After a half hour of stalling in traffic, Rina knew that if the men didn’t get something to eat, the car would decombust. She reached down to the bag under Oliver’s feet, took out sandwiches, and passed them around. Amid begrudging thanks, everyone ate. It wasn’t a tricky thing to pull off. With cars backed up on the highway, they were moving about five miles an hour. Ten minutes later, Rina passed around coffee with lids and cookies and napkins.

“Thank you very much, Mrs. Decker,” Schultz said. “Your cookies make it almost worth the traffic.”

“Call me Rina.”

“Thank you, Rina.”

“What can truly compete against a fine chocolate chip cookie?” McAdams said. “My nanny used to bake them. At first I just watched. Then I participated. Hence my baking skills.”

“Your nanny?” Oliver said.

“Yeah, of course I had a nanny. The wealthy don’t raise their kids.” McAdams took a sip of coffee. “Not that my mother ever worked a real job. Her days were filled with society obligations.” A pause. “She does a lot of charity work. Her largesse never extended to me. As far as jobs go, I’ve worked a few interships but it’s always been with connections. I just waltzed in ahead of everyone else. Man, I’ve worked more in the past couple of weeks than I ever have in my life.”

Oliver said, “Why’d you pick police work?”

“To spite my father.”

“And?”

“What makes you think there’s an ‘and’?”

Decker smiled. “You have a terrible game face, Harvard. If you ever decide to make policing your profession, you should work on that.”

“Let me guess,” Oliver said. “You wanted the experience to write a screenplay.”

McAdams laughed. “Am I that transparent or did you get that idea from Decker? And BTW, it started off as a novel. Later, it morphed to a screenplay. Like the Loo said, I’m kind of Hollywood.”

“And I stand by that statement,” Decker said.

“I always thought that I was kind of Hollywood,” Oliver said. “Then I met real Hollywood sharks. I’ll take criminals over them any day of the week.”

“What’s it about, McAdams?” Decker asked. “Your screenplay.”

“What do you think?”

“An art theft,” Decker said. “Under the circumstances, you might think about debuting with something that won’t get you killed.”

“I deleted everything after I was shot. It was garbage anyway. My main character was obnoxious and derivative of everything I’ve ever seen on TV or in the movies.”

“It takes time to develop,” Rina said.

McAdams smiled. “Thanks, but the truth is, I have no imagination.”

Decker braked hard. “I detest traffic. Also this kind of stop and go makes us sitting ducks.”

“I’ve got my eyes peeled out my window, sir,” Schultz said.

“Ditto,” Oliver said. “I’ve seen a lot of noses being picked, a lot of women putting on makeup, and everyone’s texting. Nothing suspicious, but my guard is still up. How much longer?”

“Maybe an hour for what should be a fifteen-minute ride.”

“Just as long as we get there in one piece,” Rina said.

“Amen to that, sister,” McAdams said.

“How are you feeling, Tyler?”

“With no horrible pain, I could probably move up to crutches very soon.”

“Don’t push it,” Oliver said. “You’ll heal faster.”

“I’m just happy to be out of the hospital and working again.” He paused. “And you honestly don’t think he took off?”

“Why would he take off?” Oliver said. “We didn’t call him. He has no idea we’re coming down.”

“But he must know he’s in trouble, right?”

“Maybe,” Decker said. “And even if he suspects he’s in the weeds, most people don’t disappear underground. People with money hire lawyers.”

“Which is why you don’t call him,” Oliver said. “No warning works to our advantage.”

Decker said, “Anyway, it’s moot right now. At this rate, we won’t make it until midnight.”

Rina yawned. “We’ll be there by seven at the latest.”

“Take a nap, Rina,” Decker said. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

“Maybe I will close my eyes for a moment. It’s been a long day.”

No one spoke for the next five minutes. Then McAdams said, “Maybe I should make my protagonist a woman.”

“Good idea,” Decker said. “Model her after my wife.”

Rina smiled. “That’s a lovely thing to say. Thank you.”

McAdams laughed. “Call me crazy but I don’t see an Orthodox Jewish woman who bakes chocolate chip cookies and makes sandwiches as a gritty crime fighter.”

“Excuse me?” Rina said from the backseat. “Cookies notwithstanding, I’ve had as much input in this case today as you have, Tyler.”

“You’re right about that,” McAdams said. “Don’t take offense, Rina. You know how I am.”

“I do. No offense taken.”

“Like I said before I have absolutely no imagination.”

CHAPTER 30

THE PREWAR BUILDING, fashioned in brick and stone, was located on the Upper East Side between Fifth and Madison: two ten-story towers with a six-story edifice connecting them. The street, framed by small, bare trees, was filled with slush, and the sidewalk and steps had been salted. Awnings and eaves dripped ice as well as ice cold water. The double glass doors were unlocked, so the three of them went inside where the temperature was warmer but still leaked cold from the doors. A uniformed man sat behind a desk off to the left side. A sign said that all visitors needed to be announced.

The doorman was about to call, but then McAdams reached over the desk from his wheelchair and put his hand over the phone. “We’re all cops. Let’s keep it low key.”

“But—”

“If anyone gets pissed, I’ll take responsibility. Seventh floor, 3A, correct?”

“Yes, but—”

“Shouldn’t there be two of you down here?” McAdams asked. “Where’s the other man on duty?”

“Karl’s taking out the trash.”

“I take it in a building this big, there’s no specific elevator man.”

“No—”

“So it’s on automatic. Great.”

“I think I should take you up.”

“Don’t bother.” McAdams wheeled up to the doors and pressed the up button.

“I’m going to call up right now.”

The elevator doors opened. “I wouldn’t if I were you. It might get you in trouble.” McAdams wheeled inside the cage with Oliver and Decker in tow and pressed the seventh-floor button. The doors closed. “Poor guy. Taking all this shit for around 40K a year.”

“That’s all they make?” Oliver said. “I thought it was unionized?”

“It is. But the cap is small. They depend on Christmas tips. Dad and Mom were always generous. I’ll say that much for them.”

“How do they live on 40K a year?”

“Well, for one thing, they don’t live in the city.”

Decker said to McAdams, “This is your baby. You do the talking about the Petroshkovich book. Keep your questions short. Don’t give away anything prematurely.”

“Got it.”

“We might talk if we think of something,” Oliver said. “Also we like to throw out questions just to keep them off balance.”

“Sure.”

Decker said, “I’ll start then nod when you should go.”

“Got it.”

“You have your pad?”

“Yep.”

Decker took out his own notebook. “Then we’re all set.”

The elevator dinged and the trio got out. The door to the apartment was already open and Lance Terry was waiting in the hallway. The kid had on a sweatshirt, jeans, and slippers. His eyes immediately went to McAdams’s wheelchair, then up to Decker and Oliver. They held the terror of uncertainty. “What’s going on?”

“Can we talk inside?” Decker said. “No sense making the neighbors curious.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The door swung all the way open. Terry took them down the hallway and into a traditionally furnished living room: hardwood parquet floors, crown molding, expensive-looking rugs, a crystal chandelier, and a roaring fire. On the coffee table in front of a jacquard silk white couch were two almost empty brandy snifters and an ashtray of butts. The throw pillows had been crushed. Terry plumped them up. “Sit wherever you want.”