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he were reluctant to enter. I waited a moment to make sure he didn’t reappear. Promising as things looked, there was always a chance he was only there to pick up more instructions. But the door stayed closed, so I called Fothergill and brought him up to date. I hadn’t given him a situation report all day. After my lastconversation with Tanya in New York I was feeling pretty disinclined to use the phone, and he did nothing to encourage me to communicate more. He’d turned into a typical desk jockey, all questions and queries and worries and second guesses, so I fobbed him off with the bare minimum of information and got back to work. I switched my phone to vibrate. Then I slipped through next-door’s gate and made my way silently toward the buildings, hugging the fence for cover.
    I’d guess that this house had also been divided into apartments, based on the size of the two Dumpsters that were lined up against its rear wall. The left-hand one was only a foot away from the fence so I tested its lid, then climbed on top. From there I could reach across the boundary and get a grip on the lowest horizontal platform of McIntyre’s fire escape. The fence looked too flimsy to take my weight so I braced one foot against the wall and vaulted over to the other side. I hung by my hands for a moment then dropped to the ground, making sure to avoid the lowest metal step. I didn’t know where in the building McIntyre would be holed up, so I couldn’t afford to make any sound.
    Thick clods of dark red paint were peeling from the beams that supported the fire escape, and the whole structure was rusting badly, but when I tested the bottom step it didn’t creak or squeal. The next one up was the same. I crept up to the first platform without making a sound. It ran the whole width of the house. An emergency door served it from each end, and four windows overlooked it. I tried both doors. Both were locked. The windows were all closed. But two had frosted glass. That meant they would lead to bathrooms. Which was good. Bathrooms are less likely to be permanently occupied than bedrooms or kitchens or living rooms. And anyone who did happen to be inside would be in less of a position to resist.
    I picked the window on the left, because it was closer. I workedmy fingers between the casement and the soft, rotting wooden frame. Then forced them up toward the center, where I guessed the catch would be. And pulled.
    The window gave way with no more than a soggy tearing sound, like ripping open a damp cardboard package, and I caught the remains of the lock before it hit the iron platform. But still I ducked down, out of sight. I waited for two minutes. Nothing stirred from inside, so I climbed into the room. I balanced on the end of the bathtub. Stepped down and crossed to the doorway. Checked the landing. And headed down the stairs.
    Normally I would have expected McIntyre to favor one of the upstairs rooms. It would give him a better view of anyone approaching from outside. Separate him from any random trespassers, snooping around for anything easy to steal. And give him a tactical advantage, if it should become necessary to defend his position. But today I wasn’t interested in finding him straight away. It was more important to intercept Dr. Rollins on his way back out of the building. He could fill me in on McIntyre’s condition. Whether he was armed. The location and layout of his bolt-hole. And possibly provide a way to persuade McIntyre to open his door without me having to break it down.
    At first I thought there were two apartments on the first floor, because there was an entrance at right angles on either side of the glass door that led to the large, square entrance lobby. One was locked. But the other door swung open as soon as I touched the handle. It led to a wide space with a tiled floor, fluorescent lights, and rough whitewashed walls. It was empty, but from the marks on the tiles and the remnants of pipe work strewn everywhere