New York Dead by Stuart Woods Page A

hardly anywhere to hide anything. Van Fleet’s desk rested against one wall. Stone opened the drawers and found nothing he wouldn’t have seen in his own desk drawers: bills, stationery, office supplies.
    “Let’s see the rest of the building,” Stone said to Van Fleet. His warrant did not cover the whole building, but he hoped the man wouldn’t notice.
    Van Fleet didn’t. He went to a kitchen drawer and retrieved a large key ring, which jangled as he led them to the elevator. They walked through the building a floor at a time. Van Fleet may not have had the money to complete his development project, but he had cleaned out the building; it was as empty as any place Stone had ever seen.
    “Anything else?” Stone said to Dino.
    Dino shook his head.
    “Can we offer you a lift uptown, Herbert?”
    “Thank you, no,” Van Fleet replied. “As long as I’m here, I’ll have my lunch and get a cab later. Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful,” he said sweetly.
    “You’ve been very helpful, Herbert,” Stone said, “and we appreciate your cooperation.”
    “Have you found out anything else about Sasha?” Van Fleet asked.
    “I’m afraid we can’t discuss an investigation in progress,” Stone said.
    “The papers said you’re making no progress at all,” Van Fleet said, walking them to the front door.
    “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers,” Dino said, as Van Fleet closed the door behind them.
    Back in the car, Stone sighed. “Clean as a hound’s tooth,” he said.
    “Yeah,” Dino agreed, disconsolately.
    “Let’s go up to Sasha’s and go through those boxes.”
    “Okay.”

    There was a different doorman on duty when the detectives arrived at the building. Stone flashed his badge and asked for his key to the Nijinsky apartment. The man handed it over silently.
    The moment they stepped off the elevator, it was obvious that something was wrong. The police notice fixed to the apartment door had been removed.
    “The seal’s broken,” Dino said. “What the fuck?”
    Stone led the way into the apartment. It was completely empty. The two men stood there looking helplessly about them, as if waiting for inspiration. Stone bent over and picked up a card from the floor.

    Effective immediately,
    Sasha Nijinsky is at
    1011 Fifth Ave.
    New York 10021.
    Burn this.

    “The movers,” Stone said.
    “What?”
    “The movers. She was moving the next morning.”
    “What’s the new address?”
    “Ten-eleven Fifth.” Stone didn’t mention that he knew someone else at that address.
    “Let’s go see the doorman.”
    Downstairs, Stone braced the doorman. “There was a police seal on the door of the Nijinsky apartment,” he said. “Who broke it?”
    “Jesus, Officer,” the man pled, “I don’t know nothing. The moving people showed up and took her stuff; that’s all I know.”

    They drove uptown in silence. The building was across the street from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The doorman greeted them.
    “Can I help you, gentlemen?” he said, blocking the entrance.
    Stone showed his ID. “Miss Nijinsky’s apartment.”
    “Yes? What about it?”
    “We’d like to see it. This is part of a police investigation. Did some moving people bring some furniture and boxes here yesterday?”
    “Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t let you into the apartment without permission, unless you’ve got a search warrant, of course.”
    Dino sighed loudly. “I guess you know the lady’s in no condition to give permission.”
    The doorman shrugged. “My hands are tied,” he said, “unless you get permission from the cooperative’s board of directors. If one of them says it’s okay, I’ll let you in.”
    “Who’s the chairman of the cooperative’s board?” Stone asked.
    The doorman went to a tin box on his desk and produced an index card. He handed it to Stone.
    The name on the card was Barron Harkness.
    Stone registered this for a moment, then showed the card to Dino. “May I use your