For more than three decades, it had been taking in released prisoners whose day-to-day movements were pretty much unrestricted. Their recidivism rate was less than five percent, leading Grant to believe someone was doing something right there.

A Long Island sheriff named Barnes met them at the building’s entrance. Stylish, with a white beard and mustache fit for a stint that month as Macy’s Kris Kringle, Barnes had been the one Frankel had gotten on the phone when he’d contacted the local authorities. The sheriff had been unable to locate Leeds upon arriving at the halfway house. That was why Barnes was now standing beside Bentley Edwards, the man who ran the facility.

Edwards, in his midforties, had enough bulk to stand up to the residents he watched over but enough caring in his soft green eyes to make Grant believe the man would lend a tender ear and shoulder to lean on when necessary. Edwards told them he’d seen Leeds just before the man left that morning. Frankel asked if it were normal for a newly released prisoner to be allowed to roam freely, especially one with Leeds’s notoriety.

“There’s a curfew he has to adhere to,” explained Edwards. “Anyone assigned here has been triple-checked by medical professionals and prison authorities before being deemed fit to handle a day-to-day life.”

“No one’s questioning you, sir,” Frankel said. “We’re just trying to get a complete picture here.”

Edwards summarized Leeds’s arrival at the halfway house. The Sing Sing authorities had made sure the release ran smoothly, arranged a quick opportunity for the gathered press to take pictures when Leeds exited the maximum-security prison, then secured safe passage (i.e., no media allowed) to Far Rockaway. Leeds had done the standard intake review with Edwards and later took dinner in his room.

“He said he wanted KFC. So, we got him a bucket and he seemed content,” Edwards said. “Especially at the prospect of sleeping without other people screaming all night as he has for the past thirty years.”

“And what about today?”

“He said he wanted to take a stroll on the boardwalk and dip his toes in the ocean. Can’t say I blame him—even though I wouldn’t go near it with a ten-foot pole. You can’t believe the crap that ends up in there.”

“So that’s where he headed?”

Edwards shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“How’s that?” wondered Frankel.

“He got a call on the house phone. Must have been right around breakfast. One of the other residents took it and came to get him. Leeds left a few minutes later.”

“Did he say who it was?” asked Frankel.