"How about her love life? Did she confide in you about that?"

"There was nothing to tell. Lola didn't have the time or the interest to get involved in a relationship at this point. She was all tied up in a new project at the college, and she had no desire to pique Ivan's anger by letting him find her with another man, until the divorce was final."

I sat in a chair opposite Lily and tried to ease my way into the conversation. "Perhaps you can take a look at some of the shirts and sweaters we found at Lola's apartment. It would help us to know how she was dressed when she left here on Thursday afternoon. And then, well, some of the things in the new place were men's clothing. You might recognize them, too."

"They must have been Ivan's. Or maybe one of her faculty friends. Sure, you can show them to me, but it's not very likely they'll be familiar to me. I signed a power of attorney yesterday, giving Vinny's office the right to go in and take any of her property they needed to help their investigation."

I grimaced at Chapman, sorry that Lily was still in the hands of the Jersey prosecutors, and thankful that the NYPD had declared apartment 15A a crime scene. Cops guarding the door, still blocked off with bright yellow tape, would be unlikely to let anyone step into it without the express permission of the chief of detectives.

"Do you know what kind of special project Lola was working on up at King's?"

"You know, it's a bit embarrassing for me. For the last few weeks, we used to sit here most nights after dinner, long after my husband went to sleep. We'd open more wine, talk to each other about everything from our childhood to our marriages to the Broadway theater. Revivals. Ever notice that's all it is these days, revivals? We talked about how we both loved Christmas. I used to be a Rockette, did I tell you that? Did the Christmas show for six seasons, till my first kid was born. Ceci loved it, seeing her own Lily Dakota on that big stage.

"Anyhow, I just lost it when Lola started talking about her job. I couldn't tell you the first thing about New York City, its history or its politics. North, south, or east of the Great White Way just doesn't exist for me. She said something about a multidisciplinary program that she was terribly excited about-digs and dead people-"

I interrupted her. "A deadhouse? Did she talk about that?" "I said dead people," she responded with a pout. "That's all that comes to mind. Maybe it's the alcohol."

Maybe it was, but she showed no signs of slowing down. I kept my fingers crossed that she wasn't going to stand up and show Mike her best kick and her great extension. Wooden soldier number forty-four. Rockette Lily Dakota.

"Lily, do you know what Lola was wearing the last time you saw her?"

"My clothes. That's mostly what she wore the whole time she was with me. Black is all I remember. She wanted to wear black, for her phony funeral. She laughed about it, too."

Mike's nose was six inches from Lily's at this point, side by side on the sofa. "On Thursday, when the cops faked the scene with Lola's shooting, were any of them here with you in the house?"

"Are you kidding? We had a basement full of them. Anne Reininger was back in this room with us, explaining things to me step by step and trying to keep me calm. There were detectives and DAs all over the place, basement to attic, making sure everything went according to plan."

"And when it was over, did any of them stay behind with you?"

She stopped to think for a minute. "I know I asked for a sedative, to take a nap. I'd been extremely worried about this, and not being able to tell the neighbors it was all a fake. Lola and I sat up practically the entire night before, just trying to reassure ourselves that if the whole thing worked, she'd be rid of Ivan forever. I remember Lola and Anne giving me something to help me sleep that afternoon, once Lola was done with the shooting, but that's about all. I don't know when any of them left here."

"And Lola," Mike asked. "Did you know she was going back to her apartment?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. She made me promise not to tell Anne. Anne left the room, then Lola kissed me, thanked me, and put the throw over my bedspread 'cause I was cold."

"She just told you she was going to walk out the door?"

Lily nodded.

"Did she ask to borrow your car?"

Lily's brow creased. She was working against the wine to remember what had happened. "No, of course not. She told me a car service was picking her up. At least, that's who I assumed she Was talking to. She used the phone next to my bed to make a call. Told whoever it was not to come to the front door. Lola said she'd slip out the back, cross over Tess Bolton's yard-that's one of the neighbors you met-and wait next to their garage, on Arlington Street. She told me she'd be fine. Someone was taking her home, she said, where she'd be safe."

An hour later I was sitting at my secretary's typewriter, pounding out subpoenas for Mike to serve as soon as possible.

"What's first?"

"Verizon telephone services in New Jersey. MUDS and LUDS. I want every outgoing call made from Lily's phone on Thursday- in fact, all of last week. I suppose you should try each of the cab companies in Summit, too, but I think there's a good chance that she reached out to someone she knew-and trusted-to drive her to Manhattan. After the emotional drain of enacting her own murder, I assume she'd pick her traveling companion carefully."

"How about phone records for the apartment and her office?"

"I'm working on them. Give me your notepad. You've got all the relevant numbers written there, don't you?" We both knew the value of a paper trail, and started to think of any electronic or written means of communication that might have left a connection or a clue.

When I had finished looking for every possible link to Lola Dakota, I reached for another blank subpoena in my drawer. I flipped through Mike's pages until I found his references to Charlotte Voight, the student who had disappeared in April. There would be King's College records that could tell us which credit card she used at the school bookstore, and from there, we could get the company's vouchers to tell us what businesses she frequented and perhaps where she ate. As I took the subpoenas out of the typewriter, I signed them beneath the printed space with Battaglia's name in it, and passed them to Mike.

"What's this one for? King's College Student Health Services?" "Long shot. We've got absolutely nothing to give us a control sample for Voight's DNA. None of her belongings are at school- no clothes, no toothbrush, no hairbrush. Nothing to let the lab develop a genetic fingerprint. What if we come across evidence or-worst-case scenario-a body? Once they work up a profile from that, we'd have zilch with which to compare it."

"What do you think she left at the doctor's office, a DNA sample in case of emergency?" Mike was growing impatient and was ready to leave.

"I'm willing to bet you that a sexually active college student made at least one trip to that office, had one gynecological checkup during her time at the school. Needed birth control, or maybe-with Voight's lifestyle-a test for sexually transmitted diseases or pregnancy. And if she was examined there, most doctors would have done a routine Pap smear as part of the process. The cells scraped off during that procedure are more than enough to give us a control.

"So my guess is that sitting in a lab somewhere not too far away is all we need to get started on a DNA print of Charlotte Voight."

Mike nodded his approval. "C'mon, blondie. Nothing I can do with these papers till Monday morning. None of these business offices will be open at this hour on a Saturday. I'll drop you off at home. Then I'll be back at seven tonight to drive out to Mercer's."