Finally, she folded the laundered bedcovers and put the contents of the lint filter and her hair from the shower drain into a plastic bag, rolled it into Florence Tyler’s things. She went around the apartment with the spray cleaner again, obliterating any possible trace of herself. Satisfied, she tucked Florence Tyler’s clothes under her arm, picked up Ginger’s suitcase, let herself out of the apartment and the building, and began walking down Lexington Avenue. After a block, she stuffed Florence’s things into a street-corner wastebasket and caught the next bus downtown.

When she got off, she was Ginger Harvey.

17

Stone settled at his desk the following morning and sipped the single cup of coffee he allowed himself after breakfast, an Italian espresso roast, made very strong in a drip coffeemaker. He buzzed Joan.

“Good morning. Please get me Herbie Fisher at his place of work. It’s a Walgreens in Brooklyn. You have his numbers, don’t you?”

“Got them on his first visit. I’ll buzz you back.”

Stone read the front page of the Times and washed it down with his black coffee.

Joan buzzed back. “He didn’t show up for work. You want to talk to his boss?”

“Yes.” Stone picked up the phone. “Good morning,” he said, “is this Herbert Fisher’s supervisor?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Wirtz, the manager.”

“I understand that Herbie didn’t show up for work this morning?”

“That’s right.”

“Do you know why?”

“Nope. He didn’t show up yesterday, either.”

“Is this unusual?”

“Well, he’s come in late and hungover before, but at least he always showed up.”

“Thank you,” Stone said. He buzzed Joan. “Try his home number.”

Joan buzzed back a moment later. “His mother answered the phone. I’ve got her on the line.”

Stone pressed the button. “Mrs. Fisher?”

“Mrs. Bernstein,” she replied curtly. “Mr. Fisher took a hike a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry. Mrs. Bernstein, this is Stone Barrington. I’m Herbie’s lawyer, and it’s important that I speak to him. Where can I reach him?”

“You’re who? I thought his lawyer was Mr. Levy.”

“Mr. Levy works for me on Herbie’s case. It really is very important that I reach him.”

“You’re a cop, aren’t you?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not. You can look me up in the phone book, if you want to be sure.”

“Hang on.” She put the phone down.

Stone waited, drumming his fingers on the desktop. Why was she taking so long?

She came back on the line. “Yeah, all right, I got you in the book.”

“Where’s Herbie, Mrs. Bernstein?”

“He’s on a boat somewhere or other.”

“A boat? Where would somewhere or other be?”

“Down in some islands, you know? His uncle Bobby is down there, too.”

Stone was having trouble breathing. “In Saint Thomas?”

“Saint something or other,” she said.