THE PREWAR BUILDING, fashioned in brick and stone, was located on the Upper East Side between Fifth and Madison: two ten-story towers with a six-story edifice connecting them. The street, framed by small, bare trees, was filled with slush, and the sidewalk and steps had been salted. Awnings and eaves dripped ice as well as ice cold water. The double glass doors were unlocked, so the three of them went inside where the temperature was warmer but still leaked cold from the doors. A uniformed man sat behind a desk off to the left side. A sign said that all visitors needed to be announced.

The doorman was about to call, but then McAdams reached over the desk from his wheelchair and put his hand over the phone. “We’re all cops. Let’s keep it low key.”

“But—”

“If anyone gets pissed, I’ll take responsibility. Seventh floor, 3A, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“Shouldn’t there be two of you down here?” McAdams asked. “Where’s the other man on duty?”

“Karl’s taking out the trash.”

“I take it in a building this big, there’s no specific elevator man.”

“No—”

“So it’s on automatic. Great.”

“I think I should take you up.”

“Don’t bother.” McAdams wheeled up to the doors and pressed the up button.

“I’m going to call up right now.”

The elevator doors opened. “I wouldn’t if I were you. It might get you in trouble.” McAdams wheeled inside the cage with Oliver and Decker in tow and pressed the seventh-floor button. The doors closed. “Poor guy. Taking all this shit for around 40K a year.”

“That’s all they make?” Oliver said. “I thought it was unionized?”

“It is. But the cap is small. They depend on Christmas tips. Dad and Mom were always generous. I’ll say that much for them.”

“How do they live on 40K a year?”

“Well, for one thing, they don’t live in the city.”

Decker said to McAdams, “This is your baby. You do the talking about the Petroshkovich book. Keep your questions short. Don’t give away anything prematurely.”

“Got it.”

“We might talk if we think of something,” Oliver said. “Also we like to throw out questions just to keep them off balance.”

“Sure.”

Decker said, “I’ll start then nod when you should go.”

“Got it.”

“You have your pad?”

“Yep.”

Decker took out his own notebook. “Then we’re all set.”

The elevator dinged and the trio got out. The door to the apartment was already open and Lance Terry was waiting in the hallway. The kid had on a sweatshirt, jeans, and slippers. His eyes immediately went to McAdams’s wheelchair, then up to Decker and Oliver. They held the terror of uncertainty. “What’s going on?”

“Can we talk inside?” Decker said. “No sense making the neighbors curious.”

“Yeah, sure.”