“How did Forbes get access to all those collections?”

“He was a dealer, of course. A dealer, a scholar-so he liked to think-and a complete fraud. It’s always the inner circle, Ms. Cooper. That’s where you’ve got to look, not at the earnest young worker bees.”

“I don’t understand,” Mike said, reaching out to touch the four folio-size volumes stacked on Herrick’s desk. “How does the librarian, or the security guard, let you get out the door? You walk out of a library and nobody notices you’re carrying these great big books in their fancy leather jackets with shiny gold lettering? Maybe once you could fit one in a shopping bag, but most of these are even too large for that.”

Herrick opened the desk drawer again and removed a small object with his right hand. He rested it on the blotter and closed the finely tooled cover of his sixteenth-century copy of Cosmographia. Then he reached for an even larger black leather-bound book with gold lettering on its spine.

“No need to wince, Ms. Cooper,” Herrick said, holding up an X-Acto knife-a short, sharp blade mounted on a metal body the size of a pen. “I’m not going to cut anyone’s throat.”

With a single swipe, he ran the blade down the length of the page, separating it from the binding of the book. He rolled it up and slipped it through the cuff of his sweater.

“Don’t fret, either. This book was already disemboweled by one of the thieves before I bid on it. Here’s the rub, Detective. Steal a single page from a first folio of Shakespeare and you walk away with nothing of value. An interesting sheet of paper, perhaps, but of no value in the marketplace without the entire folio.”

Herrick held up his arms, as if in triumph for making the page disappear. “But slip just one sheet like this up your sleeve-a single map, say, from John Smith’s great atlas of Colonial America-and you walk out of the library with a ready-to-sell, largely untraceable treasure worth hundreds of thousands of dollars.”

“Much less punishing than my last encounter with the police,” Alger Herrick said as he led us up the staircase to the elevator.

I turned my head to look at Mike. “And what was that?”

“I was on my way to the country from London a few years ago, after a spectacular score I made at auction. Mercator’s atlas-1595. The first book in the history of the world to be called an atlas, in fact,” Herrick said. “My wife took me out to dinner to celebrate, and I’m afraid I should have known better than to drive.”

“Wind up in the hoosegow?” Mike asked. He dismissed my concern with a smirk.

“No incarceration, Detective. Had my license taken away for a few months, plus a hefty fine, but not as hefty as the purchase I’d just made,” Herrick said, opening the door to the elevator. “If I can be of help with any introductions, I’d be happy to do that. I’m hoping Tina will calm down and come back to work before too long.”

“We’d like very much to find her,” I said. “Thanks for your time.”

“Pleasure.”

Mike made small talk on the way down in the elevator, waiting to get away from the building’s workers before he asked me about Herrick. “I don’t know about you, but I’d still bet there’s enough grit in that guy’s upper crust that he could swing our murder weapon or just about anything else.”

“You just don’t like him because he doesn’t share your affection for Minerva.”

“We’ve got to get back on her dance card, don’t you think? Fill in some blanks.”

“Tomorrow morning when I get to the office, I’ll sit down with McKinney and stroke him. You’ve got to talk to all the Hunts-Minerva, Tally, Jasper. As long as I make Pat feel like he’s in charge, I’m sure he’ll let me go along with you. See what you can schedule.”

“Did you open a grand jury investigation on Barr today?”

“Yes,” I said. “Right before lunch. Laura’s typed up subpoenas for her cell phone records, credit card-anything to tell us if Tina’s on the move. It’s sad that she doesn’t really have a network of any kind.”

“All that freelance work-some of it in the library and a lot of it at either Jasper Hunt’s home or Herrick’s-so it wasn’t like she was in a setting where somebody would be concerned during the first day or two if she didn’t show up.”

“You think there’s any point in talking to the guys at Missing Persons again? Don’t you think it would help to get her photo out on the news?”

“Catch-22. Tina Barr’s an adult, for one thing. With no signs of foul play after she walked away from the ambulance, you got the forty-eight-hour rule,” Mike said. “Nobody’s complained that she’s missing, Coop.”

It was well known in law enforcement that the overwhelming number of adults who vanish without any indication of criminal activity do so voluntarily.

“We’re just going on forty-eight hours now. Maybe I can push Battaglia to leak her disappearance to the press. Think that’s the way to go?”

“Start making your lists of things to do, kid. We’ll find her,” Mike said, unlocking the car. “I’ll drop you off at your place.”

“You don’t have an extra ticket for tonight? Can’t sneak me in?”

He started the ignition and grinned at me. “Who squealed?”

“Vickee called. Told me Mercer snagged four seats right behind third base.” The Yankees had won two out of three games in the division playoff series and were back at the stadium tonight, looking to clinch. “I’m insanely jealous.”

“He’s invited Ned and Al,” Mike said, referring to two of my favorite detectives from the Special Victims Unit. “And I’m his date. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Then you might as well scoot me home,” I said. “It’s after four-thirty.”

“I’m psyched. Haven’t been to a game since July. We make it to the pennant, your pal Joan is going to collect on my promise. Told her last year I’d take her.”

My best girlfriends-in the office and apart from it-all adored Mike and had gotten to know him well over the years. They liked his intelligence and his humor, too, but mostly appreciated the way he covered my back in every conceivable circumstance.

Nina Baum and Joan Stafford were my two closest confidantes, lifelong buddies with whom I’d been through every triumph and tragedy. Nina, my college roommate, lived on the West Coast with her husband and son, while Joan and her husband split their time between New York and Washington, D.C.

“Joanie’s in town. I’ll be watching at her place tonight,” I said as we went through the underpass in Central Park. “She’ll never let you welsh on that one, so you’d best get on that advance ticket line at the crack of dawn. And count me in on that round.”

“Deal.”

By the time we made a rough plan about our approach to the witnesses we needed to interview, we were less than a block from my apartment.

“I’ll jump out here, Mike. I need to stop at the cash machine and pick up some groceries.”

“Call you in the morning,” he said, pulling over to the curb.

“Only if we win. If you don’t pull the Yankees through tonight, I may hand you back over to McKinney.”

He whelped at me once as he drove away, and the coven of little old ladies on the corner of the street turned to stare.

I did some errands and walked another block to my apartment, enjoying the opportunity to be at home much earlier than was usual. Neither of the doormen stepped out to greet me as I approached, but one of the porters came running from the mail room when he heard my footsteps. “Sorry, Ms. Cooper. Need a hand?”

“I’m fine, thanks. Where’s Vinny?” I said, walking to the elevator.

“He’s on meal and Oscar went home sick. I’m trying to cover, but it’s been crazy busy.”

When the elevator reached the lobby, I pressed twenty and rummaged through my tote for my keychain, replaying the information that had unfolded throughout the day.