“I was hoping you’d get back to me sooner than this,” John said. “I called Eileen at my place right after we hung up to give her your message, and she didn’t answer. I went straight up there, siren blasting, and she’s gone. No sign of a struggle, but the kitchen looked like she left in a hurry. I know that’s not like her …”

“What do you mean, she left in a hurry?”

“Breakfast dishes still on the table. I take Eileen to be the sort of woman who cleans up after herself.”

“Yes, she is. Did you call Kevin McQuaid?”

“He wasn’t available, but Vito Mariano was. He said he didn’t know a thing about Eileen. I called her job, just to be sure. She didn’t call in, which she told me she was going to do. That would have been at ten o’clock, so we have a pretty good idea when she left my apartment. Early. There’s more, just as bad. The FBI is looking for you now, too, in connection with Liz Weinstein’s death. Apparently she had a confidante in her office, and told that person she had seen you on Tuesday night. A neighbor positively places you at the scene last night. You’re in all the papers this morning, and on television, too, according to three guys here.”

Devlin cursed. “Take this down and put it to use in case I get unlucky.” He read the names and addresses on the driver’s licenses. “Rizzo drove the Lincoln yesterday on Queens Boulevard. Don’t ask me how I got the information. I have to go.”

He disconnected and dialed Eileen’s office. The television screen showed St. Patrick’s Cathedral from a neighboring high rise, zooming in on the front steps as a gleaming coffin was borne down by six somber men in black suits and gray gloves. A woman veiled in black, obviously Anita Brennan, followed. The telephone in Eileen’s office rang once and the squeaky-voiced receptionist answered. Watching a ravaged Jim Brennan rolling out of the cathedral, in an electric wheelchair, Devlin asked to speak to Eileen. Charlotte stepped into view beside Brennan, looking angry as much as grieving. The receptionist spoke as Devlin leaned forward in the expectation of seeing Maryellen step out into the sunshine. “She didn’t come in today, Mr. Devlin.” The picture went to a young man in a blazer holding a microphone.

“Did she call in?”

“No, she didn’t. Is something wrong?”

Devlin paused. “Uh, no. Everything’s fine. Thanks. Thanks for your help.”

“The reason I ask is, you’re the fourth person to call about her today.”

“Fourth? Did the others identify themselves?”

“No, but to tell you the truth, a couple of them didn’t sound too nice.”

“Thanks. I wanted to know that. Thanks a lot.”

“Uh-huh. Good-bye.”