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she’d ever seen. Until now, Kim had suspected a “paperless office” was akin to a golden unicorn. Everybody talked about such a beast, but nobody had ever laid eyes on one.
    So Dixon was a neat freak of the highest order, too.
    In the kitchen once more, Kim opened the big side-by-side refrigerator. The middle shelf held two cartons of Greek yogurt, two weeks out of date, a six-pack of still water and two large bottles of nice champagne. Otherwise, the refrigerator was as perfectly empty as the day it had been installed.
    Quickly, Kim opened cabinet doors and closed them again. She moved through the remaining rooms opening every storage spot she found. She finished, returned the smartphone to her pocket, and joined Gaspar. Her entire apartment search lasted maybe ten minutes, max.
    “No blood, no body, no sign of foul play, as they say in the old detective movies,” Kim said as she approached him. “Looks like O’Donnell’s killer failed to add Dixon to his resume.”
    Gaspar continued staring out the window as if he could see answers on the enormous glass windows like words projected on a teleprompter. “Or he did the deed elsewhere.”
    Kim’s stomach growled, reminding her that she’d had nothing to eat since the miniscule hotel breakfast hours ago. Gaspar must have heard, too, because he turned and said, “How about a cup of clam chowder? We’re not too far from the Oyster Bar at Grand Central. We can talk there, too.”
    They let themselves out and rode the elevator to the lobby, where they found Colonel H. Silver, US Army, ret., occupied with another visitor. He barely waved when they walked past him out to the street.
    “Next time, I’ll input the code to open Dixon’s front door,” Kim said.
    Gaspar grinned, turned up the collar on his overcoat, and moved off the curb to hail a taxi.
    Traffic was busier now and the weather was worse. Every cab that passed was occupied. Kim ducked further into her upturned collar, stuffed her hands deep into her overcoat’s pockets, moved from foot to foot to keep as warm as possible, and glanced at the surrounding buildings while she waited.
    Street vendors had closed up for the day, if they’d ever opened. Parked cars lined the curbs. Pedestrians hurried along, shuffling across the slippery sidewalk, heads bent against razor-sharp sleet that slashed facial skin left unprotected for more than a brief moment.
    As alert as she could be with cold wind gusting sleet into her watering eyes, Kim thought she recognized one pedestrian moving toward her.
    She blinked away the ice forming on her lashes. She wasn’t sure. Could it be the same messenger who had passed them twice inside Dixon’s building?
    He seemed to recognize her, too, because he turned away from Kim, hugging closely to the building, and headed back the way he’d come.
    Gaspar continued attempting to flag a taxi. Kim called to him, but he’d stepped further into the street and didn’t seem to hear over the noise of afternoon traffic. The messenger was farther down the block. Soon, he’d be too far ahead. She gave up on capturing Gaspar’s attention and slid her feet along the sidewalk toward the messenger. He glanced back, saw her following, and shuffled faster. His foot slipped on the pavement. He grabbed for the building to steady himself, and kept moving. Kim slid along toward him with her hand also riding the building’s exterior for balance.
    Glancing back, Kim was glad to see that Gaspar had either heard her call or simply checked and followed. Not that he was making much progress, slide-stepping along the sidewalk with his injured leg.
    Returning her attention to the messenger just in time to see him duck into a crevice between two buildings, Kim reached inside her coat, located her gun, and moved into the grim slice of alley after him.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Thursday, November 11
    3:35 p.m.
    New York City
     
    The sleet-slickened pavement along the dim alley was cracked and marred by potholes,