It was owned by an Indian family and Tatyana’s contact was the son, Ayaan. She’d introduced herself to him by asking about his Eagles jersey, he wore it every day, and then by bribing him with season tickets to the Giants.

“You’re in New York,” she’d said to him one afternoon in their postcoital bliss. “It’s time to prove your loyalty.”

“Village Mail?” she said into the phone.

“That’s us.”

“I need to speak to Ayaan.”

“Who’s this?”

“His mother.”

“Funny.”

“Is he there?”

“You should be a comedian.”

She sighed. “Who’s this?” she said.

“His cousin, Raj.”

“Well, when’s he in, Raj?”

“Not until tonight.”

She hung up and a torrent of change fell noisily into the tray under the phone. She fed it back into the machine and dialed Ayaan’s cell. He’d better pick up. She’d invested a lot in him. He had some very specific sexual preferences and she expected to be paid for her services in full.

“Hello?”

“Ayaan?”

“Yes.”

“It’s me.”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s been weeks.”

“I’ve been in Russia.”

“The police were here.”

“About the mailbox?”

“Yes.”

“What did they say?”

“They wanted to know who rented it.”

“You didn’t tell them, did you?”

“Of course not, but I’ve got family here. Immigration issues. I can’t afford trouble.”

“Calm down, Ayaan. You did nothing wrong.”

“They wanted to know why I accepted cash. Why no ID was provided.”

“It’s not a big deal, Ayaan.”

“There are rules about it. The federal mail.”

“Have they been back?”

“No.”

“See.”

He took a breath.

“Look, I’m going to be in town,” she said. “I want to see you.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

“Where?”

She could practically hear him salivating.

“I don’t know yet. I still have to get a hotel.”

As far as Ayaan was concerned, she was a Russian literature professor who attended conferences in the city and liked to get naughty while she was there. She told him she was married, which was why everything was always on the down-low.

She’d offered him no real explanation for why she needed the mailbox but let him suspect it had something to do with Russian academia, government restrictions, the chance of a job offer from an American university.

He hadn’t expected the police.

Not that it mattered. She’d be done with him soon.

“My father is angry at me for accepting cash,” Ayaan said. “He thinks I’m stealing from him.”

“Is the box still empty?”

“Yes.”

“Did the police do anything with it?”

The slightest pause, then he said, “No, nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me, Ayaan.”

“I’m not the one who’s been lying.”

He was done. He was scared. Meeting him now would be risky. She’d get what she needed and cut him loose.

“Just tell me what they did,” she said.