OVER THE PHONE, Cindy said, “I got the manager to open up the apartment. Aside from the furniture that comes with the place, it’s empty, Dad. Nothing in any of the closets or drawers. No personal effects anywhere. Even the trash was cleared and that’s unusual. There’s always scattered paper left behind. Wherever he went, it appears he didn’t want to be followed.”

Oliver ran over a pothole. The car jumped and shook. “Hope no one was holding coffee.”

Decker talked into the phone. “Was Gerrard’s rent paid up?”

“Through the end of the month.”

“So he left in a hurry. He’s running.”

“Who’s running?” Oliver asked.

“Hold on, Cindy. I’ll put you on speaker so McAdams and Oliver can hear.” Decker depressed a button and Cindy’s voice, made tinny by the phone speaker, rang through the space.

“Hey, Scott.”

“Hey, Cindy. How’s it shaking?”

“Pretty well. And you?”

“Not bad for an old guy. Did you find any moldering bodies?”

“Not a one. But I did talk to a few neighbors. No one remembers seeing him leave with suitcases, but one of his next-door neighbors remembered hearing a lot of noise in the middle of the night.”

“When was this?”

“About ten days to two weeks ago. She didn’t hear any confrontation or angry voices. Just a lot of heavy footsteps. It could have been that he was packing.”

“Or he was being packed.”

“You have a way with words, Daddy.”

“I think in images.”

“What’s going on in New York?”

“We’re making our way to Gerrard’s apartment. I suspect if we talk to his roommates, we’ll find out he just didn’t show up one day.”

“Let me know what you find out. I’m not opening up an MP file, by the way. It appears he left on his own accord. Just keep me posted. I’ll see you next week.”

“What’s next week?”

“Grandparents’ day.” A pause. “Didn’t we just talk about this three hours ago?”

Decker took the phone off speaker. “I’ve got it written down. No worries.”

“Sure you do. I’ll call Rina. She’s good at keeping her appointments—and her promises.”

“Another low blow.”

“I love you. I’ll see you next week.”

“I love you, too—” But she had already disconnected the line. His cell buzzed again. This time it was Radar.

“This is one for the good guys. We found the bin. It was under a pseudonym but not a very good one. Jeffrey Morrow spelled M-o-r-r-o-w. Her last name Anglicized and his middle name. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out. It’s crammed with stuff: stone statues, marble urns, silver urns, pottery, antique books that were stolen from libraries . . . the date stamps were still inside.”

“Brilliant.”

“What’s brilliant?” McAdams said.

“They found the bin.”

“The storage bin?” Excitement in the kid’s voice.