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giving the messenger’s feet purchase where he’d had none on the sidewalk. He’d entered the alley and put on speed. By the time Kim reached the alley, his lead had grown enough to place him almost half a block ahead. Knowledge of the gloomy terrain provided him a second advantage.
    Twice she yelled, “Stop! FBI!” He didn’t hear or he ignored her and she didn’t know which and it didn’t matter. She chased him, but his longer stride and head start proved decisive. As he reached a lightless stretch in the alley ahead, he slipped out of sight and never reappeared.
    Kim reached the spot a few moments later and stood searching fruitlessly for the messenger’s escape route until Gaspar caught up with her.
    “What the hell were you chasing him for?” Gaspar said, both annoyed and breathless. He’d fallen on the ice at least once because the entire right side of his trousers and overcoat were covered in alley slime. He bent over and slapped at his clothes, attempting to knock some of the ruin off, but the effort was not productive.
    “Why the hell was he running from me?” Kim replied, anger bubbling over. “Come on.” She turned sharply, stuffed her gun back into its holster, and stomped carefully back the way she’d come.
    “Where are you going now?” Gaspar called to her back.
    “To ask your buddy Silver the right questions this time,” she snapped. After a moment, she heard his careful footsteps following behind.
    She retraced her path in the alley quickly enough, but when she reached the corner and stepped onto the icy sidewalk her leather-soled shoe slipped and she fell, hard, against the wall. She leaned her shoulder against the building and pressed it there as she covered the remaining distance lest her clothes end up in worse shape than Gaspar’s.
    By the time they reached Dixon’s building entrance, unrelenting grey skies had turned the late afternoon to early evening. Sleet continued to pelt the few visible travelers. Pedestrians were scarce. Perhaps the usual mob of city dwellers had taken the subway or managed to hail cabs. The result was eerie, as if the city were abandoned.
    Dixon’s building lobby featured dim interior lighting that cast shadows into corners, which was okay because Gaspar’s filthy overcoat would be less noticeable in the gloom. Kim pulled the heavy door’s handle and Colonel H. Silver looked up from whatever he’d been doing, probably because an electronic noise or light or some alert happened at his desk when the door opened. No one else was in the lobby and this time Silver wasn’t talking on the phone. He focused full attention on them.
    Kim approached the desk, pulled out her badge wallet and showed its glinting gold. “FBI Special Agent Otto,” she said. “You’ve met my partner, Special Agent Gaspar.” She inclined her head in Gaspar’s direction.
    If Silver was surprised to hear her official identification, he didn’t show it. “How can I help you, Agent Otto?”
    “When we were here earlier, a messenger from Reliable went up to the penthouse floor. What was he doing here?”
    Not many gatekeepers in Manhattan jousted with anything the FBI requested these days and Silver was no rogue. “ Reliable comes in several times a day.”
    “Do you have that particular messenger’s name and his contact number?”
    Silver clicked a few keys on his keyboard. “Regular visitors register the first time they come in. I’m sure we’ve got him in the system. I need to find his first visit.”
    “Who on the penthouse floor uses Reliable ?”
    Silver continued to check his computer, “Ms. Dixon, usually. Could be others. Reliable is one of the more common services in this area.”
    “Ms. Dixon has been traveling for three weeks, you said,” Gaspar reminded him.
    “Right.” Silver didn’t look up. “But she gets deliveries when she’s gone, too.”
    Gaspar’s gaze met Kim’s, his right eyebrow raised. She nodded, asked, “So the messenger service enters