She turned to a page marked with a blue tab.

Three dates had been circled.

On each one, the same unfamiliar initials appeared beside a private dining reservation.

“S.V.,” I read.

“Someone always got the entire back room cleared when those initials came in,” Elena said.

“Dennis supervised every delivery himself.”

I remembered the man in the charcoal coat passing through the corridor at nine that night.

His left hand had held a slim leather portfolio.