“Did you catch anyone looking out the windows?” I asked, jokingly.
He held out his arm, pointing at the apartment. “I swear there’s a shadow-a shadow the size of a person-framed in the window on the ninth floor, right above where Dalton lives.”
“Really?”
“Hal is going to try to enhance the shot for me. Probably not a big deal, though. There were sirens and lot of police activity by the time the Panoscan team arrived. I’ll bet half the buildings on both sides of the Park had people rubbernecking from their windows.”
“I guess so. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Just wanted you to see it from this perspective.”
When I called Mike before I left the office, he told me that Mia Schneider had arranged for us to visit Lavinia Dalton. Her nurses would admit us at two and allow us to see her briefly, if she was up to it, and to look around the apartment, especially in the room that housed the collections of silver.
We left the other cops behind, crossing the bridge and climbing the steps of Bethesda Terrace to exit the Park on 72nd Street and Central Park West.
“You okay, Coop?”
“Very okay.” My head was down, and I could feel the color rising from my neck to my forehead. “You?”
“Don’t get all sappy on me, kid. It was just a kiss.”
“Not spunky, not sappy,” I said. There were still uniformed cops everywhere along the walkways of the Park. “How long does the lieutenant think this police presence is going to last?”
“Tomorrow’s one week since the body was found. Scully’s going to pull most of the units out of here by the weekend.”
“’Cause she’s nobody?”
“Because the sight of so much blue in the green Park is off-putting to the tourist trade. The mayor wants business as usual. He gave us a week to get our killer, and we failed.”
“But Raymond Tanner’s out here somewhere.”
“Don’t whine, Coop. You know how I hate that.”
“Remind me what else it is you don’t like,” I said, waving at two policewomen I’d worked with a few months back.
“There’ll still be an undercover team working on the homicide, and with all the media Tanner’s had in the last twenty-four, I expect he’s anyplace but Central Park.”
“He likes it here. Comfort zone and all that.”
“Tanner also likes his freedom. There are lots of parks in the five boroughs,” Mike said. “Did Mercer have any luck with names from Seneca Village?”
“He called Vickee before he left my office. She had some old family papers from the church, but nothing with names on it. He’s figuring to get Verge by tonight and take it from there.”
The entrance to the Dakota was on 72nd Street, a two-story-high passageway through to the inner courtyard around which the massive building had been constructed, protected by a manned gate house. It was in front of this very spot that John Lennon was gunned down.
Mike gave his name to the guard, and we waited until he got the okay to admit us.
“To the right, please. Elevators in the far corner, to the eighth floor.”
We walked across the cobblestones, both of us dwarfed by the sheer size of the walls around us. Inside the lobby, we waited for the doors to open and deliver us to the door of the Dalton apartment.
“Good afternoon,” Mike said, extending his hand with the blue-and-gold shield in its leather case. “Mike Chapman, NYPD. This is Assistant District Attorney Alexandra Cooper.”
I said hello to the young woman, who was dressed in a traditional housemaid’s uniform, a black dress with crisply starched collar, cuffs, and apron.
“Come in, please,” she said. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Mike and I followed her through the entryway into a living room that was at least fifty feet long, with ceilings almost twenty feet high. The Oriental carpet was patterned in deep burgundy and navy blue, the sofas and club chairs were in subdued colors also, and the elegant but slightly faded décor appeared not to have been updated in several decades.
Beyond that was a formal dining room, walls painted a deep yellow and cabinets at both ends displaying sets of porcelain dinnerware and crystal wineglasses that looked fit for a king.
The next two rooms were small parlors, both facing the Park like the ones we had just come through. They were all designed enfilade, so that each time the housemaid opened the next pair of doors, the migration from one room to the next flowed naturally. You could see over your shoulder to the front door and, if all were opened at once, ahead to the end of the floor. Off to the right-the side away from the Park-was an entrance to each, which I presumed fed into a corridor that paralleled the grand spaces.
“Miss Dalton is resting in the dayroom,” the maid said. “The nurses will assist you from here.”
She pushed the two door handles and stepped back. The first person I saw was a nurse, dressed all in white, who was arranging chairs around a single bed, where Lavinia Dalton was sitting upright, another nurse beside her.
The room was lighter and more cheerful than the others, and though the day was overcast, the narrow bed was in front of a large window, positioned so that Lavinia could see the Park laid out below her.
Mike took the lead again in introducing us to the nurses, and I watched as Lavinia cocked her head and smiled at the sound of his voice. We were invited by the nurse to move closer and sit down, and the elderly woman smiled with what seemed to be delight at the arrival of visitors.
Lavinia Dalton was very well cared for, by all appearances. She still had the bones of a once-beautiful face, with light-blue eyes that sparkled as brightly as her smile. Her hair was thick and white, cut short and carefully coiffed. She was wearing a silk dressing gown and still showing off the Dalton jewels-a large diamond ring, several gold charm bracelets with discs the size of silver dollars, and sapphire studs in her ears to match the color of her eyes. Her back was supported by three pillows, and I recognized the classic design of the thousand-thread-count percale Porthault sheets that were more costly than Mike’s monthly rent.
“Miss Dalton,” Mike said, “Alexandra and I came to say hello to you.”
He had seated himself closest to her, reaching out to take her hand, capturing her attention as he did with so many women who were instantly engaged by his charm and good looks.
“Archer,” she said to him, her bracelets jangling as she clasped his hand in hers.
“No, ma’am,” the older nurse said. “This is Mr. Mike.”
“How do you do, Miss Dalton?” Mike said, beaming back at her. “You’re looking very pretty today.”
“Thank you, son. I’m so happy to see you.”
“What kind of day have you had?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You should ask the nurse.”
“You’re having a very good day, Miss Dalton. You’ve enjoyed your lunch, and now you have new friends come to visit.” The older one spoke again, while the other left the room.
“We’ve just come from Central Park,” Mike said. “That’s why we thought we’d visit you.”
“I love the Park.” Lavinia Dalton lifted her head from the pillow and looked out at the view. She had a clear shot of the western end of the Lake and the great vista overlooking the Bethesda angel. “Perhaps we should go for a walk.”
“Not this afternoon, Miss Dalton,” the nurse said. “It looks like it’s going to rain.”
“We need the rain.”
The old woman was right, but I didn’t know whether that was because she knew we’d had a dry, sunny spell or if she was just making pleasantries.
I turned my head at the sound of footsteps. A very attractive woman in her early sixties came into the room, dressed in a cardigan sweater and pleated skirt. Her long blond hair was held back off her face by a headband.
“Good afternoon, Detective, Ms. Cooper,” she said, addressing each of us. “I’m Jillian Sorenson. Mia told me that you would be coming today. I’m Miss Dalton’s secretary.”