"No question about it. Winning an award usually keeps a show running or fills up the house by introducing a new audience, so it's got to help the producer. We can always get someone to give us more info about the business side of the theater world."

Almost everything I could see on the top of the desk had something to do with show business. There was nothing with Galinova's name on it and very little that seemed to relate to Berk's personal life.

Mike stood in the threshold of the room and called over to me. "Check this out."

Past the door of the bathroom there was another enormous dark room, with a staircase leading up to the second floor of the duplex, where a balcony ringed the entire perimeter. The two-story height was capped with a stained-glass dome. Around the sides of the room were niches, all filled with Napoleonic memorabilia.

I joined Mike and we circled the floor, looking at the brass labels on the displays. In one corner was a statue of the Little Corporal himself, while other cases held his swords, his campaign maps, and even his underwear. A burgundy leather chaise longue with the emperor's initials was in the center of the room, and built into the walls were bookcases that housed what looked to be a library of theatrical works.

Mike started up the winding oak staircase and halfway to the top, signaled me to join him. "I think I've found the old boy's boudoir."

At the top of the stairs was a foyer that led into a large bedroom. The king-size bed was made up with a plush set of linens, Berk's monogram sewn into some kind of Crest on the spread and pillow shams.

On the far wall was a display with four television monitors, similar to the ones that cued the stage director at the Met, but bigger. Mike parked himself on the side of the bed and picked up the master remote control, clicking on the first screen. He changed the channels until he found the Yankees game.

"Look, this is a waste of time," I said, switching on the small lamp on the bedside table, looking for any notes or photographs.

"Tied up at two all against the Sox in the bottom of the twelfth? One out, Jeter just stole second, and you're in some kind of a rush? You got something better to do than this?"

He left the set on and clicked the next monitor. The image came up but there was no movement on it, and Mike couldn't seem to change the channel from the fixed camera view that was focused on a white-tiled wall. He moved the remote to the third set and got a similar shot. It looked like the same room from a differentangle. Neither of us was surprised that the fourth set displayed a background setting much like the two others.

"What do you think we've got here? Think these are his theater properties?"

I stepped closer to the screens and kneeled in front of them. "If they are, we're not looking at the stage or the orchestra."

Mike walked over and leaned in against my shoulder. "What do you see?"

"This one looks like-well, like it's in some kind of dressing room, doesn't it?" I pointed at a mirrored wall opposite a sink, with a clothes rack that had a dress and a woman's blouse hanging from it. "And this one's a bathroom. You can see right into the shower. There's some mosaic design in the background. Looks like flowers-maybe tulips. Same for the last one."

"That old bastard was sitting up here watching the showgirls undress," Mike said, breaking out into one of his classic grins. "What a frigging racket this is. Perfect business for an old pervert."

Suddenly, there was a loud creaking noise that seemed to come from behind a doorway in the wall next to the bed. It startled me and I grabbed for Mike's arm.

"What's that?" I asked, anxious to get out of Berk's apartment before anyone found us here without any legitimate business to do. "Seems like it's coming from the closet."

The grinding sound of elevator cables stopped and the door opened into the room. The young woman who stepped out of the narrow space hissed her words into my face.

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing here?"

"I'm Mike Chapman. NYPD. This is Alexandra Cooper. Are you a- um-related to Joe Berk?"

"Was I? Yes. Mona Berk. Joe was my uncle."

"I'm sorry about your loss, about his death-"

"I'll pass along your condolences to the rest of the family. You waiting for the cartoons to come on or what?"

She positioned herself next to Mike, in front of the bank of monitors.

"Maybe you can help tell us what we're looking at. Could it be he's got cameras concealed in bathrooms or a dressing room in one of the theaters your family owns?"

"That wouldn't surprise me. Joe Berk was a pig."

She took the remote from Mike's hand and clicked off the sets. "I have no idea where those cameras are installed, and I still don't understand why you two are here," Mona said, turning away from the screen and batting her long black eyelashes at Mike.

"Routine. We were talking to your uncle yesterday about an investigation. He apparently had my business card in his pocket so the cops on the scene called me after they put him in the ambulance and the EMTs took him away. Ms. Cooper and I came up here to see if we could find any next-of-kin information so we could make the proper notifications."

"Consider me notified."

"I was wondering, actually, how you got the news so quickly."

"My cousin was with his father when it happened. He called some of us. Briggs and I are very close."

"Briggs?"

"Briggs Berk. Joe's son."

"Where is he now?"

"At the hospital, I guess, dealing with Joe's affairs-the funeral home and all that. I didn't really expect to hear from him after the first call. Anything else I can help you with tonight?" Mona asked, walking in the direction of the staircase as though hoping we would follow.

"I'm afraid we can't leave until we have some more information," Mike said. "I'll have to complete all the paperwork for the medical examiner's office."

She smiled at him. "Routine?"

"That's why they sent me here, Ms. Berk. Would you give me your cousin's address and phone number, date of birth if you know it? I take it he was a witness to the accident."

"Briggs is two years younger than I am. I guess that made him twenty-six last November," she said, telling him the rest of the information he asked for.

Mike held up the apartment key that the rookie had handed him on our way in. "How'd you get in, Ms. Berk? We've got your cousin's key, and we used it to come in through the front elevator. What's your secret?"

Mike obviously didn't think the young woman had any more authority to be in her uncle's apartment than we did and was holding his ground rather than leave the place to some other family interloper.

Mona Berk leaned against the stair railing, "What do you know about David Belasco?"

"Never heard of him," Mike said.

She held up her arms and waved around the open space. "This is his home, detective. Belasco lived in it till he died. My uncle and his oversized ego moved right in. Room to spare for his Napeolonic complex, as you can see."

"Who's Belasco?"

"One of the great figures in the history of the American theater, but I guess you didn't know that. He acted a bit and wrote some plays, rode bareback in the circus, peddled patent medicine that his mother cooked up in her own kitchen. He was entirely self-made, and he went on to become one of the most prolific producers of his day. Flamboyant? Belasco was outrageous. He's been dead since 1931. Uncle Joe kind of saw himself as the second corning."

"How do you mean?"

"Belasco built this theater in 1907-the second-oldest one in mid-town Manhattan. It's a jewel of an auditorium, meant to be very intimate. Only four hundred and fifty seats in the orchestra, another five fifty upstairs. Designed by the same architect who built the Apollo."