The station cut to a young woman with a microphone, standing outside a dry cleaner’s. “Thanks, Bob. I’ve been able to confirm with the shop owner that the man who was arrested outside this dry cleaner’s shop earlier today is a dead ringer for a drawing that the police ran in Sunday’s New York Times. He is apparently connected with a Herbert Mitteldorfer, an ex-convict being sought by police for questioning in at least five murders and the bombing of an art gallery last week. I’m going over to the precinct now and talk with the police. Back to you, Bob.”

“Well, if that was the second report, I guess our guy saw the first one and lit out.”

“And the first thing he would have done is call Mitteldorfer,” Dino said.

Stone looked around. “There’s no phone here.”

“Shit,” Dino said.

They could hear cops pounding up the stairs. Andy Anderson was the first through the door.

“Andy, tape this place off, then get a team in here and turn it over very carefully. There was a second occupant besides Erwin Hausman; look for anything that could tell us who the other guy is, and anything that might tell us where to find Mitteldorfer.”

“Yes, sit,” Andy replied.

“Anything from Hamburg, yet?”

“No, sir, and nothing from Interpol, either.”

“Keep on them,” Dino said.

“Dino,” Stone said, “we need to talk. In the car.”

55

JEFF BANION, THE PARK AVENUE DOORMAN, was on duty when a taxi pulled up to his awning. He hurried to get the door, but as it opened, he saw that the cab’s occupant, who was paying the fare, was not likely destined for Jeff’s building. He stepped back to the front door and let the man deal alone with closing the cab’s door.

Then, to Jeff’s surprise, the young man came toward him. He was short, his hair was cut so closely as to make him nearly bald, and he was roughly dressed in baggy clothes and heavy boots. He was carrying a nylon duffel. “Can I help you, sir?” Jeff asked, not moving away from the door.

“I am seeing somebody in this building,” the man said with a thick accent.

“And who would that be, sir?”

“Mr. Howard Menzies.”

This did not add up at all to Jeff. “And what business would you have with Mr. Menzies?”

“I am having private business,” the young man said.

“Your name?”

“Peter Hausman.”

Jeff looked him up and down. “Wait right here, please,” he said. Jeff went inside and spoke to Ralph, the new desk man. “I’ve got a suspicious character out here who wants to see Mr. Menzies. Is he in?”

Ralph consulted a list of the building’s occupants. “Yes, unless he went out through the garage.”

“Get him on the house phone; I want to speak to him.”