"All. Oh. I had them photostated. Is that all right?"
Fink nodded and parked the car before a small butcher store in a run-down tenement. He opened the glove compartment, placed the manila folder inside, then carefully locked the compartment. They got out of the car and he locked the doors carefully.
"Need any more from me, Bob?"
"The letters are enough."
"Then I'll be going."
"What's your hurry? Come on in."
Fink led the way to the tenement doorway alongside the butcher store. Lennox had expected him to enter the store. Instead, Fink entered the house in which the store occupied the street floor front. The letter boxes were battered and unnamed. A card stuck in the glass door read DUGAN—SUPER.
"It's a condemned house," Fink said. He pushed open the door and walked past a lopsided flight of stairs. He knocked on the door of the rear apartment. Lennox held his breath. There was an incredibly foul odor in the building.
The door opened and a shriveled woman appeared.
"Mrs. Dugan?" Fink said quietly. "The Health Department had a complaint this butcher is selling bad meat. I'm Fink from the Precinct." He slipped his wallet out, flipped it open to display the blue and gold badge pinned inside, then returned it to his back pocket.