Eph couldn’t afford to think in big-picture terms or else he might discover that he was fighting a losing battle. He focused on the task at hand. “What did you find out?”

Setrakian said, “My brief visit to the New York Historical Society bore fruit. The property in question was completely rebuilt by a bootlegger and smuggler who made his fortune during Prohibition. His home was raided numerous times but never more than a pint of illicit brew was seized, due, it was said, to a web of tunnels and underground breweries—some of those tunnels were expanded later to accommodate underground subway lines.”

Eph looked at Nora. “What about you?”

“The same. And that Bolivar bought the property expressly because it was an old bootlegger’s pad, and because it was said that the owner before that was a Satanist who held black masses on the rooftop altar around the turn of the twentieth century. Bolivar’s been renovating that building and combining it with the one next to it on and off for the past year, constructing one of the largest private residences in New York.”

“Good,” said Eph. “Where did you go, the library?”

“No,” she said, handing over a printout featuring photos of the original town house interior and current photos of Bolivar in stage makeup. “People magazine online.”

They were buzzed in and rode up to Jim and Sylvia’s small ninth-floor unit. Sylvia answered the door in a flowing linen dress befitting a horoscope columnist, her hair pulled back with a wide headband. She was surprised to see Nora, and doubly shocked to see Eph.

“What are you doing—?”

Eph moved inside. “Sylvia, we have some very important questions, and we only have a little time. What do you know about Jim and the Stoneheart Group?”

Sylvia held her hand to her chest as if she didn’t understand. “The who?”

Eph saw a desk in the corner, a tabby cat snoozing on top of a closed laptop. He crossed to it and started opening drawers. “Do you mind if we take a quick look through his things?”

“No,” she said, “if you think it will help. Go ahead.”

Setrakian remained near the door while Eph and Nora searched the contents of the desk. Sylvia apparently received a strong vibration from the old man’s presence. “Would anyone like anything, a drink?”

“No,” said Nora, smiling briefly, then getting back to the search.

“I’ll be right back.” Sylvia went to the kitchen.

Eph stood back from the cluttered desk, mystified. He didn’t even know what he was looking for. Jim working for Palmer? How far back in time did this reach? And what was Jim’s motive anyway? Money? Would he have turned on them like that?