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I don’t want the police to keep her body locked up in the morgue.”
    â€œThey may have their reasons. Miss Covallo,” Frank told her.
    Imalia stared at him icily. “If they have such compelling reasons, then why won’t they tell me what they are?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Frank admitted, “But I don’t think they’d hold on to it for no reason at all.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Imalia said, as if giving in to his professional judgment. “But I have no confidence in the police, Mr. Clemons … Frank.” She looked at him closely. “May I call you Frank?”
    He nodded.
    Imalia smiled slightly. “As far as I know, they’ve made absolutely no progress in finding whoever it was who killed Hannah.”
    â€œYou haven’t given them much time.”
    â€œTwo weeks,” Imalia said with a sudden sharpness. “It’s disrupting everything.”
    â€œDisrupting?”
    â€œMy life,” Imalia said. “The people who work for me, do you think they like being questioned? This has been going on for two weeks. How much longer will it take to put Hannah to rest?”
    â€œMiss Covallo, if a murder isn’t solved in twenty-four hours, it may not be solved for years. It may never be solved.”
    â€œAre you saying that you don’t want the job?” Imalia asked bluntly.
    â€œNo,” Frank said. “But if you wait a few more days, you might save yourself some money.”
    â€œI don’t care about your fee, Mr. Clemons,” Imalia said softly. “I can afford it.” She glanced away from him, as if in an effort to control herself. “I just want Hannah to have a decent burial. That’s all I want.”
    Frank closed the notebook. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.”
    Imalia turned back toward him, and for a moment, an odd, pleading quality came into her face. Then, in an instant, she swept it out again and stared at him stiffly, Her head lifted slightly in an attitude of hard command. “I hope you can help me. Please try.”
    â€œI can only let you know what I find out,” Frank replied firmly. “I can’t do more than that.”
    â€œMoney is no object.”
    â€œThat may be true,” Frank said, “but if you start spreading too much of it around, you’ll start buying lies.”
    Imalia did not seem convinced. “I just want you to know that whatever it costs, I’ll pay it,” she said. Then she stood up and walked to the door.
    â€œI’ll talk to Tannenbaum,” Frank called to her. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
    â€œI’d like to be able to reach you, too,” Imalia said. “When you’re not here, I suppose I can reach you at Karen’s?”
    â€œMost of the time.”
    â€œAnywhere else?” Imalia asked. She smiled tentatively. “Some private haunt?”
    â€œI go to a little after-hours drinking place sometimes,” Frank told her reluctantly.
    â€œTelephone number?” Imalia asked matter-of-factly.
    â€œNot for this kind of place.”
    Imalia’s eyes darted away from him shyly. “I guess I don’t know much about places like that,” she said, embarrassed.
    â€œIt’s at the corner of Tenth Avenue and Fiftieth Street,” Frank said. “Second floor. It’s open from two until dawn.”
    â€œI’d only come in some sort of emergency,” Imalia assured him. Then she allowed her eyes to wander over his office once again, her head turning slowly to the left so that her face was caught suddenly in the dusky light. “This place,” she said, “it’s like a cave, like a room in the underworld.” Then she turned abruptly and walked away.

4
    The large brick facade of the Midtown North precinct house sat in the middle of the street, huge and unmoving, like a gigantic red watchdog. Blue and white patrol