She climbed out and walked inside to the hotel’s check-in desk. The mission, though, was a bust. The clerks were helpful but didn’t have any information that bore on the investigation. Moreno had had several room service charges—food for one—but no outgoing or incoming calls. No one remembered if he had had any visitors.

Back into the limo.

“Where next?” she asked.

“A bank. I don’t remember the name but I remember where.”

“Let’s go.”

Farada drove her to a branch of American Independent Bank and Trust on 55th Street. She went inside. It was near closing time and some of the staff had left. The receptionist rounded up a manager. Without a warrant, Sachs couldn’t get much information. But the woman, one of those template vice presidents, did tell her that Robert Moreno’s visit on May first was to close his accounts and move his assets to a bank in the Caribbean. She wouldn’t say which one.

“How much? Can you tell me?”

Only: “Mid six figures.”

Not like he was laundering huge sums for the cartels. Still, this was suspicious.

“Did he leave any money here?”

“No. And he mentioned he was doing the same for all of his accounts in other banks.”

Returning to Tash Farada, Sachs dropped into the passenger seat. “And after this?”

“A beautiful woman,” the driver said.

She thought for a moment that Farada was talking about her. She then laughed to herself when he explained that he’d driven Moreno to the East Side and collected a woman who’d accompanied him for the rest of the day. Moreno had given the address—an intersection, Lexington and 52nd—and told the driver to pause in front of the building.

They drove there now and Sachs regarded the structure. A tall, boxy glass office building.

“Who was she?”

He answered, “Dark hair. I am thinking she was about five-eight, in her thirties but youthful, attractive as I was saying. Voluptuous. And her skirt was short.”

“Actually I was more interested in her name and business affiliation.”

“I caught her first name only. Lydia. And as for business…Well.” Farada offered a coy smile.

“Well what?”

“Let me put it this way, I’m sure they hadn’t known each other before he picked her up.”

“That’s not telling me much,” Sachs said.

“You see, Detective, we learn things in this job. We learn human nature. Some things our clients do not want us to know, some things we do not want to know. We are to be invisible. But we are observant. We drive and we ask no questions except, ‘Where do you want to go, sir?’ And yet we see.”

The esoterica on the Mystic Order of Limo Drivers was wearing and Sachs lifted an impatient eyebrow.

He said in a soft voice, as if someone else were listening, “It was clear to me she was a…You understand?”

“An escort?”