The door at the other end of the corridor opened and a man emerged, pulling the leash of a black Lab that came out slowly behind him. “What’s all the banging about at this hour?”

“Sorry if we’ve disturbed you,” I said.

“Take your business inside, why don’t you?” he said, yanking on the leash again as he and his charge disappeared into the elevator.

“Call her phone, Mercer. Maybe she took something to help her sleep.”

He dialed her landline-we could hear it ringing-but she didn’t pick up after six rings, so he hung up.

“You want to try the door?”

“What are you thinking, Alex?”

“I don’t like this whole thing. I don’t want to leave her stranded from everyone who could help her. Just try it.”

People in New York’s toniest buildings, coddled by doormen and valets and concierges, often left their doors unlocked. There was a false sense of security that the high cost of rent or maintenance and the abundance of uniformed staff guaranteed in many of the city’s finest addresses.

Mercer put his hand on the shiny brass doorknob and turned it to the right. I heard it click and saw the look of surprise on his face as he pushed it open.

“Salma? Salma, it’s Mercer Wallace. I’m one of the detectives who was here today. You okay?”

The lights in the hallway were on and the living room beyond it was brightly lit.

There was no sound from anywhere in the apartment. Mercer took a couple of steps in and I followed him. He called her name out again, then extended his arm to stop me from going farther.

“Let’s back it up, Alex. You’re right. Maybe she knocked herself out with some pills and needs a good night’s sleep.”

“See the coffee table?”

The living room facing the river was glass windows from floor to ceiling on two sides. There was a striking vista of the river, with the lights of the bridges and highways glittering in the distance.

“Yeah. A bottle of red wine.”

“And two glasses. Not exactly the plan she announced to you.”

Mercer motioned to me to stay in place as he walked to the table, then returned.

“The bottle’s unopened.”

“Which way is the master bedroom?”

“Alex-”

“What if she tried to hurt herself?”

“You’re playing with dynamite here. Be ready to duck if she throws something,” Mercer said, pointing to the archway behind me. “Over there.”

I started down the narrow corridor, passing the child’s bedroom first. I peeked in and could see from the moonlight pouring through the window that the crib was empty and the room was neatly arranged.

I kept walking to the end of the hall, with Mercer on my heels.

The door was ajar and even without lamplight the tall windows fronting on the open panorama of the bright city sky revealed the emptiness of the room.

“Salma’s not here, Mercer.” My heart was racing as I tried to guess at where she might have gone and what prompted her to flee. “I’d better call Battaglia right now. Looks like Salma Zunega’s on the run.”

“The woman vanishes and you call that excellent circumstances?” Mike said. “You take Mercer on a break-in into this broad’s love nest?”

“That’s not what I said. Exigent circumstances. That’s why Mercer and I went into her apartment. Perfectly legal.” I reached over and wiped the pasta sauce off the corner of Mike’s mouth with my napkin. “Can you possibly put your fork down for a minute and get serious?”

“Giuliano,” Mike called out to Primola’s owner. “Mercer’s sticking to sparkling water but we might need to go intravenous Dewar’s on the princess here. Rapido.”

“I called the precinct and they’ve got a man stationed at both doors to the apartment,” Mercer said. “We went in the front one and there’s also a service entrance off the kitchen.”

Another feature of upscale apartments was the rear service door, so that garbage and deliveries-and the servants who managed those duties-were kept out of the carpeted common hallways.

“Kitchen? Bathrooms?”

“Not there. I didn’t go into her closets, Mike,” Mercer said. “She’s not in the apartment.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“That’s why we came back to get you,” I said, smiling at him. “CSU responds more quickly when you call.”

“Crime Scene wouldn’t come out for you?” he asked, mopping the dish with a piece of garlic bread. “I’m supposed to be perplexed by that? You still got nothing, kid.”

Adolfo, the head captain, placed a steaming hot bowl of stracciatella in front of me, serving Mercer the same hearty pasta that Mike had eaten.

“I’ve made the mistake of thinking that way before.” Just months earlier, I had delayed my follow-up on a woman who had been reluctant to report a rape. Her decision to pull away from the police investigation was a deadly one. “I called Battaglia and Commissioner Scully on the way back here. We’ve got the same dilemma. No missing persons report for forty-eight hours.”

Most police departments had a firm policy on adults who disappeared without evidence of foul play. They were presumed to have removed themselves from their homes or businesses, and no professional wild goose chases would be launched in the absence of evidence of related criminal conduct.

“You check with her sister?”

“She’s fine,” Mercer said. “Just a little surprised that Salma isn’t home. The baby’s okay too.”

“Chow down, Coop,” Mike said, clicking his martini glass against my scotch. “What did the wide-awake doorman have to say?”

“He never saw Salma leave. Swears it. One of the porters covered him for his dinner break and didn’t see her either.”

“How many doors?”

“Front and rear. And the garage. But that’s attended day and night, and nobody there saw any sign of her. Rear door gets locked at six o’clock.”

“There must have been deliveries after six,” Mike said.

I spooned the hot soup while Mercer answered all of Mike’s questions.

“Yeah. Guys come to the front door. Fitz sends them around to the rear entrance and buzzes them in.”

“Has he got a list of tonight’s action?”

“Nothing written down, but he says it was the usual. Supermarkets, florists, liquor. They were still coming till close to ten o’clock.” That was routine in a city where stores stayed open throughout the night and people were willing to pay for-and tip for-every kind of convenience to suit their busy lives.

“Fancy building like that must have a security system. They video the entrances or elevators?”

“Nothing recorded. Fitz has four monitors of the door, the basement corridors, and the laundry room. But that’s only when he remembers to watch them.”

“You think he could have missed her if she walked out the front door?”

“It’s possible,” I said. “If she had a coat on with a hood up against the cold or a scarf bundled around her I guess he could have mistaken her for someone else. Even if his back was turned for a minute. I can’t say that she didn’t walk out. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“Don’t go getting all spooky on me, Coop,” Mike said, reaching out and clasping my hand. “That last one wasn’t your fault. Just work with the facts.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do. The facts suggest Salma should be home in her bed, sound asleep. She can’t go to Leighton’s place-”

“Look, it’s still early and she’s still erratic. Who’s the man that showed up? Maybe she went to hook up with him. Maybe she’ll get to her sister’s before the night is over.”

“Please? Just do this for me tonight? I’ll owe you, Mike. Anything you want. Scully will put a team on this instead of waiting forty-eight hours if we can just give him a scintilla of evidence. Anything, Mike.”

“You heard her, Mercer. Now, how do I collect on this one? Do what, blondie?”

“Call Hal Sherman. Ask him to bring a crew to process the apartment.”

Mike stood up and downed his martini, then sucked the olive into his mouth and chewed on it. “Tell you what, let’s go over and poke around. If I find anything of interest, I’ll call CSU. But if Salma walks in on the middle of it, I’m going with your excellent circumstances legal argument. And I’m already drawing up a monster list of what you owe me.”