Dead Certain

become a surgeon. I’m not saying it justifies fraud, but I do worry that with the way things are going in medicine, we’re going to end up with too few doctors and too many investment bankers.”
    “Now that,” said Elliott, leaning over to give me a quick kiss on the cheek, “is a truly scary thought.”
     
    When I pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment, Leo was there waiting to pick up the car. He seemed ridiculously pleased that I’d brought a man home. When I introduced Elliott, he beamed and pumped Elliott’s hand like the father of the bride.
    The movies have ruined so many moments that take place in real life, raising our expectations to impossible levels. But as Leo pulled away from the curb and Elliott slowly enveloped me in his arms, I swear I almost heard the swollen strains of a soundtrack in my head.
    I took him by the hand and led him up the stairs to the outer door of the building. There were three doors to go through to get to the apartment, and three locks on each door, so that I had more keys than a janitor. As I fumbled to find the right ones, Elliott kissed the back of my neck, which made finding the keys difficult. We lingered in the vestibule, picking up where we’d left off on the street. By now the old ladies in the apartment building across the street were probably hanging out their windows with binoculars, but I honestly didn’t care. For once I wanted to surrender to the moment.
    Eventually we made our way up the vestibule steps through the inside door—more kisses, more keys—to the first-floor landing. During the day, natural light filtered down from the third-floor skylight. At night, glass sconces that had once been illuminated by gas glowed dimly against the dark paneling.
    But tonight what the soft light revealed brought me up short. The front door of the apartment was open. Not just unlocked, but ajar. Even Elliott, whose mind was now firmly on other things, immediately grasped the significance of this. Hyde Park is an urban neighborhood and Chicago is not Disneyland.
    We looked at each other for a minute, not wanting this to be happening.
    “Do you think your roommate might have just forgotten to close it?” asked Elliott, but I shook my head.
    I felt sick to my stomach, my fear no doubt magnified by disappointment. All my instincts told me that we’d been broken into. Leo had even told me that there was a burglar at work on the street, and I had stupidly downplayed his warnings. While I dreaded the shambles and vandalism that most likely awaited me inside, I found myself wishing selfishly that I’d suggested that we go back to Elliott’s place and left Claudia to come home and pick through the wreckage. I pulled out my cell phone.
    “I’m going to call the police,” I said.
    “Let me just go in and check it out,” said Elliott, slipping the Browning from the holster beneath his jacket and flicking off the safety with a practiced hand. “This might be just like the box that was sent to your mother— a message to scare you, nothing more.”
    “I’m still not so sure that going in there is such a good idea,” I protested. “I think it’s better to let the cops check it out.”
    “Come on, one quick look,” urged Elliott. “It’s probably nothing.” Under the circumstances I couldn’t blame him for being less than enthusiastic about waiting for the police to show up.
    “I’m going with you,” I said. “If it turns out that Claudia did forget to close the door behind her, then I sure as hell don’t want her to drop dead of a heart attack when she sees you creeping around the apartment with a gun.”
    “Then stay behind me,” said Elliott, pushing open the door and stepping inside to listen, keeping the gun in front of him and slowly covering the room.
    “Claudia?” I called out. “Are you home?”
    The only answer was the silence of the apartment.
    We stood for a moment in the entrance hall, listening. The light on the answering machine blinked silently from on top of the table in the dark, indicating that we had messages. The living room and dining room lay to our right.
    I fumbled for the switch that turned on the lights in the living room and dining room. Both were exactly as I’d left them that morning. I took a deep breath and followed Elliott as he made his way down the long hallway that formed the backbone of the apartment. He stopped at the arched entryway that opened into the kitchen. I had forgotten to turn off the light