“No, just trying to figure out the bad guy’s approach.” I pulled out Katherine Hennepin’s photo. “Ever see her here?”

He studied the image. “Nope. Who is she?”

“Another victim. She got killed somewhere else.”

Bayless’s eyes widened. “Same offender?”

“Could be.”

“You think she was here?”

“Nothing links her to here,” I said. “I’m trying to eliminate the possibility.”

“No links at all?”

“Zero.”

“You’re a careful guy, Doctor, I heard that about Sturgis, too. Mr. Compulsive, figures he’d have someone like you doing psych work.”

I smiled.

He gave the photo another look. Longer. No stranger to meticulousness, himself.

“Nope, never saw her. That’s all I need, huh? Maniac lurking in the ductwork. Like a case back in New York, ’round forty years ago, when I was a kid. Lady violinist got raped and murdered in the Metropolitan Opera. Right in the building, place was a maze. My dad worked a shoe-shine stand in Lincoln Center, he was always talking about it until they solved it. Perp was a stagehand, met her in the elevator.”

He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Scared the hell out of me, Doc. I grew up in Harlem, dope shootings was one thing but sick stuff where the rich folk went? There was nothing to aspire to? That’s when I decided to be law enforcement. Take some control of the situation.”

He smiled. “I’m gabbing, need to get back to work.”

I said, “Okay with you if I go inside for a sec?”

The smile disintegrated. “Free country, can’t stop you, but what for?”

“Just to get a feel.”

“I’m getting an off feeling, Doc. One moment you’re telling me it’s unlikely to have anything to do with the building. Now you’re saying you need a feel.”

“Frustration does that,” I said.

“Does what?”

“Leads me to take the extra step.”

Bayless rocked on his feet. His hands were huge, gnarled, curled into fists. “I guess I can relate to that, but do me a favor and don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? They might be sheep but eventually someone’s going to report a problem and problems have a way of finding their way to me.”

CHAPTER

11

I entered the lobby right after Bayless, hung back as he stepped into the lunchtime throng. Making sure he was nowhere in sight, I headed for the directory, used my phone to photograph the names of tenants sharing the seventh floor with Grant Fellinger’s law firm.

Not much to shoot; another group of lawyers and a financial management company.