“The Wilson party?” the man asked Dino, in unctuous tones.

“The NYPD party,” Dino said, flashing his shield. “Who runs the place?”

The man flinched at the sight of the badge. “That would be Mrs. Van Fleet,” he said. “Please stay here, and I’ll get her. Please remember there are bereaved here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dino said.

“You don’t like the fellow?” Stone said when the man had gone.

“I don’t like the business,” Dino said. “It’s a creepy business, and people who do it are creepy.”

“Somebody’s got to do it,” Stone said. “We’ll do better if you don’t give them a hard time.”

Dino nodded. “You talk to the creeps, then.”

As they waited, Stone looked around. In a large, somewhat overdecorated sitting room to their left, two dozen people talked quietly, while some gathered around an elderly woman who seemed to be receiving the condolences. He looked right and was surprised to see a bedroom. On the four-poster bed, under a lace coverlet, lay a pretty woman in her late thirties. Several people stood around the bed, and one knelt at some sort of altar set at the foot. It took Stone a moment to realize that the woman on the bed was the guest of honor. She appeared to be sleeping.

A door opened at the end of the hallway ahead of them, and a short, thin, severely dressed woman of about sixty approached them. She walked with her hands folded in front of her; it would have been an odd posture anywhere but here.

“Yes?” the woman said, her face expressionless.

“Good afternoon,” Stone said. “I am Detective Barrington, and this is Detective Bacchetti, New York City Police. I believe you have an employee here named Marvin Herbert Van Fleet.”

“He’s not an employee,” the woman said. “He’s a partner in the firm, he’s our chief…technical person, and he’s my son.”

Stone nodded. “May we see him, please?”

“Now?”

“Please.”

“I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment.”

“We’re busy, too,” Dino said, apparently unable to contain himself.

Stone shot him a sharp glance. “I’m afraid we can’t wait for a more convenient time,” he said to the woman.

“One moment, please,” Mrs. Van Fleet said, not happy. She walked down the hallway a few paces, picked up a phone, dialed two digits, and spoke quietly for a moment. She hung up and motioned to the detectives.

They followed her down the hallway. She turned right through a door and walked rapidly down another hall. The decor changed to utilitarian. A vaguely chemical scent hung in the air. She stopped before a large, metal swinging door and indicated with a nod that they were to enter. Then she brushed past them and left.