Frankel had tried ringing Silver’s room before they’d left the precinct but got no answer. The hotel operator asked if he had a message for the guest. The detective declined, deciding not to leave one saying they were heading over to question him about five, or possibly six, murders he might have committed.

The front desk seemed familiar enough with NYPD, clearly having conferred with Frankel’s brethren about the hotel’s undesirable guests. After ascertaining that Mr. Silver was still registered, the manager provided the room number and offered to escort the cops upstairs.

“We can find our own way,” Frankel told him. “No need to call ahead. We’d rather surprise him, if you get my drift.”

The manager looked relieved to not deal with what looked like an unpleasant situation. “By all means,” he said and pointed them toward the elevators.

Grant and Frankel exited on the fifth floor. The corridor was dimly lit—it could have been three in the morning. The faded flowered wallpaper was probably put up during the Truman administration, back when the hotel might have had enough stars to warrant a presidential entourage.

They traveled halfway down a corridor that literally stretched a city block and arrived at room 515. A “Do Not Disturb” sign hung from the unpolished knob.

It didn’t stop Frankel from knocking on the door. There was no response. The detective leaned his ear against the door panel but neither cop heard footsteps.

Frankel looked down the hallway to see a maid emerge from a room five or six doors away, reuniting with the housekeeping cart she had parked there.

“Excuse me? Ma’am?” Frankel called out.

The maid, a Latina in her fifties who shuffled along, looked up at him. Her eyes flickered with seeming alarm as Frankel pulled out his badge.

He shook his head. “No. Nothing for you to worry about. Really.”

“Can I help you?”

Frankel pointed to room 515. “My colleague and I were wondering when was the last time this room was serviced.”

“Not since yesterday.” She indicated the sign on the door. “That’s been there since I started at six this morning.”

Grant noticed Frankel give him a look that might have classified as a wink. The detective flipped over the sign so it read “Please Make Up This Room.”

“I think it’s ready for you now,” Frankel told her matter-of-factly.

The maid knocked and announced herself. “Housekeeping.”

They waited for an answer the two cops knew wasn’t coming.

Frankel nodded to the maid. She used her pass key to unlock the door and Frankel motioned for her to remain outside. The maid was happy to comply.

“Maybe I should go get my cart?” she asked.

“Why don’t you finish up what you were doing?” Frankel suggested. “You’ll be back here soon enough.”

She walked away faster than Grant thought her capable of moving.