replacing it on the scalpel, then dropped it into her pocket. “When I realized someone was in the building, it was the only weapon I could find.”
“He still here?”
“I don’t think so. He was frightened off by the siren. Just a minute ago.”
“I’ll take a look around inside,” he said. “My partner’s at the back.”
Still numb, she watched him head down the hall towards the back door, his walkie-talkie, handcuffs, and holster all attached and protruding from the black leather belt girding his waist. He opened the rear door to let the other cop in.
“Anything?”
The other man shook his head. “All clear.”
The first uniform came back and tried Lila Arons’ door; it was locked. Rebecca took him upstairs to her office.
“Another minute he would’ve gotten through,” she said. “He would’ve killed me.”
The cop had her close the door between them to test the lock. It held fast.
“I can’t find anything here,” he said on the landing. “Both front and back doors were locked, no sign of forced entry. Same for the door to your office. Some scratches on the lock but could be just normal wear and tear.”
He watched her the way Wanless had watched her: professionally.
“What are you saying?” she asked.
“Nothing, ma’am, except the intruder didn’t leave any sign.”
“Someone was here,” she said. “I thought he was going to kill me.”
“Do you have some idea who it might be?”
She shook her head. “Someone killed one of my patients yesterday. I was just taking a look at her file when this happened. You can ask Detective Wanless. He’ll tell you. He’s at her house now. On Bathurst Street.”
“Detective Wanless. Is he Thirteen Division?”
She watched from the front door as the cop got into his cruiser and raised someone on his radio. When he returned to the building, his face was more human, easier to read.
“Detective Wanless asked me to take you to the station so you can make your statement.”
“What about the man who tried to kill me?”
His lips pursed and he looked away. “You know, we get lots of junkies breaking into doctors’ offices looking for drugs. Stoned out of their minds. But you know, ma’am, those guys are careless, usually leave something behind. Especially if they’re in a hurry.” The cop was having trouble making eye contact. She knew what that meant: embarrassment, disbelief. He looked like he wanted to believe her.
“Well, ma’am,” he said, looking behind her somewhere, “there’s really no evidence of any intruder, ma’am. Detective Wanless says you had a shock tonight.”
She watched the earnest policeman with horror. It was humiliating being patronized by someone so young.
“Ready to go, ma’am?”
“It’s all right, officer. I have my car.”
The policeman pondered her for a moment with reluctance, then tipped his hat and marched out to the squad car.
Rebecca walked along the hall toward the back door, carrying the manila envelope with Mrs. Kochinsky’s chart inside. She stood staring at the knob, turned it. Opening the door, she leaned out and tried to turn the knob from the outside. It wouldn’t budge. From the outside, it was locked. Then how had the man gotten in? The young cop was right — there were no marks of forced entry. She stepped outside, letting the door close. Then she realized. It closed automatically. It took a minute, and most people didn’t wait. Is that what she had done earlier, gone upstairs without waiting, knowing the door would close automatically?
She stared down at the ground, suddenly astonished by the object illuminated in the glare of the overhead lamp. A branch from a spruce tree lay by the side of the steps. It hadn’t been there when she had arrived. She would’ve noticed it; it was quite large. Unlocking the door again, she picked up the branch and laid it on the threshold just inside the door. Then she let the door go. It caught.
She looked around with a quick nervous energy, her eye drawn to the darkness directly across the street. There, in front of the school, the spruce trees rose two stories, casting deep shadows. She squinted into the murk of the branches, willing a shape to appear. A breeze picked up, wafted past her and through the spruce needles, making them sway. She shivered and ran to her car.
chapter thirteen
Rebecca spotted the flashing red lights of the police cruisers like a mirage half a mile away as she drove up the hill of Bathurst Street. Though she had expected them, the actual image of disaster they represented produced a physical response in her gut. A vague sensation of hunger rose (had she eaten that day?) then dissolved in the roiling pit of her stomach. If Wanless thought he had finished with her, he was wrong. She had become convinced of one thing — Mrs. Kochinsky had not been murdered by a thief. The robbery was a sham.
She parked a block away from the commotion and slumped back into her seat, drained from the day: the emotion, the self-searching, the fear. People had gathered on the sidewalk in small groups, facing the house. A news photographer scanned the scene with a video camera.
Large envelope in hand, she walked toward the revolving lights that stained the surrounding houses and hilly lawns a violent red. She manoeuvred her way through the whispering crowd, hoping she wouldn’t have to watch herself on the news the next day. The uniformed officer standing guard at the front door of the duplex watched her duck beneath the yellow police tape and climb the stairs toward him.
“I have something for Detective Wanless,” she said.
Wanless stood in the hall talking to a tall man in coveralls. Rebecca could tell who was boss by the deferential way the other man bent his head forward so Wanless wouldn’t have to look up. When Wanless noticed her, his blue eyes, indecipherable as before, lingered on her face then travelled down to the envelope. The other man was explaining something. He followed Wanless’ glance and stopped speaking.
“Catch you later,” said the man, heading toward the kitchen.
Wanless stood waiting for her to speak.
“Someone broke into my building tonight. He tried getting into my office while I was there.”
A pause while he thought it over. “Yeah, I heard. You get a look at him?”
“Just his shadow.”
“Had any trouble with drug break-ins there?”
“This wasn’t drugs. He was after me.”
“Why do you say that?”
He sounded calm compared to her, rational. It made her angry. “Can’t you see? He must’ve followed me from here.”
Wanless
