“You got that right, times ten. You see, my friend, this department is exactly the wrong size. Just large enough to have all the bureaucratic bullshit of the big city and just small enough to have no place to hide. So we had this raid last night on a crack house that turned out to be surprisingly crowded. Result is I’ve got one holding pen full of mopes and another one full of crack whores, plus a mountain of evidence bags that I need to finish processing. So let’s get to it. What exactly is the NYPD’s interest in Kim Corazon?”

“Sorry … maybe I didn’t make my position clear enough on the phone. I’m NYPD, retired. Got out two and half years ago.”

“Retired? No, I kinda missed that. So you’re what? A private investigator?”

“More like a friend of the family. Kim’s mother is a journalist, writes a lot of stuff about cops. We crossed paths while I was still on the job.”

“So how well do you know Kim?”

“Not well. I’m just trying to help her out with a journalism project, something about unsolved murders, but we ran into a bit of a complication today.”

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time here. Maybe you could be a little more specific?”

“The young lady has a stalker in her life, not a very nice one.”

“That so?”

“You didn’t know?”

Schiff’s gaze darkened. “I’m getting lost. Why are we having this conversation?”

“Good question. Would you be surprised if I told you that right now in Kim Corazon’s apartment there’s fresh evidence of an unauthorized entry and some very freaky vandalism, with a clear intent to intimidate?”

“Surprised? I can’t say that I would be. We’ve been up and down that road with Ms. Corazon quite a few times.”

“And?”

“Lot of potholes.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

Schiff picked some wax out of his ear and flicked it on the floor. “She tell you who she thinks is responsible?”

“Her ex-boyfriend, Robby Meese.”

“You ever talk to Meese?”

“No. How about you?”

“Yeah, I talked to him.” He checked his cell phone again. “Look, I can give you exactly three minutes. Professional courtesy. By the way, you got any ID on you?”

Gurney showed him his PBA card and his driver’s license.

“Okay, Mr. NYPD, quick summary, off the record. Basically, Meese’s story sounds as good as hers. Each one of them claims the other one is angry, unstable, reacting badly to their breakup. She says he got into her apartment three or four times. Bunch of silly crap—loosened doorknobs, moved things, hid things, took the knives, put back the knives—”

Gurney interrupted. “You mean, put a knife on her bathroom floor along with a drop of blood. I wouldn’t call that ‘putting back the knives.’ I don’t see how you could ignore—”