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their faces like they were sharing a private joke. In the picture Jade was maybe seven years old. She had long dark hair, slightly wavy, as fine as silk. She had green eyes and porcelain skin. She was a beautiful kid. It was a beautiful photograph.
    "May I?" Reacher asked.
    Lane nodded. Said nothing. Reacher picked the picture up and looked closer. The photographer had caught the bond between mother and child perfectly and completely. Quite apart from the similarity in appearance there was no doubt about their relationship. No doubt at all. They were mother and daughter. But they were also friends. They looked like they shared a lot. It was a great picture.
    "Who took this?" Reacher asked.
    "I found a guy downtown," Lane said. "Quite famous. Very expensive."
    Reacher nodded. Whoever the guy was, he was worth his fee. Although the print quality wasn't quite as good as the living room copy. The colours were a little less subtle and the contours of the faces were a little plastic. Maybe it was a machine print. Maybe Lane's budget hadn't run to a custom hand-print where his stepdaughter was concerned.
    "Very nice," Reacher said. He put the photograph back on the desk, quietly. The room was totally silent. Reacher had once read that the Dakota was the most soundproof building in New York City. It had been built at the same time that Central Park was landscaped. The builder had packed three feet of excavated Central Park clay and mud between the floors and the ceilings. The walls were thick, too. All that mass made the building feel like it was carved from solid rock. Which must have been a good thing, Reacher figured, back when John Lennon lived here.
    "OK?" Lane said. "Seen enough?"
    "You mind if I check the desk?"
    "Why?"
    "It's Kate's, right?"
    "Yes, it is."
    "So it's what the cops would do."
    Lane shrugged and Reacher started with the bottom drawers. The left-hand drawer held boxes of stationery and notepaper and cards engraved simply with the name Kate Lane. The right-hand drawer was fitted with file hangers and the contents related exclusively to Jade's education. She was enrolled at a private school nine blocks north of the apartment. It was an expensive school, judging by the bills and the cancelled checks. The checks were all drawn on Kate Lane's personal account. The upper drawers held pens and pencils, envelopes, stamps, self-stick return address labels, a cheque-book. And credit card receipts. But nothing very significant. Nothing recent. Nothing from Staples, for instance. The centre drawer at the top held nothing but two American passports, one for Kate and one for Jade.
    "Who is Jade's father?" Reacher asked.
    "Does it matter?"
    "It might. If this was a straightforward abduction, we'd definitely have to look at him. Estranged parents are who usually snatch kids."
    "But this is a kidnap for ransom. And it's Kate they're talking about. Jade was just there by chance."
    "Abductions can be disguised. And her father would need to clothe and feed her. And send her to school. He might want money."
    "He's dead," Lane said. "He died of stomach cancer when Jade was three."
    "Who was he?"
    "He owned a jewellery store. Kate ran it for a year, afterward. Not very well. She had been a model. But that's where I met her. In the store. I was buying a watch."
    "Any other relatives? Possessive grandparents, aunts, uncles?"
    "Nobody that I ever met. Therefore nobody that saw Jade in the last several years. Therefore nobody you could really describe as possessive."
    Reacher closed the centre drawer. Straightened the photograph and turned around.
    "Closet?" he said.
    Lane pointed at one of a pair of narrow white doors. Behind it was a closet, large for a New York City apartment, small for anyplace else. It had a pull chain for a light. Inside were racks of women's clothes and shoes. Fragrance in the air. There was a jacket neatly folded on the floor. Ready for the dry cleaner, Reacher thought. He picked it up. There was a Bloomingdale's