“Okay. I understand. Sorry.” The sound of her breathing grew calmer. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m over here in the apartment where the shot came from. I want to envision what the shooter saw from this window. It would be a huge help if you could go back to where we were standing before, when you showed me the position of Carl’s head on the ground.”

“And the drop of blood on the snow.”

“Yes. The drop of blood on the snow. Could you go there now?”

“I guess so. Sure.”

“Great, Paulette. Thank you. Take that bright blue umbrella with you. It’ll make a good marker. And your phone, so you can call me when you get there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Energized by this bit of progress, he hurried out to get the case file from his car. He returned minutes later with a large manila envelope under his arm—just in time to catch sight of someone stepping into the neighboring apartment.

Gurney moved quickly to the door, inserting his foot in the jamb before it could be closed.

A short, wiry man with a long black ponytail stared out at him. After a moment he began to smile a little crazily, displaying several gold teeth, like a Mexican bandit in a politically incorrect Western. There was an intensity in his gaze that Gurney figured could come from drugs, a naturally tight spring, or a mental disorder.

“Something I can do for you?” The man’s voice was hoarse but not unfriendly.

“Sorry to be in your face like this,” said Gurney. “This has nothing to do with you. I just need some information about the apartment next to yours.”

The man looked down at the foot pressed against his door.

Gurney smiled and stepped back. “Sorry again. I’m in kind of a hurry and having a hard time finding anyone to talk to.”

“About what?”

“Simple stuff. Like who’s been living in this building the longest?”

“Why?”

“I’m looking for people who were here eight, nine months ago.”

“Eight, nine months. Hmm.” He blinked for the first time. “That’d be round about the time of the Big Bang, wouldn’t it?”

“If you mean the shooting, yes.”

The man stroked his chin as if he had a goatee. “You looking for Freddie?”

At first the name meant nothing. Then Gurney remembered seeing the name Frederico something-or-other in the trial transcript. “You mean the Freddie who said he saw Kay Spalter in this building on the morning of the shooting?”

“Only Freddie that ever sat his ass here.”

“Why would I be looking for him?”

“ ’Cause of the fact he’s missing. Why else?”

“Missing since when?”

“Like, you don’t know that? That a joke? Man, who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“Just a guy who’s taking a second look at everything.”