Dino rang for the elevator and it came quickly. “New elevator,” Dino said as they got on. “Probably faster than the building’s main elevators, unless they’re new, too.”

They got off on the ground floor, and Dino had a good look at the outside door and its lock. “Look at this,” he said, touching the door beside the lock and rubbing his fingers together. “Mucilage; looks like the bolt was taped back.”

The door from the lobby opened and a uniformed employee of the building stood there. “Oh, it’s you, gentlemen. Sorry to disturb you.”

“You got a camera back here?” Dino asked, looking around.

“Right up there,” the doorman said, pointing to a high corner.

“Let’s have a look at your tapes,” Dino said, and they followed him back to the front desk.

At Dino’s request, the doorman rewound the tape to seven-fifteen and pressed the play button. At seven twenty-two the door opened and a man in a dark hooded sweatshirt entered, his hands in the sweatshirt’s pockets. “Rewind and replay one frame at a time,” Dino said.

The doorman did so.

“The angle of the camera is too high. You can’t see the face,” Dino said.

The doorman made a note. “I’ll see to that.”

“All his clothes are dark,” Stone said. “I can’t see anything identifying.”

“Keep playing,” Dino said. “I want to see him when he leaves.”

The doorman played the tape forward at double speed. The man left the way he came, at seven twenty-six, and paused to pull a piece of tape off the door lock; then he was gone.

“You got an outside camera?” Dino asked.

“Not working,” the doorman said. “I called it in late this afternoon, but the repairman didn’t show yet.”

“Bad luck,” Dino said. “Let’s take a look at the street.” He led the way to the service entrance, and they stepped out onto Seventy-first Street. Dino pointed at a dumpster parked across the street, and he and Stone crossed to have a look in it.

“Give me a leg up,” Dino said. “You’re dressed too nice.”

“Sure,” Stone said, cupping his hands.

“It’s pretty full,” Dino said from above Stone. “Somebody’s renovating. Uh-oh.” He held up a black sweatshirt, then handed it to Stone. “Got some latex gloves, too.”

Stone held it by thumb and forefinger and checked the label. “Banana Republic,” he said. “Must be thousands of them on the street.”

Dino hopped down to the street, produced a large plastic bag, and stuffed the sweatshirt into it and the gloves into a smaller bag, which he placed in the larger bag. They walked around the corner to where Dino’s car was waiting and got in. Dino tossed the bag into the front passenger seat. “Take us to Elaine’s, then get that bag to Bartkowski and Salero at the precinct, and tell them to get it to the criminalist,” he said. “Sign the chain of evidence log, and I’ll do it when I get in later.” Dino called the precinct and told the two detectives to expect the sweatshirt and gloves, to check the gloves for fingerprints on the inside, and to get a copy of the videotape from the doorman at the building, then he sat back in his seat and sighed.