When she left, her picture of Michaelson was of a solid, dedicated doctor who had a genuine love of babies, kids, women in general. One who took care of himself, lived quietly, liked to skate, liked to read, and valued his circle of friends.

Nowhere in that picture was a motive for murder.

Back in the car, she headed east, and considered Peabody's points.

Ellissa Wyman. Young, very attractive, graceful, apparently happy, well-adjusted. Not particularly interested in men or relationships at least on the surface. But yeah, somebody might have been interested in her. Rebuffed or simply not noticed.

Or, they might find, digging deeper, there were relationships or a lifestyle her family, her friends didn't know about.

It had to be considered, just as Michaelson had to be considered.

The worst case had to be considered, too. Straight random. It hadn't mattered who. It wouldn't matter who the next time.

It might have been a crappy day to hike the streets, but Eve pulled into an annoyingly overpriced lot, dumped the car, and hoofed it to the first building on her list. Street-level French restaurant, men's boutique, and a fancy-looking shop with lots of fancy-looking dust catchers. Three floors of apartments above, all topped by a dance studio and a yoga studio, and those were capped by a rooftop that could be accessed by the residents and the studios.

Roarke's program gave the roof the highest probability, with the yoga studio next in line. So Eve started at the top.

The wind bit; the ice stung. But when Eve pulled field glasses out of her pocket, adjusted her position, she found an excellent view of the rink. A hell of a long way off, but a stronger scope? Yeah, she could see how it could be done.

No sleet and ice the day before, she remembered. Not so much wind. Maybe part of the reason for the timing.

Standing there she put herself into the mind of the shooter. Might have to wait awhile. A stool, some sort of lightweight, retractable seat. Rest the weapon on the ledge that way. Keep everything steady.

She crouched down, mimed sitting on a stool, her hands on an imaginary weapon, her eye on the scope. From that position she took stock of neighboring buildings.

No cover, she considered, and too many windows, too much risk of someone looking out. Lunatic or not, why take that kind of chance?

Still, she took out microgoggles, went carefully over the wall, the concrete, looking for marks. Finding nothing, she went back inside, tried the yoga studio.

She found a group in session with people mostly female in colorful skin suits twisting into weird positions on colorful mats. All while facing a slim and stunning woman with a perfect body, impossibly perfect form, and a wall of mirrors.

She had to give the group props just for showing up.

Soft, tinkling music played under the instructors soft, tinkling voice. Eve decided she'd probably want to wrap the woman's legs around her neck, tie her ankles in a knot, before the end of a single session.

But that was just her.

Eve stepped back, tried the adjoining dance studio.

Another wall of mirrors, more music played low. But this time, the music had a fierce, hard beat, and the lone woman in the room covered the floor to it feet flying, legs flashing, hips rocking.

She executed three whipping spins, bounced into a one-handed handspring. And ended, right on that beat, with her arms thrown up, head back.

She said, panting but enthusiastically: "Shit!"

"Looked good to me."

The woman, black skin wet with sweat, grabbed a towel, swiped off as she studied Eve.

"Missed the count twice, forgot the damn head roll. Sorry, are you looking for a class?"

"No." Eve pulled out her badge.

This time the woman said: "Uh-oh."

"Just a couple questions. Let's start with who are you?"

"Donnie Shaddery. It's my studio I mean I rent the space."

"Did you have classes yesterday?"

"Every day, seven days a week."

"My background indicates no classes yesterday between three and five P.M."

"That's right. Morning classes. Seven to eight, eight-thirty to nine-thirty. Ten to eleven, eleven to twelve break twelve to one. One to one-thirty's sort of freestyle, then afternoon class from one-thirty to two-thirty. Then except for Fridays, I break until five."

"You're the instructor?"

"There are two of us. I had morning and afternoon yesterday, my partner had evening. Why?"

Not the place, Eve thought, with the schedule that tight. But.

"I need to know if anyone was here, or in the studio next door, between three and four P.M."

"I was here. I've got a call-back for a new musical today. I've been working on the damn routine every chance I get. I was here from about six-thirty yesterday morning until five."

"What about the yoga studio?"

"I know Sensa was here before seven. And she did her afternoon meditation about three at least she always does, I didn't actually look in. She's got two other instructors, and one of them that's Paula came in around three, after the afternoon class, because she's a dancer, too, and she came over and watched me practice for a while."

"So, basically, someone was in the space all afternoon."

"Yeah."

"Did anyone else come in during that time frame?"

"Not that I saw. Or heard. Should we be worried about something?"

"I don't think so." Eve walked over to the windows. "Seven days a week," she repeated. "And someone's generally here on the floor in the afternoons."

