Schultz looked annoyed. “That’s what I said.”

“That you’d seen her in the building on other occasions.”

“Exactly.”

“You were standing with me when the real Minerva Hunt walked into the kitchen, weren’t you?”

“In the garden, yes.”

“Did you see her?”

“I did.”

“I’m just trying to get straight which of the two women you’d seen around the building before that night. That’s all I want to know.”

“The way you came speeding up the street, I thought it was something more urgent,” Schultz said, seemingly relieved that was the reason for our visit. “I-uh-I was mistaken when I called for help. The outfit, the general physique, the bag with her initials. I couldn’t really see her face-it was such a mess-I just jumped to that conclusion. As soon as I saw that other woman talking to you, I knew I’d been wrong.”

“Very helpful, Billy. I didn’t mean to hold you up,” Mike said with a wave of his hand. “What are you growing this time of year? Pumpkins?”

“Excuse me?”

“In your garden. My lieutenant asked me to find out what’s in bloom.”

“It’s all put to bed, Detective. Come back next spring and see what we’ve got,” Schultz said, heading up the stairs.

“The big dig, Billy. Last Saturday. What was that about?”

Schultz continued on his way.

“People saw you with Tina out in the yard. You want to tell me what you were doing together?”

Schultz stopped but didn’t answer.

“Don’t be going back out there for a while, Billy. Cops are on their way to seal it up now, till we have a chance to check it out. It’s off-limits.”

The man turned to look at us, clearly displeased. “Tina asked to borrow my shovel, okay? I didn’t ask her why. I didn’t need to know. I took it down to her and talked for a minute or so. That’s her little plot. I don’t care what she does with it.”

“But you told us you hadn’t talked to her-” I said.

“Maybe I just forgot. It was such an insignificant exchange, I simply forgot.”

Mike took a step closer and put his hand on the railing of the staircase. “Easy to understand, Billy. A lot easier to understand than the fact that you left your droppings in that freaking mask you ran around in the other night.”

“What are you talking about? That’s not my mask,” Schultz said, angered. He raised his voice and his face flushed.

“The lab got your DNA sample last night, and they say it looks pretty good that you were the guy who had his mug in that contraption. You forget to tell us that, too? Why don’t we take this conversation inside, Billy. Your place or mine?”

“Don’t come any closer, Detective. Yeah, did I see the fireman-the guy who ran out of here-throw something on the ground? Sure I did. It was only two, three car lengths up the street. Yeah, I picked it up and looked at it-and maybe I did just hold it up over my face. I couldn’t figure how he could see out of it. Then I just dropped it back down. Figured your buddies would pick it up.”

“I think you’d be doing yourself a favor if you came up to the squad and sat down to go over all this a little more carefully, you know?”

“I’ll do you a bigger favor,” Schultz said, opening the vestibule door and shouting before he disappeared inside. “I’ll have my lawyer call you.”

A doorman admitted us at the entrance of the elegantly restored Gothic building on Central Park West and directed us to the concierge.

“We’re here to see Alger Herrick,” I said, taking in the opulence of the décor in the lobby. The architectural detail of the last century had been carefully preserved, but there were discreet signs pointing to an indoor lap pool and the spa.

“He’s expecting you?”

“Yes. I’m Alexandra Cooper.”

The concierge rang the apartment, and when someone answered, he announced me. “Take that elevator to your left.”

“And what floor do I press?”

“The lift only goes to Mr. Herrick’s home.”

I followed Mike into the small elevator and pressed the button that said Up. Seconds later, it came to a stop and the door opened.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Cooper. I’m Alger Herrick,” he said, extending his right hand to help me step off. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, set off against a yellow ascot that framed his long, narrow face.

Mike introduced himself as I moved onto a small balcony that hung above the main room of the apartment. It took my eyes a minute to adjust to the dim light, and then I looked around at the vaulted ceiling and the large stained-glass windows that ringed the cavernous space of the perfectly appointed room.

“I was in here years ago, but I’d never recognize the place,” Mike said, whistling softly as he moved in behind me. “This used to be the hospital’s chapel, wasn’t it?”

“Precisely, Detective. Did you know it in the old days-after the hospital closed-when these glorious rooms were filled with decay?” Alger Herrick asked. “This was indeed the chapel of St. Elizabeth of Hungary. Patron saint of the suffering.”

I felt a chill run down my spine.

“I had a rather long conversation with your colleague, Mr. McKinney, from my home in London late last week,” Herrick said. “Thursday evening, I believe.”

He led us down the winding staircase of the duplex and seated us in the living room, waiting for the butler to return with our ice water and his tea.

“Things have happened since then,” Mike said. “A woman’s been killed in the apartment Tina Barr was living in, and Barr herself has disappeared.”

“Yes, I got back to town on Sunday. Jill Gibson called yesterday, asking about Tina. Apparently she seemed to have left without a trace.”

“Were you surprised?”

“I was, Mr. Chapman. She’s been working with me for several weeks,” Herrick said, “and I thought we were getting on very well. I owe her quite a large amount of money, so I assume she’ll be in touch with me about that.”

“Do you know anything about her family, her next of kin?” I asked. “Any idea where she might have gone?”

“Her father died when she was very young. I know that. Tina spoke of her mother. I understand she lives in one of those artists’ colonies on the west coast of Mexico.”

“Would you have the mother’s name, or an address for her?”

“I’m afraid not. No reason for me to have it.”

Herrick was standing a few yards away from me, but I could barely see his face because of the lack of light in the room.

“You mind turning up the wattage?” Mike asked, also frustrated by not being able to gauge the expressions on Herrick’s face.

Herrick walked to a panel near the staircase and pushed the dimmer. The mountings on the wall, all in gilded frames, were maps-oceans and continents, familiar territories and foreign names.

“Sorry, Mr. Chapman. I’m so used to living at lamp level-that’s what we call it when you work with ancient documents-that I forget others aren’t accustomed to it. The objects in my collection, whether on parchment or vellum or paper, are better protected by low lighting. That’s why it’s so dark in here,” Herrick said. The dimness added to the solemnity of the room. “I’d only got to know Tina a little better about a month ago. We hadn’t worked out the details for her fees yet.”

“Hope you figure it out before next April,” Mike said. “She’ll have taxes to pay.”

“Frankly, Detective, Tina wanted to be paid off the books. Cash. I was quite uncomfortable with that. I gave her some money up-front, to get her going, but I hadn’t formalized our arrangement.”

The butler returned with our drinks and handed me water in a heavy crystal double-highball glass. While Mike questioned Herrick, I checked out the sumptuous fittings of the old chapel and admired the brilliant colors of the antique hand-drawn maps and charts.

“Where did you meet Tina?” Mike asked.