Upon first glance, the apartment was incredibly unassuming—bland, even. There was little, if no, personality, polar opposite when compared to the home Doyle had turned his own studio into. There was an antique range and fridge to Larkin’s right, a generic storebought rack with various pots and pans stacked on its shelves, with a sink and counter just large enough for a coffee pot on the left. A shower curtain and bath mat were visible beyond the sink, and Larkin glanced into the nook to confirm, yes, the shower was in the kitchen. A window stood across from it with a view of the second-floor apartments of the building on the opposite side of Elizabeth Street, where tenants had likely been subjected to a wet and naked Niederman, fresh from the shower, on more than one occasion. Around the corner was a twin-sized bed, neatly made, a floor lamp and oscillating fan, both turned off, and a half-full garment rack pushed against the wall.

“Nothing like exfoliating in the same room you brew your morning joe,” Doyle said at Larkin’s back.

Dan replied from the doorway, “It’s an old building.”

“How much was Niederman paying?” Doyle asked.

“Eighteen hundred a month.”

“What did he do for a living?”

“He worked for one of those janitorial cleaning services,” Dan said. “The sort that clean the big Midtown offices after hours.”

“And he had no problem making rent?” Doyle asked.

“He was never late,” Dan confirmed, a shrug in his voice.

Larkin tuned out after he heard Doyle ask about obtaining any employment information Dan might have had. He didn’t have to babysit his partner—Doyle was a competent investigator. Crouching beside the garment rack, Larkin picked up a pair of brand-new, heavy-duty, black rubber-soled shoes with orthotic inserts—the exact sort of shoe he expected someone who was on their feet all day to own. Larkin put the pair back where he found them. There was a distinct empty spot between the new shoes and a pair of beaten-up sneakers, where a third pair of shoes should have been. He stood and carefully shifted the hangers, noting several pairs of polyester-blend black trousers, the same V-neck shirt in four different shades of gray, and half a dozen industrial uniforms toward the end. Larkin removed a hanger and studied the bright blue shirt with a logo in the shape of a mop and bucket and the company name embroidered underneath: Shine & Sparkle Cleaning.

“Shine and Sparkle Cleaning,” Larkin called from the bedroom area.

Doyle appeared around the corner.

Larkin held up the shirt. “This explains why he’d been partially undressed.” He returned the uniform to the rack and pointed to the floor. “Missing shoes.”