The Lincoln Town Car glided like a swan among the huge, awkward metal bins, piled high and patiently awaiting shipment to myriad destinations around the world. It came to a stop against the rear of a tractor trailer truck, which was parked between two containers, and had a ramp rolled up into its gaping end.

Thibodaux was out of the car before the driver shut the engine off. I saw Mike approach and introduce himself to the director, on his way over to help me out of the car.

“Lon Chaney coming, too, or can we get right to work?”

He took my hand and I climbed out onto the graveled roadway, grateful that Nina had borrowed my gown and left me wearing a black satin pantsuit. After I had called Mike at home and asked him to meet me here, I sent her off to dinner with Jake.

“Who’s the frog?”

“New director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. He got the call about this in the middle of a reception he was having tonight. Asked my advice about what to do when he learned the body had been found. It took a while to make him understand that reporting the fact was not optional. He’s hoping this is a story that won’t have legs.” I shook my head.

“Cleopatra taking the big sleep in Port Newark? Probably worth only eight or nine days of tabloid headlines.”

“Who’s here, besides you and Lenny?”

“The two suits are museum flunkies. They’re the ones that got the call from the truck driver, just before six o’clock. Came out to see for themselves before they screamed for the big cheese. The trucker is sitting in the cab, finishing his hero and listening to the ball game. Extra innings, Yanks and Red Sox all tied up after ten. Your boy Pettitte pitched great the first seven innings. Joe should never have taken him out. The two square-badges are security for the shipyard. It’s their dog that sniffed out the stiff.”

Square-badges was police slang for civilian guards hired by private businesses, shopping malls to shipyards.