I wondered if this could be the story that had reached David Fillian in state prison. Perhaps Lavery was the professor Dr. Hop-pins was referring to when she stopped me in the courtroom to tell me the news that Fillian was trying to barter for an early release. Was Lavery the person selling drugs to students?

"The kid who hanged himself the other day-any connection to Lavery?"

"Not that we can tell. Julian Gariano was more involved with what they call designer drugs-speed, Ecstasy, some cocaine. Claude's work was primarily with street drugs, but as you know, those lines have been increasingly blurred the last few years. They had certainly met, and Julian was in one of Lavery's classes. No one puts them together outside the lecture hall."

"The missing girl?"

"No link at all."

"Lola Dakota. Connect those dots for me."

Sylvia looked at her files. "As soon as the federal allegation was filed, we suspended Lavery. Quite frankly, we were trying to mount a case to revoke his tenure, which is not an easy thing to do. Professor Dakota led the opposition to the administration. Backed Claude with all her strength. Even turned Winston Shreve around and had him barking at us to wait and see, allow Claude the presumption of innocence."

"Why?"

"Well, we don't know exactly why. She claimed it was strictly for professional reasons. He bucked the system, just as she did. If anyone admired his unorthodox techniques, it would have been a maverick like Lola.

"Then, there's a more malevolent view. Some people were worried that there was something more in it for Lola. Money, to be exact. That she had been using some of Claude Lavery's funds for her own purposes."

"For drugs?"

Sylvia Foote frowned. "No one's ever made that claim. There's not even the hint of a rumor that Lola would have anything to do with drugs. Nor would she tolerate that in her students. But her own projects were quite costly to run. And she was dreadfully competitive. If she could buy an edge for herself, there are those on our faculty who are convinced she would have done it." "Do you believe it?"

"Lola was a thorn in my side. Constantly. If someone could create trouble for my staff any day of the week, it would be Lola, pushing the envelope every time. I didn't like her alliance with Lavery, and the reason for it is still a mystery to me. She wasn't a particularly materialistic person, and I don't understand what she would have wanted with the money. But the fact remains that a substantial sum has vanished, and before you saw that story in the headlines or heard it from your federal counterparts, Paolo thought I ought to tell you that it was under investigation."

"But other than the fact that Lola was backing Dr. Lavery, was there anything else to suggest an attachment between them?"

Sylvia gave it a few moments' thought. "Nothing unusual. Good friends, neighbors-"

"Whaddaya mean, neighbors?" Mike asked.

"Claude lived in the same building that Lola did: 417 Riverside Drive. He lived one flight above her. Directly overhead, if I'm not mistaken."

I looked at Mike and could tell that our wheels were spinning in the same direction. I did a mental run-through of the police reports of the canvass of the apartment house that detectives had conducted the day after the body was found. I couldn't call up a memory of any particular names, but it should have been obvious that a building that close to the King's College campus would have been full of residents who were faculty members or staff. Had the cops talked to anyone named Lavery? Had they accounted for his whereabouts the afternoon Lola Dakota was killed? Had they cross-checked names of tenants with Lola's family or friends to see what her relationships were with others in the building?

Chapman's impatience was more obvious than my own. "Where's Lavery now?"

"I have no idea, Detective. The last time I saw him was at the vigil on Friday evening. So many people have gone out of-"

"Who can tell me where he is this very minute? Today." Chapman was standing now, ready to be unleashed from the polite tether of administrative interviews and get his hands into the dirt.

"He has been suspended from the college. He doesn't have to report to us or tell us his whereabouts. Dr. Lavery continues to receive a paycheck from us until this is resolved, and if the feds come down with an indictment, I assume the rules may be somewhat different for him."

"How about this other guy, the biologist?"

"Professor Grenier? What about him?"

"He's another one I'd like to talk to."

Sylvia pushed some more papers around. "Grenier's on sabbatical until the beginning of the new year. Can you be patient another week or two, Detective?"

"Frankly, Ms. Foote, I can't be patient another damn minute." He towered over her, shaking his pen in her face as he talked. "You get a forty-eight-hour reprieve 'cause Santa's coming to town and there's nothing I can do about that. These guys are on your payroll; you just said that. Lola Dakota is colder than a stone and six feet under. Find these guys, understand me? I want to see Skip Lockhart, Thomas Grenier, and Claude Lavery by the weekend. Move heaven, earth, and unlock your unsmiling frozen jaw to make it happen."

Sylvia's papers were sliding off her lap as she listened to Chapman's booming voice. They scattered to the floor, and I helped her organize them while he continued to list instructions. By the time she left us, she was walking so unsteadily that I had to hold her arm all the way out to the reception area.

"When are you coming back from the country?" Mike asked as I walked toward his desk. I looked at his calendar. This was Tuesday and tomorrow was Christmas Day. "I'll be back on Thursday unless you want me to change our plans."

"Don't bother. Nobody's here to work with. Just figure we'll be scrambling all next weekend on this, if Foote rounds up her troops and if the lab is good with any test results." He picked up the phone that was ringing on his desk. "It's Laura, for you."

"The superintendent of your building just called, Alex. There's a problem."

"What kind of problem?"

"Seems like there are two workmen who were found in your apartment. The super needs you to come home right away and see if anything's missing."

I slammed down the phone and told Mike I had to go home.

"Not without me. I'm driving."

"You've got things to do. I'll grab a cab."

"Not with that chubby little whackjob whose ID you glommed running around looking for you. You live twenty floors up, with two doormen on every shift. How the hell did anyone fly into your little love nest? I can't get there on my best day, best behavior."

We drove downtown and parked in the garage in my building. The woman from the apartment below me was standing in the lobby, with her Boston terrier, when we walked in.

"The management's security guys are upstairs, along with a detective from the precinct," Jesse said, following us into the elevator.

"What happened?"

"You know the guys who've been working on the scaffolding? Well, you don't see them much, 'cause you're at work all day. But once my kids leave for school, I'm around the house in the morning, and then I'm in and out all day. It's been really creepy to have them around. They seem to be looking in the windows all the time."

For the past six weeks, scaffolding had been erected around the entire high-rise apartment building as it was undergoing repairs to the brickwork and the replacement of some of the windows. Workmen arrived early and spent most of their days hanging off the roof, being raised up and down by a series of pulleys as they went about their business.

"This morning," Jesse continued, "I left about an hour ago to do some errands. Got all the way up to the avenue and realized I had forgotten something, so I turned and went back. When I got inside, the first thing I noticed was that the windows in the living room were wide open and my dog was barking. Then I could see the scaffolding platform rising on the ropes. I grabbed the dog and ran down to the door.