"Well, if it is, Brett Kaiser sure isn't going to make it any easier."

"Well, let's try the good old-fashioned ambush method."

"What do you suggest?" I said.

"I'll go to the firm's office, buy myself a big old cup of coffee, sit in the lobby and wait for Mr. Kaiser to leave.

If security doesn't want a fellow such as myself loitering, I'll simply wait outside. And if they tell me to leave, I'll tell them to kiss my wrinkly old a.s.s."

"And my job?"

"Why, you're going to wait at Mr. Kaiser's Park Avenue apartment building and do the exact same thing.

You might even try sweet-talking his doorman. You have no idea how much information those guys have, and what they're willing to tell you if you treat them like human beings. Unlike Park Avenue tenants who usually treat their doormen like they're one step above pond sc.u.m."

"And what if Kaiser shows up?"

"Simple," Jack said. "You tell him what we have, and ask him to discuss it with you. Guys like this, these alpha male p.r.i.c.ks, hate hiding behind publicists and lawyers, 112.

even if they are one. They don't like being shown up by punks like you."

"Punks like me?"

"Yes," Jack said, arching his eyebrow. "Punks like you. At least that's how he'll see you. Actually, I'm kind of hoping he does see you first. Young guy, you're less of a threat. Probably figures you write for the school newspaper. If you see Kaiser, you don't walk away with less than something we can print that doesn't rhyme with 'Woe Bomment.'"

"I think I can manage that."

"Good. Keep your cell on. I'll call you if anything happens on my end." I got up to leave. Jack put his hand on my shoulder, said, "Good luck, Henry. Get this."

I nodded, went over to my desk and packed my things.

15.

I arrived at Brett Kaiser's apartment at just after two o'clock. There was a Korean deli on the corner where I bought a cup of coffee and an energy bar.

I walked over to the building, a bright Park Avenue complex that by my count was twenty stories high, with beautiful western views where you could see all the way down for miles. There was one doorman on duty, a man in his early forties wearing a blue uniform and the kind of top hat you only saw in movies about the 1920s. He was slightly heavyset, the beginnings of jowls on his face, a fresh razor burn under his chin.

A cab pulled up, and the doorman approached, leaning down to open the car door. A slender blonde in her forties slid out, thanked the doorman and went into the building.

The doorman watched her as she entered the building, holding his gaze just long enough for me to know that had she turned around, she wouldn't have been pleased.

When the woman disappeared into the elevator, I approached.

"Afternoon," I said.

The man nodded. "Can I ring someone for you, sir?"

he replied.

114.

"Not yet," I said. "Is Mr. Kaiser home?"

"I haven't seen him yet today."

"Ah, let me guess, you're on the eight a.m. to four p.m.

shift. I guess that means Mr. Kaiser is up and at work early." The doorman looked at me oddly.

"Sir?"

"No sweat, just making an observation. Name's Henry," I said, extending my hand. The doorman hesitated. "I'm a reporter with the New York Gazette. New York Gazette. " "

If he'd considered shaking my hand before, that idea was now gone.

"As I said, sir," he replied, his voice much colder, "Mr.

Kaiser is not home at the moment."

"I know, you mentioned that. I have to ask him a few questions."

"Questions?"

I had to stop myself from smiling. Here's the thing about New York City doormen: they love to talk. Your average doorman opens and closes a door for eight hours a day, but barely gets more than two words from their tenants. If you stop to chat, they'll talk your ears blue. So few people actually talk talk to doormen, that if you gave to doormen, that if you gave them an inch they'd take eight miles.

And I was prepared to give this one a few feet.

"We're investigating a... I can't really talk about it yet.

But hopefully Mr. Kaiser can answer all our questions thoroughly. And I promise, you won't be mentioned."

"Why would I be mentioned?" he said, that voice thawing with concern.

"You won't be," I said. "If you knew anything about Mr. Kaiser, anything suspicious, even something you thought one day and just dismissed, it would help his cause and ours. I'm looking for the truth, Mr...."

115.

"Anderson," the man said. "Donald Anderson."

"Well, Donald..."

"You can call me Don."

"Okay, Don. Thanks for being so agreeable."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Being agreeable." Don blinked as he spoke.

"Yeah, you are. So, are you friendly with Mr. Kaiser?"

