I laid the situation out for Bill: Alice Fairchild and the Waldorf, Joel summoning me to his office because something was fishy, Detective Mulgrew’s unsolved robberies. I showed him the photos: the jewelry; Wong Pan, who stole it; Rosalie Gilder and her brother, Paul, smiling on a windy day. I gave him Rosalie’s first letter to read.

“There are others,” I said. “At the Jewish Museum.”

“Have you read them?”

“Some.”

“Do they help?”

I felt an odd, unexpected comfort: the same feeling I’d had dropping my suitcase in my own apartment after a month away.

“Not really, except to get to know her. It made me want to get her jewelry back even more, though.”

“Can I have them? I’ll read them later.”

“I’ll print you out a set.” I clicked on the computer and had just gotten to the Jewish Museum site when the phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, so I answered in both languages. “Lydia Chin, Chin Ling Wan-ju.”

“Whatever,” a dismissive voice countered. “Where’s your client?”

“Detective Mulgrew?”

“Two points. Where is she?”

“I have no idea. She’s not at the Waldorf?”

“If she was why would I be calling you?”

Because you’re as charmed by me as I am by you? “If you tried there and her cell phone, I have no idea.”

“It would be good if you did.”

“I thought you said Joel’s death had nothing to do with her.”

“I don’t like witnesses running out before I talk to them. Makes them look bad.”

“Running out? Did she check out of the hotel?”

“No, and her things are still in her room. But she’s not turning up.”

“You were in her room?”

“Oh, gee. Shouldn’t I have done that? Look, when you hear from her, you’re going to let me know right away, right?”