Serrin found the place easily enough. The house looked like an architectural impossibility; narrow, seeming to lean a little on one side, its five stories looking like almost too many to stand upright. The ground-level floor was a florist’s shop, but it was closed now. Didn’t find too many fresh flowers in Manhattan these days. There wasn’t much to indicate what went on in the floors above the shop. Serrin rang the ancient intercom by the side door. It buzzed into life.