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called from the corner.”
    “You didn’t touch anything in the apartment?”
    “Are you kidding? I got out of there fast.”
    “You didn’t touch the body?”
    Sheila looked at him in surprise. “God, no. Why would I do that?”
    Dirkson shrugged. “I don’t know. Feel for a pulse? See if he was dead?”
    “Oh. I see.” Sheila considered this. “That’s funny. I never thought of it. I just assumed he was dead. I mean, he looked dead, you know.” A thought struck her. “Was he alive? I mean then?”
    “He was dead when the police got there,” Dirkson said. “That’s the best we can do.”
    “You mean he might have been alive when I found him, and then died? Oh.”
    “And you have no idea who he was?”
    “No. Who was he?”
    Dirkson shook his head. “We don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “No. He had no identification on him.”
    “Oh. Isn’t that a little strange?”
    “Yes, it is. But he had nothing in his pockets.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Nothing at all.”
    “Oh.”
    Farron stole a glance at Dirkson. Nothing but the key, he thought. He saw the way Dirkson’s mind was running.
    “You have any idea how this man got into your apartment?” Dirkson asked.
    “No, I don’t.”
    “You keep your apartment locked?”
    She gave him a look. “In New York City? Of course I do.”
    “Then how could he have gotten in?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “Anyone else have a key to your apartment?” Dirkson asked casually.
    Sheila’s eyes flickered. Johnny had a key. But that was none of their business.
    “No,” she said.
    Dirkson caught it again. But he didn’t press the point. He just made a mental note to find out to whom she’d given a key.
    “All right,” he said. “Let’s get back to the letter. Can you think of any reason why this man would have sent you the letter?”
    “I can’t think of any reason why anyone would have sent me that letter.”
    The phone rang. Dirkson picked it up, listened and said, “Okay. Thanks. Send in Tucker.”
    He hung up the phone and turned back to Sheila. “All right, Miss Benton. That’s all for now. I may need to talk to you again later. The police are finished with your apartment.”
    Sergeant Tucker entered. Dirkson came around his desk, helped Sheila to her feet and gestured to Sergeant Tucker.
    “Now,” Dirkson said, “if you’ll just let Sergeant Tucker take your fingerprints, you’re free to go.”
    Sheila paled. “My fingerprints ...”
    “Well, now,” Dirkson said, suavely. “We’ve taken a lot of fingerprints from your apartment. We need yours so we can tell which of them are not yours.”
    “I see,” Sheila said. She didn’t look happy.
    Sergeant Tucker escorted her out.
    Dirkson’s frozen smile lasted only until the door was closed.
    “Damn,” he said.
    Farron looked at him with a wry smile. “Helpful, isn’t she?”
    “She certainly is.”
    Farron cocked his head. “I would hate to comment on the veracity of the D.A.’s office, but I notice you mentioned there was nothing in the dead man’s pockets. I don’t believe you mentioned a key.”
    “You’re damn right I didn’t, and you’re not going to, either. I want you to clamp a lid on this key bit, and I mean now. If it leaks out, I will hold you personally responsible. You got that? If I end up having to prosecute the girl, I don’t want her to know about it until I hit her with it in court.”
    “You think we’ll end up charging her?”
    “I don’t know. You got any other suspects?”
    “Not at the moment.”
    “Okay. Get on it. And get the dope on the girl. Find out if she really saw her uncle. Find out when she left. Trace the cab that took her back to her apartment. Get the driver to identify her. Pin him down on the time. Then dig into her personal life and give me everything you can. I want to know where she buys her food, who fixes her teeth, what kind of toilet paper she uses.”
    “It’s already being done. Just routine.”
    “Yeah,” Dirkson