Free Death Dance by Linda Fairstein

commissioner this one will take a task force the
size of an army. By the time we interview everyone on staff, run raps
on all of them, check alibis, and begin to think about strangers who
might have worked their way inside, I'll be old enough to put in my
papers for retirement."
    We started back toward the elevators. "Don't you think we
ought to get this theater shut down for the night?"
    "That's the first subject that reared its ugly head before you
and Mercer got here this afternoon. I was turned down flat. Not even
the PC can get it done, but he's got the mayor working on it. Why
should a frigging murder get in the way of a few hundred thousand bucks
at the box office?"
    When the elevator doors opened on one, Chet Dobbis was waiting
for us. "Word's spread around here pretty quickly. Rinaldo Vicci has
gone to call Talya's husband, and I'll have to deal with the media. May
I—may I see her before… ?"
    "Nope. You can pay your respects at the funeral home. This
stuff isn't for amateurs," Mike said. "Better make some space for us.
We'll be living under your roof for a while."
    "I thought you'd do this from the station house, detective,"
Dobbis said, pulling tighter on the knot of the sweater wrapped around
his neck. His narrow, elongated face looked pinched, as though he'd
tasted something sour. "It's going to be rather disruptive to the other
artists, to the people who work here. To our patrons, of course."
    "Funny thing about murder, Mr. Dobbis. It often is. Put some
of your divas on tranquilizers, but I expect this to be our
headquarters till we find the phantom."
    "And what do I tell Joe Berk, Mr. Chapman?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "He called here half an hour ago, looking for Talya. Do you
want to break this to him or should I?"

----
7

     
    The green velvet smoking robe with its coordinated paisley
ascot over
bare hairy legs was a striking choice of outfits for Joe Berk, who
received the three of us at five thirty on a Saturday afternoon, but I
was mostly fixated on his mane of fine white hair.
    "You'll forgive me for not getting up, won't you? Which one of
you is Chapman?"
    Berk was reclining in a Barcalounger, unable to see me behind
Mercer and Mike.
    "I'm Chapman. This is Detective Wallace, and that's Alexandra
Cooper, from the Manhattan DA's office."
    "I didn't notice the young lady there. Sorry," Berk said,
kicking down the footrest and getting to his feet. He approached us,
exchanging greetings with the men, then bowed at the waist and reached
for my hand, gesturing as though to kiss it.
    He looked younger than I had expected, and more fit. Mike had
used the word
thick
to describe Berk, but it was
burliness rather than weight, and it gave him a powerful air that was
consistent with the arrogance he exuded. *
    "My secretary said you wanted to see me about a missing
person. Who's that?" he said, picking up a cigarette holder, sticking a
Gauloise in the tip and searching for his lighter. Berk moved behind
his desk and offered us three chairs that were arrayed in front of it.
"Who'd you lose?"
    It was easier to get people to cooperate with
investigators— especially if they could be linked to the
crime in any way—by asking for help with someone who's gone
missing rather than invoke the word
murder
.
    "Natalya Galinova," Mike said.
    "You're a little behind the breaking news, aren't you, boys?"
Berk looked back and forth between Mercer and Mike. "Who're you kidding
here? Joe Berk? Talya is dead. You think I'm an idiot?"
    "Seems to me that half an hour ago you didn't have a clue
where she—" Mike said before being interrupted by the buzz of
an intercom.
    Four of the buttons on Berk's large phone console showed
flickering red lights and he pushed the one closest to him, holding a
finger up in Mike's direction. "Yeah, babe? Tell that rat bastard when
his check clears,
then
I'll take his call. And
release all my house tickets for tonight. Anyone on your list. It looks
like I'm going to be with these comedians for a