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public for as long as possible-something
    about which only the killer might know.
    “The sergeant,” Janet said, “the man at the desk in the station
    house. He told me the cops fished a whip out of the river. He was
    trying to calm me down, telling me he hoped it wasn't the
    killer's.”
    Mike put his hand on the doorknob and held Janet's chair as she
    stood up.
    “Be sure and look over Jimmy Dylan when you talk to him, Mr.
    Chapman. He's not what he appears to be-just a charming barkeep,”
    Janet said. “He knew all about Amber, and he did nothing to stop
    it, nothing to help her. Jimmy knows that's what people paid Amber
    to do.”
    “What do you mean?”
    "My sister's a dominatrix, Detective. She liked to hurt people-
    took pleasure in it. I'll bet if that whip had anything to do with
    Amber's murder, it belonged to her and not the killer.

FIVE
    Amber Bristol's studio apartment was on the
    third floor of a walkup building on East Ninety-first Street, near
    the corner of Lexington. The superintendent, Vargas Candera, had
    admitted us with a spare key that he said she had given him,
    reluctantly, after a kitchen blaze in one of the other units had
    forced the fire department to break down a door. He waited for us
    in the hallway.
    Janet sat downstairs in a patrol car with two officers while
    Mike and I put on plastic gloves for a first look around.
    “I'd say Amber was either a meticulous housekeeper or somebody
    else made a clean sweep around here,” Mike said, adjusting the
    dimmer to its brightest position.
    The kitchenette was to the left of the entrance door and the
    bathroom to its right. A curtain of black wooden beads separated
    the foyer from the king-size canopy bed just beyond. Mike held the
    swinging beads aside and I followed him in.
    “Early American brothel. I guess you can take the girl out of
    Idaho, but you can't take the ho out of Ida.”
    The trim on the bedstead was a simple calico pattern that
    matched the cushions on the two armchairs. A hooked rug in the same
    pastel shades covered most of the floor. The walls were decorated
    with paintings of horses and mountains in cheap wooden frames meant
    to look rustic and folksy.
    “No sheets?” I asked.
    The quilt-a modern reproduction of a classic wedding ring
    pattern-was folded neatly in the center of the bed, which had been
    stripped even of its mattress pad.
    “Maybe she was abducted on her way to the Laundromat. That's a
    route you've probably never taken, Coop.”
    “It's not only that it's been sanitized, Mike. This room is
    completely sterile. There's nothing personal on any surface.”
    “Remember, it was Amber's office. I'd hardly expect her to have
    photos of Ma and Pa on display. No pictures from the prom, no old
    boyfriends.”
    “I was counting on a computerized version of a little black
    book.”
    “You're a little late.” Mike moved one of the bedside tables.
    The lamp and window air conditioner were plugged into a surge bar
    on the floor. So was a six-foot-long cable connector that fed the
    empty cradle of a PDA.
    I looked around for a telephone and answering machine. There was
    a space on the small table, between the lamp and a decorative
    candle, and the line that fed the jack also snaked along the rug,
    attached to nothing.
    “Somebody's taken stuff out of here. Anything that could connect
    Amber to her business,” Mike said.
    He was opening drawers. First, next to the bed, where I could
    see that she kept her supply of condoms, and then her dresser.
    Underwear, sweaters, and three drawers of negligees below that.
    I pulled open the closet door. Slacks hung with skirts in a
    variety of lengths, everything black except for the blue jeans.
    Shoes were lined neatly on the floor-flats in front, backless pumps
    with high heels behind them, and six pairs of leather boots. There
    were a bunch of empty hangers and lots of large hooks affixed to
    the back of the door.
    “Nothing unusual?” Mike asked. “No sex toys? No other