He grabbed hold of the kitchen counter, hoisted himself to his feet, and turned off the gas jet. Slowly, the scream died. He groped his way back toward the kitchen door, holding on to the counter, and felt again for the light switch. This time he found it and turned it on.

He looked at his hands, dumbfounded. They were covered in red paint. Slowly, still holding on to keep from slipping, he turned and looked back into the kitchen. The paint was everywhere, but it wasn’t paint.

Susan Bean lay on her back next to the wall, staring at the ceiling. Her throat gaped open. He made himself move toward her, knelt at her side, and felt her wrist for a pulse. Nothing. There was no point it trying CPR, he realized. Close up, he could see that she had been very nearly decapitated.

Stone got shakily to his feet, holding on to whatever he could for support. He made it to the kitchen phone, picked it up, and started to call Dino’s cell phone, then he stopped.

“No,” he said aloud. He dialed 911.

“What is your emergency?” a woman’s voice said.

“Is the tape rolling?” he asked.

“You’re being recorded, sir; what is your emergency?”

“My name is Stone Barrington; I’m a retired police officer. I’ve got a homicide in the top-floor apartment at…” He looked around for something, found a gas bill, and gave her the address. “White female, age thirty-two, name of Susan Bean. I need homicide detectives and the coroner.”

“I’ve got it, Mr. Barrington.”

“Oh… tell the squad car that the perpetrator is probably a lone male, on foot, and that he’s probably still in the neighborhood.”

“Got it. They’re on their way.”

Stone hung up and dialed Dino’s cell phone.

“Bacchetti,” Dino’s voice said. There was party noise in the background.

“It’s Stone; I’m sitting on a homicide about three blocks from the party.” He read the address off the gas bill again.

“Have you called nine-one-one?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“I think the perp was in the building when I got here, and I’ll bet he’s still in the neighborhood.”

“I’ll keep an eye out. Don’t start working the scene, Stone; let my people do that.”

“Right.”

“I’m on my way.”

Stone hung up, sat on a chair at the dining table, and tried not to think about what was in the next room. He was badly shaken. He’d seen a lot of dead bodies in his years as a homicide detective, but never one that had just kissed him.

TWO DETECTIVES ARRIVED FIRST. STONE let them in and pointed at the kitchen. “She’s in there,” he said, then sat down at the dining table again. They went into the kitchen, then came right out again. One was a big guy, six-three or -four; the other was much shorter, stocky, florid-faced.

“Stand up,” the shorter one said to Stone.

“What?”

“Stand up!”

Stone stood up.

The shorter cop swung a right and caught Stone under the ear.

Stone spun to his right and fell onto the tabletop. Before he could move both cops were on him, handcuffing him. “What the hell are you doing?” Stone demanded.

They sat him back in the chair, and the short cop hit him again. “Murdering bastard!” the cop said, and then his larger partner restrained him.

“Easy, Mick,” the bigger man said. “You’ll mark him, and we don’t want that.”

Stone sat still, saying nothing.

“Why’d you kill her?” the short one demanded.

“I didn’t kill her; I found her as she is,” Stone said.

“Then why is her blood all over you?” he said, raising his fist again.

The bigger detective caught his wrist. “Mick,” he said quietly, “don’t make me cuff you.”

The smaller cop shot him a murderous glance. “Just try it,” he said.

“Stand away from him,” the bigger man said.

Reluctantly, the short cop backed away.

“Sorry about that, sir,” the large cop said. “I’m Detective Anderson, and this is Detective Kelly.” He took out a notebook. “What is your name?”

“Stone Barrington.”

Anderson looked up from his notebook and paused for a moment. “You want to tell me what happened here, Mr. Barrington?”

“I went out for Chinese food; I came back and found her as she is. I slipped on the kitchen floor and fell, that’s why I’m bloody. I called nine-one-one.”

“Lying fuck!” Kelly said, and started toward Stone again.

Anderson put a hand on his chest and pushed him against the wall. “I’m not going to tell you again, Mick.”

There was a loud hammering on the door.

“Get that,” Anderson said to his partner, shoving him toward the door.

Kelly yanked open the door and Dino Bacchetti walked in. He looked around. “Where’s the corpse?” he asked.

“In there, Lieutenant,” Kelly said, jerking a thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

“Stone, are you okay?” Dino asked.

“I’m cuffed,” Stone replied.

“Kelly, get the cuffs off that man,” Dino said.

“But Lieutenant…”

“Do it.”

Kelly dug out his keys and took the handcuffs off.

Stone stood up, rubbing his wrists; then he hit Kelly squarely in the nose, sending him sprawling.

“All right,” Dino said, “everybody calm down.” Kelly was scrambling to his feet, blood streaming from his nose, heading for Stone. Dino hit him in the forehead with his open palm, knocking him down again. “I said calm down.” Kelly got up more slowly this time. Dino turned to Anderson. “Did you see any of that, Andy?”

“See what?” Anderson asked.

Dino walked over to Stone and examined his jaw. “You okay?”

“I’m okay now,” Stone said.

“You’re covered in blood; any of it yours?”

“No.”

“All right, everybody take a seat, and let’s find out what happened.”

The four men sat down at the table.

Kelly dabbed a handkerchief at the blood on his face. “I think he broke my fucking nose,” he said to nobody in particular.

“Good,” Stone said.

“Andy,” Dino said.

Anderson placed his notebook on the table. “Let’s start again,” he said. “Can I have your address, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone gave him his address, then began at the beginning, at Martin Brougham’s party, and brought everybody up-to-date. While he was talking, two uniformed cops arrived, along with two EMTs and somebody from the medical examiner’s office.

Anderson reached over to the bag of Chinese food, ripped off the check stapled to the bag, and handed it to a uniform. “Go over to this restaurant, find out who ordered this food and when, who picked it up and when, and get a description,” he said.

The cop left with the check.

Stone resumed his story.

Anderson waited for Stone to finish. “Is that it?” he asked.

“One other thing: I think the perp was still in the building when I got back with the food.”

“Why do you think that?”

“When I rang for the elevator, it was on the top floor, and this is the only apartment on twelve. The elevator moved down to six, stopped, then continued to the ground floor. Where was it when you got here?”

“On the ground floor,” Anderson said.

“Then, unless another tenant or a visitor used the elevator between the time I got to this floor and the time you arrived, the perp waited on six until the car stopped up here and I got out, then he rang for it again and rode it down to the ground floor.”

“Pretty cool,” Dino said.

“Yes, pretty cool,” Stone agreed.

The uniformed cop returned. “A Miss Bean ordered the food by phone; the time is written on the check, right here,” he said, placing the check on the table. “A man arrived to pick up the food half an hour later, waited five minutes, paid for it, and left. He was over six feet, blond hair, medium to heavy build, dressed in a raincoat.”

Anderson looked at the check and did some mental calculating. “That checks with your story, Mr. Barrington,” he said.