“Having fun yet?” Marino asked, moving past him into the foyer and shutting the door.

“It’s starting to stink in there,” the officer said, and he looked all of sixteen. “Remind me never to eat chicken again.”

Marino found two light switches to the left of the door. He tried them. One was for the outside lights, the other for the foyer.

“You know if these are on a timer?” he asked.

“They’re not.”

“So how’d the entrance lights get on tonight?”

“I turned them on when I got here maybe two hours ago. Why? You want ‘em off?”

Marino looked at the dark wooden stairs leading up to the second floor.

He said, “No, leave them on. You been up there? Looks like the other residents aren’t back.”

“I haven’t been anywhere. Stuck on my ass inside the door.” He nodded at the apartment door, which he’d left open a crack. “Nobody’s been inside the building. If it was me, I’d sure take my time coming back, especially if I was a woman living alone.”

“No other women living alone,” Marino said. “Just the one whose apartment you’re babysitting. This one here.” He indicated the door on the other side of the foyer. “Two guys, both of them bartenders. Probably never here at night. Upstairs? Right above Terri Bridges, a guy who goes to Hunter College, supports himself walking dogs. The apartment on the other side, some Italian consultant with a British financial company that’s the actual tenant. In other words, one of those corporate rentals. The guy’s probably never here.”

“Anybody talked to them?”

“Not me, but I’ve run their backgrounds. Nothing jumps out. I get the impression from talking to her parents that she wasn’t the friendly type. She never talked about the other residents and didn’t seem to know them or have any interest. But hey, this ain’t the South. People don’t bake cakes for their neighbors so they can stick their nose into their business. Don’t mind me. I’m going to poke around up there for a few minutes.”

“Just be careful because Investigator Morales is up on the roof.”

Marino stopped on the bottom step and said, “What?”

“Yeah, he went up there maybe an hour ago.”

“He tell you why?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“He tell you to move your car?”

“What for?”

“Ask him,” Marino said. “He’s the big investigator with all the big ideas.”

He climbed the steps, and on the second floor, in the ceiling between the two apartments, was a stainless-steel access hatch with an inside T-handle. Under it was an aluminum stepladder with slip-resistant treads, a fold-up safety bar, and a work tray with several screwdrivers in it. Nearby, a utility closet door was wide open.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.