He opened the door an inch and peered into the lobby. It was empty. No one was at the desk across the way, and he could see the elevator car, standing with the door open. He flipped the safety off the pistol and, holding it in front of him with both hands, stepped into the lobby. He looked carefully behind the furniture and found nothing, no one, then he went to the desk and looked over it.

“Good God!” he said aloud. He flipped up the desktop and opened the half door that gave access to the area behind the desk. The cop and the desk man both lay on the floor, and there was a lot of blood. He checked both for pulses; they were dead.

He stood up and noticed two things for the first time. There was a bullet hole in one of the glass doors, and outside the building and to his right, lights were flashing. He walked outside and saw an unmarked police car standing a few yards up the street, the driver’s door open and a red light on the dashboard flashing. Traffic was moving unhindered down Fifth Avenue. Where the hell are Kelly and Anderson? He walked toward the car, passing two civilian cars on the way.

“Mr. Barrington?”

The voice spun him around. The doorman emerged from where he had been crouched between two parked cars. “Mr. Barrington, this is awful.”

“What happened?” Stone demanded.

“I let a man with a parcel to deliver into the lobby. He went to the front desk and, without a word, shot the police officer, then he held the gun to Dan’s head, and I saw Dan pick up the telephone. I ran outside, and then I heard a second shot.”

“Then what happened?”

“About a minute passed, and I heard more shots; then the man I had let in burst out of the building, ran across the street, and vaulted over the wall into the park. A few seconds later, the police officer who was running the elevator came out, looking up and down the street. I yelled that the man had gone into the park, and the officer went after him. Then I saw the red light start flashing in that car, there, and another man, I suppose a police officer, got out of the car and ran after the other two.”

“Do you know if the man in the car called for help?” Stone asked.

“No, I don’t know.”

Stone went to the police car, found the microphone, and punched the switch. “Dispatch?”

“Dispatch; who’s calling?”

“My name is Barrington, I’m a retired police officer.” He gave the address. “There’s an officer down here, along with a civilian, both dead. Two other officers have pursued the perp into Central Park. Stand by.” He turned to the doorman. “What did the man you let into the building look like?”