"That's right. If we leave, we lock up. We have a sign Sensa and I split the rent for the floor, and we share an excuse for an office, and keep some stuff in here. Extra mats, some costumes we co-teach a belly-dancing class on this side twice a week. It's not much to steal, but we lock up. Was there a break-in?"

Eve scanned the space again. It just didn't fit. "No, I don't think so. One more question. Why 'break a leg'? How the hell can you dance if you break a leg?"

"Sorry, I- Oh, the saying. Theater suspicion. Saying 'good luck' is bad luck. So you say 'break a leg' when you mean 'good luck.'"

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Nope." Donnie gulped from a water bottle. "But that's showbiz."

5.

E.

ve covered an office building, a residential building. She felt one apartment in the residential might warrant a trip back, and certainly a full run on the tenant. Single man in his mid-thirties, who'd served in the Army for five years.

The quick run she did, while hoofing it to the next building, showed he'd served as a supply officer minimal weapons training but she marked him down to be interviewed either when he was in residence or at his place of employment.

The ugly, incessant sleet began to thin, just a little, as she walked east from Third Avenue to Second.

She hit a flop, a struggling art studio, more offices.

Got no buzz at all.

The hotel, her next stop on Second, looked old but well kept. Low- to mid-range. "Family friendly," according to its billing, with some rooms boasting a kitchenette.

The lobby, quiet and small, held a skinny cafe, a closet-sized gift shop, and a single clerk at the desk. He smiled broadly.

"Good morning. Such a dreary day to be out and about. How can I help you?"

He had such a pleasant face, all round and cheerful with a voice to match, Eve almost felt bad about pulling out her badge. He blinked at it.

"Oh my, is there something wrong, Officer no, excuse me, I see it's Lieutenant. Lieutenant!" he repeated before she could speak. "Of course, it's Lieutenant. Dallas. I loved The Icove Agenda, book and vid. I hope I can help one of the most dedicated public servants in the city."

"Me, too. I'm looking for someone who would have had a room yesterday, most likely on the ninth or tenth floor, facing west."

"A check-in yesterday. Let me -"

"Not necessarily a check-in yesterday. Could've been prior, but they'd have been in-house yesterday. We'll start with guests, but I may be looking for one of the staff, someone who could gain access to an empty room."

"I see, I see. No, of course I don't see at all, but let me check the rooms."

"It's likely a male, likely alone. But don't rule out female or a companion."

"Ninth floor, west... We have Mr. and Mrs. Ernest Hubble. They're here for four days, with a checkout tomorrow."

"You got a home address on them?"

"Oh, yes, Des Moines. They're return guests, this is their third visit. They come for the inventory sales and a show."

"Give me somebody who checked out this morning or late yesterday."

"All right. This is rather exciting." His pleasant face turned a little pink to prove it. "We have Mr. Reed Bennett, home address is Boulder, Colorado. I believe he's a salesman, and here for meetings. He checked in two days ago, checked out this morning. Just about a half hour ago, actually."

"Call off housekeeping. I'm going to want to see his room. Who else you got?"

"Ms. Emily Utts and Ms. Fry. Ladies of a certain age in from Pittsburgh. Here for a little reunion with some classmates from college. Class of '19."

"Probably not. Any others?"

"Just one more. Mr. Philip Carson, from East Washington, accompanied by his teenage son, or daughter I'm not sure, it's so hard to tell at that age, isn't it? Especially when they're wearing one of those hoods and all bundled up. I see here they requested that specific room."

A bell rang. "Specific room. Had they stayed here before?"

"I don't have that name in our database, but I did think Mr. Carson looked familiar."

"Do you remember their luggage?"

"I..." He closed his eyes, squeezed them, then popped them open. "I do! I do because I started to call for Gino to assist them, but Mr. Carson said they didn't need a bellman. They had two rollies, one each, and the child had a backpack. Mr. Carson had a case a large metal briefcase."

"When did they check out?"

"Yesterday, though they were booked to stay through the night. They checked in about five the evening prior I remember as I was about to go off my shift. I'm not sure I saw them at all until they checked out about three-thirty yesterday. Mr. Carson said they had a family emergency."

"I need to see the room."

"Oh my. Yes, yes, but I'm afraid it's been cleaned."

"I need to see it."

"Let me get Gino to cover the desk, and I'll take you up myself. Just one moment."

He bustled. At least that was the word that came to Eve's mind, moving quickly as a man in a bellman's navy uniform came out of a side room.

"I didn't get your name."

"Oh, I'm Henry. Henry Whipple."

He actually looked like a Henry Whipple, Eve decided as they stepped on the elevator together. One old enough that it required Henry to push a button for the tenth floor.

"Some guests enjoy the old-fashioned touches," he explained.

Old-fashioned, she thought. "Do your windows open? The guest rooms."