“We’re on the same wavelength here, aren’t we? You want to take the body back to our medical examiner’s office, right?” I asked.

“No better place. Why risk this anywhere else? You worried about a little legal technicality like jurisdiction?” Mike beamed his best grin at me. “I’m the beauty of this operation. You’re the brains. Figure out how to get us there, blondie.”

“Ignore the fact that we’re standing in the middle of a shipyard in Newark, New Jersey. Battaglia always says he’s got global jurisdiction.” The district attorney, Paul Battaglia, was a genius at capturing cases well beyond the borders of New York County. He had gone after international banking cartels when every other prosecutor in America had ignored them, recovering millions of dollars in restitution and fines from financial institutions worldwide. He liked creative lawyering.

“It’s a beautifully clear spring night and I can practically touch Manhattan island from here. Strawberry Fields, roses in Spanish Harlem, the great white lights of Broadway…we’re just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Doesn’t that count?”

“Don’t expect to see that reasoning in my brief for the court.”

“I’m ready to tell the truck driver to rev up his engines. You got the balls to do this?”

I retrieved my cell phone from the car and dialed my secretary’s number, reaching her voice mail to leave a message for the morning. “Hey, Laura, it’s Alex. As soon as you get in and pick this up, would you Xerox a few copies of the Criminal Procedure Law, section 20.40, on geographical jurisdiction? I’ll need to have one set ready for Battaglia and me, and another set for McKinney.”

“Cleo was never actually in the state of Jersey, right? Never left the back of the truck. Never made landfall.”

“And the truck is a common carrier, Mr. Chapman. If we’ve got a homicide, it can be prosecuted in any county in which the carrier passed during the trip. We don’t know how long our victim has been dead, do we?”

“Well, I could make an educated-”

“I’m begging you not to do that. Right now I’m still operating in good faith that she may have died on Tenth Avenue, on her approach to the Lincoln Tunnel, or before she got on the entrance ramp to the George Washington Bridge. Either way, it establishes jurisdiction for us. By the time a forensic pathologist states an accurate time of death, I’ll be more likely to know exactly where she was when she was killed, which may not be something I want to hear this very minute.”

“And she’ll be more likely to have a professional autopsy and a shot at a successful prosecution if we get her home. Let’s get the truck back on the road and explain all this to the medical examiner. I’ll be in your office in the morning, after you break the news to Battaglia. Have Thibodaux get you home safe and sound.”

“Will you guys ride shotgun behind the truck?” I asked Mike. “I’m about to hijack my first corpse.”

I slipped my key in the lock, opened my apartment door, and went to the kitchen without turning on the overhead light. I held a glass against the edge of the automatic ice maker and let four or five cubes drop into it. The decanter on the bar had been refilled by my housekeeper, and I listened as the Dewar’s I poured crackled over the frozen pieces and floated them to the top. The glass cooled my hand, and I held it pressed against my forehead for several seconds before I took my first sip.

Walking to the bathroom, I removed my watch and set it on the dressing table. It was almost 2A.M., and I had to be at my desk before eight, ready to meet with a detective who needed help with a complaining witness whose story about a sexual assault did not make sense. I took off my wrinkled suit and draped it over the back of the chair. It was unlikely I’d ever want to see it again after it was returned from the dry cleaner; it might be headed to the thrift shop. I was sure I could never wear it without thinking of the body in the coffin in the back of the truck.

I turned the water on and waited until steam filled the room, clouding the mirror so I didn’t have to look at my own reflection. I was too tired to deal with that. The circles under my eyes had as many rings as the oldest redwoods in the forests. I opened the cabinet to find some kind of bath oil that would have a calming effect. I pushed aside the rosemary and lavender to read the label on the chamomile. Nina Baum and Joan Stafford, my closest friends, would know exactly what to use. My luck, I’d slather myself with something invigorating rather than soothing.

I showered and washed my hair, then toweled it dry as I carried my drink into the bedroom. The alarm was already set for six-thirty, so I folded back the soft cotton sheet and settled onto the bed, relishing the comfort of the cool, dark room.

A hand stroked my thigh beneath the covers. I turned my head and saw Jake’s dark hair against the pale yellow bedding. “Smooth marble finish, perfectly sculpted. Must be the Venus de Milo.”

I rolled over and caressed his head, kissing him on the ear. “Wrong museum, wrong continent, wrong broad. This one’s got arms.” I ran my hand along the length of his spine.

He started to sit up and turn on the light.

“Please don’t. The light, I mean. I’m just trying to wind down for a few minutes. This is a nice surprise.” I continued to rub his thigh.

We had tried living together at his place for a few weeks around the New Year, but I had found it too difficult to give up my independence. I was in love with Jake, but not ready to make a permanent commitment while we both had such strong professional pulls. His job took him out of town for long and erratic periods of time, and mine required an intensity of focus that made it hard to be available when he was between assignments. I did not need the artificial compromise of one apartment to stay faithful to him.

Jake turned onto his side and crossed his leg on top of mine. He put his hand on my chin, turning my face to his and kissing my mouth, over and over again until I responded to him. I rested my head on the pillow and he played with the ringlets that were forming around my face, first with his fingers and then with his lips.

“When you didn’t call within the hour, Nina and I figured that the message she heard delivered to Thibodaux at the party was right. There’s a dead girl?”

I nodded my head, sat up, and reached for the scotch.

“Somewhere downtown, Nina said.”

“Newark, actually. Mike’s got her over at the ME’s office now. We’ll have a better idea of the whole thing tomorrow. I’m just wired from being out there at the shipyard. You’re supposed to be calming me down and taking my mind off my work. Isn’t that why you’re here?” I slid down lower on the bed and wrapped Jake in an embrace.

“I’m mostly here so you didn’t worry all night about me being seduced by the old dame dripping in sapphires. She doubled back for me the minute you left. Ruth Gerst’s her name.”

“Is she really a trustee of the Met?”

“Most definitely. Toying with giving them her late husband’s entire collection of Greek and Roman sculpture. Wants me to come up to her country house in Greenwich and see it sometime.”

“Where was Nina when I needed her?”

“Quentin was making her crazy. He was furious that Thibodaux didn’t do the big fireworks finale. Quentin had apparently sold a highlights special to one of the cable networks and now he’s got no grand ending to deliver. Nina and I finally rescued each other, had a lovely dinner, and I managed to cross-examine her mercilessly about all the crazy things you two used to do together. I dropped her off at the Regency.”

“At least she gets to sleep late and have room service in the morning. No such luck for us.”

“I wasn’t sure that you’d be happy that I let myself in. I know your stalker hasn’t been heard from in a couple of months, but I didn’t think this was the night to experiment with letting you come home alone.”