Chapter Three
Rigger’s apartment on Central Park East, facing Sheep Meadow.
Rigger roused himself from semi-paralysis and reached for his remote control to pause the Mozart. He hit the wrong button, bringing the TV to life.
A newscast blinked on. “...missing from her morning dance class.” A video of a hysterical mother pacing in front of an old redbrick building popped onto the screen. “No one, no one, especially Rudolf, my dumb-a*s ex-husband, is supposed to pick up my daughter. I’ve told them and told them, he’s an imbecile, he’ll grab her and take off to Albuquerque or someplace. I bet he did it. I know the sonofa—”
The video of the woman abruptly changed to the contrite, chiseled face of a young news anchor with much-too-blue contact lenses. He squinted to read the teleprompter.
“
