“Everywhere. All over Manhattan.”

“No bodies?”

“No nothing.”

“What do they have in common?”

“Fuckall. The women were twenty-six and thirty-two; the men were thirty-seven and thirty-nine. The guys were a stockbroker and a Porsche salesman; the women were an advertising art director and a VP at a cosmetics company.”

“No ransom notes?”

“Nope. They only got one thing in common I can see.”

“What’s that?”

“They’re good looking, all of them. Good dressers, real prime-time yuppies.”

“Where were they last seen?”

“Leaving work; restaurant; leaving exercise class; jogging in Battery Park.”

Stone shrugged. “Good luck, Dino.”

“I’m going to need it. What’re you working on at the law firm?”

“A fairly juicy one. A client—chairman of an electronics firm—is accused of beating up a high-class hooker in the Waldorf Towers. Looks like it’ll go to trial, and I’ll assist in the defense.”

“They’re not giving you nothing to try yourself, huh?”

“Not yet. I think they expect me to come up with my own. Any ideas?”

“I’ll keep it in mind, tell a couple of the guys. You never know.”

Stone took the letter, in a plastic envelope, from his pocket. “I’ve got something to show you.” He handed it over.

Dino read it and stopped chewing his salad. Then he started again and swallowed. “So? Who’s ‘S’?”

Stone stared at him, unbelieving. “Come on, Dino, you read her diary; don’t you recognize the handwriting?”

“Can’t say that I do,” Dino said, concentrating on the salad. “I never had much memory for handwriting.”

“I didn’t expect this.”

“Expect what? You expect me to recommend reopening the investigation based on this?” He tossed the letter back across the table.

“I didn’t expect you to stonewall me.”

“I ain’t stonewalling you, Stone. You come up with something substantial, and I’ll go with you on it.”

“Substantial? A letter from a dead woman isn’t substantial?”

“Where was it mailed?”

“Penn Station.”

“Any prints? I know you checked.”

Stone held the plastic holder at an angle and pointed. “Three. Will you run them against what we found in her apartment?”

Dino looked skeptical, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll do that. It may take a few days; the records have probably left the precinct.”

“As soon as you can. And will you have the handwriting analyzed?”

“Against what?”

“The diary, the other stuff in evidence.”

“The case has been cleared. I expect all that stuff has gone back to her estate, to her family, by now.”

“Dino, if I can get a good analysis done, and the prints turn out to be hers, will that be enough for you to reopen?”