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for at least a little while. That was the second duplicate Cardell bracelet. A third one, the one Craig placed on the table, was for fooling someone else.
    They held hands as they went into the living room. Craig poured them each a flute of champagne.
    They toasted each other.
    â€œYou’d better get rid of the purse with that cell phone soon,” Ida said, placing her glass on a paper napkin.
    Craig agreed, but he wasn’t worried. It would be a little while before Alexis Hoffermuth noticed the leather of her purse wasn’t its usual softness, and the brassware was a bit bright and tacky looking. And the clasp didn’t quite hold.
    Then, with a plunging heart, she would realize that it wasn’t her purse.
    But it was exactly like her purse .
    She would open the purse and see that it contained only wadded white tissue.
    And it would dawn on her like a nuclear sunrise—the Cardell bracelet, for which she’d just paid $490,000 at Sotheby’s Auction—was gone.
    Spirited away by a thief!
    Or had it been?
    She would try to recall the features of the woman who looked and acted like a flustered young Lucille Ball. Alexis would realize the woman had switched purses and left her with nothing but wadded tissue.
    But there’d be something else in the purse ... Alexis Hoffermuth’s fingers would jab and dance through the tissue, then close on a familiar object and draw it out.
    The bracelet!
    Relief would course through her. But not without some reservations.
    Craig Clairmont smiled. Alexis Hoffermuth wouldn’t understand. The bracelet somehow had been removed from her purse and then found its way into the substitute bag. Had the thief made some sort of mistake? She certainly was the type to do so.
    Alexis might wonder that again, when her real purse was recovered with the bracelet still in it. A bracelet like it, anyway. It might be a long time, and a lot of wishful and confused thinking, before it occurred to her that the recovered bracelet was yet another not-so-cheap imitation. That the thieves were simply playing for time.
    The very clever thieves.
    Ida and Craig each took another sip of champagne.
    That was when Ida’s eight-year-old daughter, Eloise, flounced into the room.
    May 6, 4:35 p.m.
    They thought at first he’d been struck by the sanitation department truck, one of those behemoths with the huge crusher in back.
    But the man in the alley seemed unhurt except for the fact that he was bending over, holding one hand folded in the other.
    When the trash truck had left the narrow passageway and turned a corner, Otto Berger and Arthur Shoulders exchanged glances. They were both bulky men in cheap brown suits. Otto was slightly the taller of the two. Arthur was slightly wider. Otto made a motion with his head, and the two professional thugs swaggered toward the lone figure in the shadows. The man looked up at them, and Otto smiled, not parting his lips. This was who they were expecting.
    â€œBingo, bango,” Arthur said.
    â€œGee, what happened to your hand?” Otto asked.
    The man, whose name was Jack Clairmont, grimaced. “I got it caught in the trash truck’s mechanism when they used that damn grinder.”
    â€œThat’s a lotta blood you’re losing,” Arthur said.
    â€œI’m goddam afraid to look.”
    â€œWhat was you doing,” Otto asked, “tossing something into the truck?”
    â€œDidn’t I see you get something from one of them guys who sling the trash bags?” Arthur asked.
    â€œLike making an exchange,” Otto said.
    The injured man squinted painfully at them.
    Otto, though huge, was quick. He stepped forward and kicked Jack Clairmont hard in the side of the knee. Clairmont yelped and dropped to his elbows and knees on the concrete.
    â€œDon’t make no noise now,” Otto said
    Arthur was holding a knife. “He makes noise and it’ll be the last time,” he said.
    Otto gave Jack