New York Dead

good upholstered pieces and one or two antiques. There were two bedrooms, a master and a smaller one, and two baths. After a quick look around, he went next door and let himself into 9-A.
    The apartment seemed to be a mirror image of the other, but there was a difference. 9-A had been lavishly done to someone’s particular taste, and probably by a very expensive designer. The furnishings were richer and more distinctive than those in 9-B, and the art on the walls was probably a part of the company’s collection of expensive paintings. He checked both bedrooms and decided that the master was where the assignation would take place. There was a gorgeous, canopied bed, with a matching silk bedcover, and every stick of furniture in the room dated from the eighteenth century, Stone reckoned. He was about to reenter the living room when he heard the front door open and close.
    Oh, shit, he thought, trying to think of some plausible reason why he should be in the apartment. There was a rustling of what sounded like paper bags, followed by a feminine cough. He looked around the bedroom for someplace to hide, should the woman come his way. Her footsteps on the carpet told him she was doing just that.
    He ran on tiptoe across the room and practically dove behind the bed. She came into the bedroom, then he heard the hollow click of the bathroom light being turned on. Please close the door, he said to himself, be modest. She did not. He peeped above the edge of the bed and saw it standing wide open and her shadow against the door. There was the sound of water running, then the toilet seat being raised. The water continued to run while she peed. Sitting on the toilet, she would be facing the bathroom door, he knew, so he could not make a run for it. He arranged himself more comfortably and waited.
    The woman came out of the bathroom, and he could hear her footsteps approaching the bed. Stone pressed himself closer to it. He heard the rustle of the silk bedcover being turned down and the creak of the springs as the woman lay down.
    Stone lay motionless for the better part of a half hour, while the woman tossed and turned, then finally settled down for her nap. When her breathing told him she was sound asleep, he stirred from his position as silently as possible, wincing at the cramps that had formed in his legs. He slipped off his shoes and started for the bedroom door. As he approached the door he glanced back at her, just as she stirred, her back to him. He froze until he was certain she had not actually awakened. Then he made his way across the deep Oriental carpet in the living room to the front door, where he spent several seconds turning the knob as silently as possible. As he closed the door, he saw two large shopping bags from Bergdorf Goodman lying next to a living-room chair.
    A moment later, he was back in 9-B, running cold water over his face in the master bathroom. He had done some undercover work in his time, but nothing in his police career had ever prepared him for being a second-story man. Now he knew that burglars are just as frightened as their victims.
    He let himself out of the flat and left the building before the lady next door finished her nap.

    At home, there was only one message on his answering machine: “Hi, it’s me. I’m sorry you aren’t in; I wanted to hear your voice. And now I have to go to a production meeting, so you can’t even call me back. I’m so looking forward to Saturday; I want to hear this important news of yours — and it must be important, if you want a table at Lutece. I booked that, which was no problem. Barron goes there all the time, and they know me. After dinner, and after hearing your news, I’m going to make you the happiest man in New York City, I promise. I’ve missed you so. Until Saturday night, my love.” Stone felt the sort of glow that comes with a double brandy. Saturday night was no longer the loneliest night in the week; it was the only night in the week.
    The phone rang. “Hi, it’s Bill. We’re on for Friday. My client reckons they won’t be in the apartment until near midnight.”
    “Right. I’ll let my man know.”
    “Stone, my client says that this is likely to be the only shot we’re going to get at this, so tell him not to fuck it up, okay?”
    “Don’t worry, he’s as steady as they come.”
    He hung up and called Teddy. “It’s Friday night,” he said. “I’ve cased the place already, so be at my house at nine, and I’ll brief