thirty-fourth Street used to be the big entertainment strip? All the theaters and burlesque shows. I'm talking turn of the century. A long time ago.”

“I didn't know that.”

“Times Square's pretty recent.”

They walked past a big monument, a statue of a woman in wings and robes. She gazed down at pigeons and a dozen homeless people.

Who was she?

A Greek or Roman goddess?

Rune thought of Eurydice, then of Shelly. A captive in the Underworld. There was no Orpheus and his lyre nearby, though. The only music was from a scratchy rap song on a tinny boom box.

When they came to the Flatiron Building, they stopped.

Rune said, “I should go home.”

“You want some company?”

She hesitated. “I don't need —”

“I didn't ask need. I asked want.”

Rune said, “Your house?”

“It's small, ugly. But homey.”

“Tonight, I think I could go for homey.”

“I've got to help with some of the paperwork — you want to meet me there? I'll give you the keys.” He wrote down the address. She took the slip of paper and the keys.

“I oughta go pick up some things at my place.”

“I shouldn't be any longer than an hour or so. You all right?”

Rune tried to think of something funny and flippant to say, something a tough lady newscaster would sling out. But she just shook her head and gave him an anemic smile. “No, I'm not.”

He bent down quickly and kissed her. “You want a cab?”

“I walk, I feel better.” He turned away. She said, “Sam...”

He paused. But there was nothing at all she could think of to say.

In the houseboat Rune stacked up the tapes she'd shot —  the rough footage for Epitaph for a Blue Movie Star — and set them on her shelf, but put the script for the narration in her bag. That was something she could ask Sam about. Tell him to pretend he was in the audience and read it to him.

But not tonight. In the morning.

That would have to wait till the morning. She glanced into her purse and saw the script — the one she'd stolen from Arthur Tucker's office. She picked it up, flipped through it. Hell, she'd forgotten all about it. And now that he wasn't a suspect she ought to get it back to him. Mail it anonymously. She tossed it on the table and walked into the bedroom, to her dresser. She packed a skirt, T-shirt, blouse, socks, underwear (no Disney characters, girl; go for the lacy, uncomfortable pair). She added her toothbrush and makeup and began turning out lights.

Rune paused at the living room window, looking out at the lights of the city.

Nicole...