“He was small, and he was wearing a parka with the hood up. I didn’t get all that good a look at him.”

Stone turned back to the microphone. “The perpetrator is a white male, small of stature, wearing a parka with the hood up, and is armed and dangerous. One of the two officers in pursuit is wearing an elevator operator’s uniform, and the other is in plain clothes. You want to get major backup into the park between Seventy-second and Seventy-ninth Streets and get a patrol car to the building. Also, find Lieutenant Dino Bacchetti of the Nineteenth Precinct and tell him to get over here fast.”

“Where will you be?”

“I’ll secure the lobby of the building and wait there.”

“Got it; over and out.”

Stone put down the microphone. “Come with me,” he said. “You and I will wait in the lobby for the police to arrive.”

“Yes, sir,” the doorman said.

They went back into the building, and Stone went to the elevator. “I wonder why the killer didn’t take the elevator upstairs,” he said.

The doorman looked into the car. “It’s locked,” he said, “and the police officer must have the key.”

“Is there another key?” Stone asked.

“In the top drawer of the desk,” the doorman said, pointing. He clearly had no wish to go over there.

Stone retrieved the key and put it into his pocket. He could hear sirens approaching from a distance. He picked up the house phone, consulted a list of occupants, and called Sarah’s apartment. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer.

14

STONE HUNG UP, CHECKED THE NUMBER, then dialed again. Still no answer. He looked up to see uniforms piling out of two police cars outside and running toward the front door with weapons drawn. He realized that they probably wouldn’t know him and that to them, he was a civilian with a weapon. He put his pistol down on the desktop, moved away from the desk, dug out his ID, and held it out in front of him with one hand, while holding the other hand in the air. “I’m on the job!” he shouted, because he knew that would stop a nervous cop from shooting him. They stopped running.

“What’s going on here?” a sergeant asked.

“I’m a retired police officer,” Stone said. “That’s my weapon on the desk. There’s an officer and another man on the floor behind the desk, both shot, both dead. This man is the building’s doorman.”

The sergeant lowered his weapon. “Your name’s Barrington, isn’t it? You were in the Nineteenth with Bacchetti?”

“That’s right.”

The sergeant looked behind the desk. “Jesus Christ!” he said. “Who shot these two men?”