“That’s just it. We need you to tell us whoshe is?”

“Back it up a step, Rocco. Whaddaya got?” Mike asked.

“Let’s use the latest one as an example. I know part of the story now ‘cause I had the guy on the phone yesterday. Call him John Doe. Businessman from Omaha, here for a sales convention. Checks in almost two weeks ago, on a Tuesday. Junior suite, reserved through Friday. Five hundred fifty bucks a night, plus some room service. Figure the whole thing should run his company about three thousand for the week, even with the best wines and biggest steaks.”

“Nice boondoggle.”

“Last night in town, he’s drinking alone in our other pub, the Bull and Bear. Picks up a girl, buys her a cocktail. Invites her upstairs for a nightcap.

“In the morning, he’s got to dash for the airport and report back to the Nebraska widget company. She’s bathing in the afterglow, spread out on top of the bedsheets like she really had a good time. She’s sipping on a mimosa from the breakfast tray. ‘Mind if I stay an hour or so, take a bath before I leave?’”

“John’s not a bad guy, right?”

“Not a mean bone in his body, Chapman. Tells her she just has to be out of the room by noon, and gives those breasts one more squeeze on his way out the door.”

“What’s your problem?”

“That was Friday morning. ‘Mrs. Doe’ waits for him to scat. She calls the front desk and tells my receptionist that they’re having such a ball they’ve decided to stay on for another week.”

“That works?”

“Hey, he’s got the room on his AmEx card. The front desk calls up the credit card company, which says the corporation is good for it. And lovely Mrs. Doe is in business. You start with the five-fifty-a-night suite rate. You add a week’s worth of room service-champagne morning, noon, and night, shrimp cocktail and filet mignon for dinner. Make that dinner for two, whoever the lucky guy may be. Make some charges at the shops on the concourse level, everything from clothing to a gold watch, all billed to the room. And then you walk out the door a week later.”

“And Mr. Doe?”

“Opens his American Express bill at his office yesterday and almost had a stroke. Instead of three thousand dollars in charges that the company expected, he’s got a bill close to thirty thousand. He calls our accounting office, and they tell him Mrs. Doe authorized the payments.”

“Only Mrs. Doe never left Omaha.”

“How could she? Three little Does, a whole bunch of PTA meetings and soccer games.”

“So he can’t cry to her, and he can’t cry to his boss. So he calls the Waldorf to complain.”

“Yeah, and it wasn’t until his fourth attempt at a story that he got close to the truth. Someone stole his room key, must have lost his credit card, maybe it was the maid. He tried all that crap first. But this one was recent enough that when I went back to the bartender to see if there was anything he remembered from that final night’s bar bill, he actually recalled watching the pickup. Mr. Doe had been there for the last call, chatting up the barkeep about the Cornhuskers’ prospects for next season, till the girl came in. She worked fast, and the guy’s hands were all over her within ten minutes.”

“How’d you put it together?”

“Thanks to Miss Cooper, here. She and her little friend did that for me.”

I looked at Mike and shrugged my shoulders.

“I pulled the last two cases we had like this. One guy from Kansas City and another from Austin. Both got beat for thirty large. There’s only one common denominator. On each of the bills, the girl calls your number, Miss Cooper. Sometimes three, four calls a night. Checked with the phone company and they said it was an extension at the DA’s office. Spoke with the head of the division-this guy McKinney-and he told me it must be one of your crazy pals. You want to straighten this out for me?”

He passed the telephone records to me and I broke into a wide grin. “Crazy, yes. My pal, no. Mike,” I said, “this is Shirley Denzig, the woman who’s been stalking me since last winter.”

“You serious? How can you tell?”

“Because she called again last week. Leaving messages in the middle of the night. The squad’s doing a dump on my phone. They should have results tomorrow but this beats them to it.” I pointed at the times of her outgoing calls, which corresponded with the messages that had been left on my office voice mail. “All they thought they had on her was a harassment case. Looks like there’ll be a grand larceny charge, too. Three of them.”

“You know where we can find her?” Rocco asked.

“That’s been our problem. She must have come up with this scam because she needed a place to live. She was evicted from her apartment and that’s why we couldn’t find her to lock her up during the winter. What’s she had, three weeks under your roof in the past few months? You checked with any of the other hotels to see if they’ve been hit? It’s pretty clever. She probably goes from joint to joint doing the same thing. One night as a hooker and then she lives like a queen for a week.”

“Is she that unstable?”

“Rocco, she’s not only psycho, but she’s been known to carry a gun, too.”

“Don’t go public with that,” I said jokingly to Mike. “McKinney’ll put Ellen Gunsher and her new firearms unit on my case.”

Shirley Denzig had been stalking me for more than half a year. She had stolen a gun from her father’s home in Baltimore, and become unhinged enough that we feared that she might use it.

“You got a file on her?”

“Sure.” I gave Rocco the number for the DA’s squad detectives who were working on the case. They would be happy for the wealth of information the Waldorf files would add to what they knew about Denzig’s recent whereabouts. “May I ask, why didn’t you just call me yourself, instead of going over my head?”

“It never occurred to me. She was phoning you so often I figured you must have been a good friend of hers. The only one she’s got. Why would I think she might be annoying you?”

This morning’s call from Rocco would give McKinney one more reason to think that I was drowning in my own overload. I could either go down to the office and take the time to explain the story to him or get on with the day as planned. “Shall we get over to the museum, Mike?”

We walked out onto Park Avenue and back to Mike’s car. “There’s probably a reason you didn’t tell me Mad Shirl was back in your life again. I’d like to know what that is.”

“Look, I called the squad. They’ll get it done. It’s not like she’s back after me, out on the street. You always overreact to situations like that.”

“Like a woman who’s walking around with a gun, thinks you’re the devil, knows where you work and where you live, and you don’t have a clue about how to find her? Damn right I want to know about it. Anything in that set of facts you don’t understand?”

“Sorry. I’ll keep you up to speed.” I glanced at my watch. “So we’re supposed to have most of the people who were working on the big exhibition gathered at Natural History. We’re a bit late, so they should all be assembled by now.”

“They opening up just for us?”

“Nope. The only two days the museum closes are Thanksgiving and Christmas. Who do you want to start with? Any ideas?”

“We’re gonna go with the group approach first. See some of the dynamic between the-”

“Among them.”

“That little grammatical dictator can’t ever shut off, huh? You’re just pissed off ‘cause the group meeting left you with such a bad headache last time we tried it.” He grinned at me, and I remembered our interrogation up at King’s College last December.

We parked and made our way past the entrance guards, who recognized us now, and called down to the basement, where the meeting was to be held. A student led us through the maze of corridors and staircases, down past the signs that readTHE BESTIARY and into a makeshift conference room in which the mostly familiar faces were talking over their coffee.