Dead Certain

we started getting these hang-up calls.”
    “Did he ever follow her, do you know? Ever threaten her?”
    I shook my head. “You have to understand about Claudia,” I said. “She wasn’t one of those women who can’t wait to run home and tell her best friend all about it. I know it sounds corny, but she was a person of action, not words. She used to say that’s what made her choose surgery. She could use her hands to actually make patients better, as opposed to playing twenty questions to figure out what was wrong with them and then writing them a prescription. She said it gave her a charge every time she held an instrument in her hand.” I suddenly found myself looking at the world through tears. I got to my feet and started pacing, anything to keep from falling apart.
    “So, do you think this guy Carlos is the kind of person who could have done this?” asked Blades. “You said the front door was open. Do you think she would have let him in if he’d come over?”
    I thought for a minute before answering. “No,” I said finally. “Like you, she was in a line of work where you get to see just how mean the mean streets really can be. I don’t think she’d have let Carlos in if he’d showed up, not after what happened the other day.”
    A voice from the other room announced that the crime lab was done with pictures, and Joe Blades got to his feet. “Thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “Would you mind hanging around a little while longer in case we have other questions?”
    I nodded numbly. Part of me was hoping that this meant that at least this part of it was over, and part of me was filled with dread at the prospect of what was to come. “Is it okay if I use the phone to make a call?” I asked. “I need to tell her parents what’s happened.”
     
    I have been the bearer of bad news in my time. I have looked men in the eye and told them that they were bankrupt, I have fired people, and worse. But I would have gladly given up every cent I had, pledged my family’s fortune and sold myself into slavery if it meant that I didn’t have to make that call, if it meant that I could bring their daughter back.
    It was after midnight in Chicago, an hour later in New York. I called directory assistance for the number and took the phone, dragging the cord behind me, into the living room in the hopes of finding a small corner of privacy in my own home. Elliott found me just as the phone was ringing, and sat beside me on the couch.
    A sleepy voice answered, a woman’s.
    “Mrs. Stein?” I said. “This is Kate Millholland.” By the time I got my name out, I think she knew. Just those six words at one o’clock in the morning were enough. Now there was no turning back. “Something terrible has happened. Claudia’s been killed.”
    At that her mother let out a terrifying sob, a plaintive expression of grief, and I felt the words dry up in my mouth. I shot an imploring look at Elliott, who gently took the receiver from my hand. I was out of the room, out of the apartment, on the street in front of the building before I even realized I was moving. If it weren’t for the police line they’d set up in front of the apartment, the barrier of blue sawhorses and yellow crime-scene tape, I would have been down the street and halfway to the lake. Instead I just stood there on the pavement, hugging myself against the cold, watching incredulously as life went on along Hyde Park Boulevard.
    Eventually Elliott came and found me. “Her father is going to fly out in the morning. He said he’d call as soon as he booked the flight.” I nodded, grateful. “They want to talk to you inside,” he continued, gently putting his arm around me and leading me back up the steps like a reluctant child.
    “What do they want?” I asked. I was close to the breaking point now.
    “They want you to look at something, and then they’re going to take her away.”
    I nodded, hearing the rushing sound returning. I did not want to go back into the apartment. Not tonight. Not ever. Silently I started bargaining with myself. I will go in now, but it will be the last time. I will do it and then it will be over. I will never spend another night in this apartment. I crossed the threshold and realized that I was breathing fast, almost panting in my panic.
    “What do they want me to look at?” I asked as Elliott led me into the kitchen.
    “The knife,” replied Elliott as my feet involuntarily slowed to a stop in the hall.