“All three reported it?”

“Well, Miss Cooper, not right away. Y’see, they’re all immigrants. Illegal. Two from Eastern Europe, one from China. The first two didn’t say nothin‘ at all, just refused to go back to the apartment. Bet they were afraid that they’d be deported if they said anything about it. When the last one came forward, the owner of the company asked the others who’d been to the rabbi’s apartment if they’d had any bad experience. That’s when the first two opened up.”

I addressed Patti. “Have you interviewed the women yet?”

“No. Officer Kerrigan’s going to set that up for me.”

“Good. I’ll tell Battaglia about the case when I see him this morning. When you talk to these women, make sure you find out whether you have the whole story.”

It was common for witnesses, especially those who had some reason to be apprehensive about becoming involved with the criminal justice system, to minimize their victimization. Illegal aliens feared deportation or punishment and rarely expected access to the protection of our laws. Whatever their status, they were entitled to help and to all the support services we could muster on their behalf.

“Will Patti need interpreters, officer?”

“Yeah, I’ll find out from the agency what languages they speak. Can you set it up down here?” he asked.

“Sure.” We had a list of dialects-more than fifty-for which we had per diem translators on call. It always assured a more accurate interview if we could conduct it in the language in which the witness was most comfortable.

“Schedule it for the grand jury as soon as possible, Patti. I think we can anticipate a psychiatric defense and I’ll work on it with you. Thanks for letting me know about it so quickly. If he’s got any priors, ask for some bail. And make sure these women understand we’ll take good care of them-they’ve got nothing to worry about.”

My telephone hotline, straight from Battaglia’s desk, rang and lit up as Patti and Kerrigan said good-bye.

“Got a few minutes?” Battaglia asked. “C’mon in. Bring your sidekick with you if he’s down here.”

“He wants you, too, Mikey. Let’s go.”

Rose was cheerful and happy to see us when we reached her desk. “Next time I’m down here, I’ll buy you lunch. You’re the only person in the whole office who gets better looking every year,” Mike greeted her. “All that cigar smoke must do wonders for your skin.”

“Go right in, Alex,” she said, modestly waving off Mike’s remarks as she always did. Rose had worked around cops for almost twenty years and knew exactly how much credence to give their compliments. But at least her warm reception suggested that I wasn’t facing the firing squad.

“Sit down, you two,” Battaglia said, biting on an unlit stub, as he waved us to the red leather seats facing his desk. “Just met with your boss, Chapman. I’m trying to beef up the size of my squad here. He can be tough.”

“Should I ask which side won?”

Battaglia’s lips pulled back around the cigar into a wide grin. “He’s notthat tough. I got six more detectives coming on board a month from now.

“While I was there, I asked him if we could borrow you for a few days. Guess I better ask you first.”

“Whatever you need, Mr. B.”

“My wife got a call at seven o’clock this morning. Director of the board of Mid-Manhattan, who tells her that Geoffrey Dogen called him. Geoffrey’s the ex, right? Very gung ho to help. He consults at the University of London. Had the brochure for this conference I’m supposed to go to this week and wanted to know if I’d meet with him if he shows up there. He can’t fly over here right away because he’s been in the Himalayas for almost three weeks and has some surgery scheduled.”

Battaglia hadn’t wasted a moment. He’d been plotting something since the board director’s wake-up call to his wife and it was aimed clearly at us.

“You two can save me a lot of aggravation if you go in my place. Alex can sit at the meetings and b.s. with the best of them about crime in the twenty-first century and you can get the answers to the questions you wanted me to ask Geoffrey Dogen. I can stay here-keep on the Senator’s back and make him miserable.”

“You serious?”

“Commissioner agreed to pick up your airfare. Room and board is all taken care of by the conference committee. It’s only a forty-eight-hour trip, but if you can make it work for your case, you should go.”

“I’m packed,” Chapman said enthusiastically.

“Alex’ll love it,” Battaglia went on. “They’re holding it at one of those Stately Homes, about an hour out of London. Cliveden. Heard of it?”

“Lady Astor?” I knew the American heiress Nancy Astor had become the first woman in Parliament to be seated in the House of Commons at the end of World War I, and that a decade later the “Cliveden Set” was notorious for its pro-Nazi sentiments.

Chapman had a different recollection. “John Profumo, Christine Keeler, skinny-dipping and Russian spies?”

Battaglia responded to Chapman’s reference. “I thought you were too young to know about that?”

“Profumo was Secretary of State for War. I’m a history buff, Mr. B. Some people use mnemonic devices to remember things. Me, throw a little scandal in and I’ll never forget it.”

“I think this is going to work out fine. My wife will be thrilled. Gets the board off her back and gives her time to finish the painting she’s working on.” Amy Battaglia was a talented artist whose works were in several American museums.

Battaglia shuffled through the topmost pile of papers on his desk and came up with the program for the meeting, which he passed over to me.

“You’ve met Commander Creavey, haven’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, Paul, we’ve both worked with him.” Commander John Creavey was Director of Intelligence at New Scotland Yard. A large, bearlike man with a bushy mustache, wire-rimmed glasses, a cockney accent, and an encyclopedic knowledge of the Jack the Ripper murders, Creavey had spent two weeks studying the methods of the NYPD’s Homicide Squad a year ago.

“Well, he’s leading the British contingent at the conference. The meeting will be chaired by Lord Windlethorne, an Oxford law professor. I don’t know him. He’s presenting a long paper, but the rest of it is just a series of panels and debates.”

“Creavey’s an absolutely brilliant investigator, Paul. Might even be a help to us brainstorming on this.”

“You’re on the six-fifteen American Airlines flight tomorrow evening. See if you can keep Chapman out of those pubs, Alex. Make this trip worthwhile for the case. Rose will confirm all the arrangements for you.”

Mike left the room to discuss the travel plans with Rose while I stayed behind to tell Battaglia about yesterday’s interviews on the Dogen murder and Patti’s new case.

I told Laura to go through my book and move around any appointments that were scheduled for the end of the week. “Those interviews I’ve got penciled in for Thursday and Friday need to be pushed back a few days. Neither one of them is pressing. Tell Gayle I’ll certainly be at her sentencing tomorrow morning. And would you call my friend Natalie-give her my ballet tickets for Thursday night? Tell her Kathleen Moore and Gil Boggs are dancing inManon. She’ll grab ‘em.

“If a man named Drew Renaud calls, interrupt whatever I’m doing. It’s urgent that I speak with him.”

The last thing I had expected was an expedition out of the country. The Bronx, Brooklyn, and sometimes a ride up the Hudson to Albany were as exciting as business trips usually got in a local prosecutor’s office. Mike and I were flying out Wednesday night for the two-day conference and would return home on Saturday afternoon. Between Drew’s schedule and my own, it was obvious that ours was going to be a long, slow courtship.

Laura passed a call through to Mike. It was David Mitchell calling from Maureen’s hospital room to let us know he was back and to see if we had any information for him.