She got out of bed and moved into the living room where she turned on the lamp on the table in the corner. It was there, the dog. It wasn't a bad-looking dog, but it wasn't a beautiful one either. She wondered if she should have painted it brown and gold instead of black and white. It wasn't too late. But she knew she wasn't going to do it. She was tired. She might make a mistake, make it worse. It would have to stay black and white. She hoped he liked it even though it wobbled when it stood. She had made one rear leg too short. Lilly got a glass from the kitchen shelf and the chocolate milk from the refrigerator. She sat with a glass of milk and a chocolate chip cookie and continued to examine the dog. She decided to call him Spark. Or maybe something else.

Lilly finished her cookie and milk, put the empty glass down on the table in front of her, and leaned back. She could see the snow hitting the window, not wanting to get in but simply being lazy. Lilly fell asleep.

1

THE DEAD MAN SAT SLUMPED against the rear wall of the small, wood-paneled elevator. His head was resting against his left shoulder, his hands were folded against his chest. Just above his right hand was a blotch of blood. His left leg lay out of the elevator door.

The slippered foot was the first thing Detective Mac Taylor saw as he walked quickly across the marble-tiled lobby of the apartment building on York Avenue near 72nd Street.

Mac moved past two uniformed officers and stood in front of the open door next to Aiden Burn, who was clicking away with her camera at the corpse and the elevator. The dead man was wearing a gray sweat suit with two holes chest high leading into bloody darkness.