The street was an ever-changing circus as the late morning merged into early afternoon. Hipsters with man buns and tattoos mixed with men in djellabas, women in hijabs, and Asians of both sexes in khakis and polo shirts. Teenagers of all skin colors wore ball caps or jerseys proclaiming allegiance to one or another New York sports team. A troop of spandex-clothed bicyclists cruised by to brave Queens Boulevard on their way to points east. Despite the varied cultures on parade, there was a communal feel to the display. These were all kindred folks going about their Sunday chores, observances, or recreations.

Except for the giant.

The monster from the Mets game came out the front door of Cheryl’s building dressed in a three-piece ivory-colored suit and bloodred tie, strode past the coffee shop, and continued up Greenpoint. Ted swung away from the window, afraid that the man might see him. He could see the glint of the giant’s pale shaved head floating above the fray for the next few moments. The guy moved quickly, as if he had an appointment to keep.

There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why the man who had threatened Ted was coincidentally leaving Cheryl’s building on an early Sunday afternoon. They were friends. He lived in the building. He had visited the widow to offer condolences. None of those explanations were compelling.

More questions. Ted was owed answers. If Cheryl could not provide them, he would have no residual guilt about pulling the file and taking a pass on the whole mess. Cheryl didn’t know it, but the decision was all hers.

The first hurdle to be vaulted was the locked front door. In every old movie Ted watched, the good guy buzzes all of the apartments at once, and someone always lets him in. That might have worked in Manhattan, with hordes of restaurant delivery guys working twenty-four seven, but in Queens that would never happen. First, because it was hard to find an intercom system that worked in a building more than twenty years old. And second, because New Yorkers have all seen those movies.

But there’s always a way.

A bent-backed woman draped all in black from babushka to boots was hauling a loaded grocery cart up the four steps. This was his opportunity.

“May I?” Ted said, easily lifting her burden and gesturing for her to proceed. She gave him a long suspicious appraisal. Something in Ted’s face must have registered as worthy of her trust—if only for a moment. She gestured for him to follow, and he hoisted the full cart up the stairs while she fished out keys and opened the door.