"I mean, in so much as he doesn't say much, I've never gotten any complaints from him."

"No complaints. Any compliments?"

"He's not what you'd call the most talkative guy," Don said. "He tips over the holidays, kinda gives a little nod when he's on his way out or back in. Other than that he don't say much."

"You ever try talking to him?"

"You ever work as a doorman?" Don asked.

"No, I haven't."

"Every tenant's got a different personality. You got to learn how each person acts and reacts towards you, and tailor your personality towards that. I swear, my first few months on the job I felt like I was going crazy, developing one of those, whaddaya call 'ems, split personalities.

Mrs. Delahunt, she walks her dog like clockwork at seven-thirty in the morning. She always says, 'Say hi, Toodles!' like she's expecting the dog to talk to me. At first I couldn't figure out why she treated me like such a, pardon my French, such a b.i.t.c.h. Then Charles, the evening doorman, told me I had to say h.e.l.lo back to Toodles.

So every day at seven-thirty, I say hi to this little rat dog Toodles. And every year at Christmastime, Mrs. Delahunt gives me a tip twice as big as most tenants. All because I say h.e.l.lo to her freaking dog."

116.

"So how does Mr. Kaiser fit in?"

"My first few months, I tried to be real polite. 'h.e.l.lo, Mr. Kaiser. Have a good day, Mr. Kaiser. Welcome home, Mr. Kaiser.' I never get more than a grunt. One day I must be thinking about something else--maybe Mrs. Delahunt's fine daughter--and I forget to say h.e.l.lo to him. I just open the door, not even thinking, and then I hear him say, 'Thanks, Don.'I swear it was like Christmas came early that day."

"So what did you do?"

"I realized Kaiser didn't like being spoken to. Gestures were fine, but man, did he think highly of himself. The most effective method is a little nod as he comes through the door. Closer to the holidays, tip time, I might give him a tip of the cap. But that's all. I don't engage in conversation, I don't say a word to the man."

"Sounds like you've got this down to a science."

"Still refining my game," Donald said. "Always room for improvement."

"So I need to ask one more question about Mr. Kaiser, Don, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Shoot. Just promise you won't tell him I spoke to you, and please don't print my name."

"This really has nothing to do with you, it's just to help me understand Mr. Kaiser. You've watched all these tenants for years, right?"

"That's right."

"Is there anything about Mr. Kaiser, either his mannerisms or something else, that strikes you as kind of strange? Something that stands out as different?"

Don laughed. "Everyone's different in their own way.

There's one guy, a psychiatrist on eleven. Different prost.i.tute every Friday night."

117.

"Um, I don't think I needed to know that," I said. Don shrugged. "Is there anything about Brett Kaiser, though, that's different?"

Don scratched his chin. "Actually, this did seem a little strange, but I guess I got used to it. Every Tuesday night at midnight, Mrs. Kaiser leaves the apartment. And about five seconds after she leaves, this guy comes over."

"Wait. She just leaves?"

Donald said, "That's right. Goes to the 24/7 coffee shop on the corner."

"How do you know that?"

"Every now and then she'll bring me a cup of coffee and a Danish. The bags were always from that shop."

"Do you have any idea who this guy is? Business partner? Maybe a lover?"

"Hey, man, I don't know that much about my tenants'

private lives. But I don't think so, as far as the gay stuff goes. He was a real tall guy. Wore sungla.s.ses a lot, even at night. Looks a little like a G.I. Joe action figure.

Stands real straight, even less personable than Mr.

Kaiser if that's possible. Even after he'd been coming over for a few months the guy never even looked me in the eye. Got the blondest hair I've ever seen, kind of wavy. He comes out at midnight and stays for just about an hour. Then he leaves at one, and Mrs. Kaiser comes back just as he's left."

"Do you have any idea what he's doing?"

"No, sir. Shows up, stays an hour, then leaves. No idea why or who he is, but he never causes trouble and always seems pleasant enough."

"What's his name?" I asked.

"Sir?"

"When you buzz him up, what name does he give you?"

118.

"I don't buzz him up anymore. By this point I know he's okay so I don't bother."

"But at the beginning," I continued, "he must have given you a name. Do you remember it?"

Don thought for a moment, then he said, "Chester. I think it was Chester."

"You sure?" I said.