Seven Minutes to Noon

by.
    “None that we know of at this moment,” she answered.
    “What about—”
    Giometti shifted in front of the microphones and said, “That’s all for now.”
    Alice watched them turn around and walk back into the police station. She could almost feel the cool shade of the place, with its predictable comforts. The soda machines, ready to serve. The tables and chairs and dropped ceiling pocked with silver sprinkler heads. The fish circling in their illuminated tank. She wondered if the big fish had eaten up all the little fish yet, and if so, how it would survive alone.
    Simon used the remote to click off the TV, then clicked it right back on. “Too wound up for bed,” he said. “Let’s see if Mr. TiVo did his job today.” A few clicks and that afternoon’s Red Sox versus Phillies game appeared on the television. Mike leaned forward, instantly glued to the game. Alice and Maggie looked at each other; clearly this was how their husbands were going to unburden their minds.
    “I’ll make us some hot milk, ladies,” Maggie said. “I think there might be some gingersnaps too.”
    Dana stood up and stretched. “I’m heading over to the precinct,” she said. “Rula’s staked outside, if you need anything.”
    Mike pulled his attention away from the screen. “Does he do pizza runs?”
    Dana looked at him and forced a wry smile. He forced one back.
    “Honey, you’re in Brooklyn. You can get a pizza delivered twenty-four/seven without police assistance.”
    Alice walked Dana to the front door while Maggie headed into the kitchen.
    “Thanks,” Alice said, “for everything.”
    “Just doing my job.” Dana started to lean forward to give Alice a sisterly peck on the cheek — as if they were actually friends — but pulled back. She seemed embarrassed by the momentary lapse in professionalism. Instead, she put out a hand and Alice gave it a little squeeze.
    Alice watched Dana walk down the front stoop. Detective Rula, a young Hispanic man in a gray sweatshirt and white Mets cap, appeared to doze in a dented Honda Civic parked at the curb.
    Maggie had arranged two red ceramic mugs of hot milk and a plate of gingersnaps on the coffee table in the living room. Alice settled into the couch. She picked up one of the mugs and blew on her hot milk, watching a shiny skin congeal and wrinkle under her breath. It was still too hot to drink so she set it down and waited for Maggie, who had gone back to the kitchen.
    Alice thought of Nell and Peter’s two-hour absence today with immense relief and a shiver of fear that she felt would haunt her forever. But her children were safe now, home as it were; as close to home as they could get for the moment. Alice could almost smell their deep sleep, floating like a sticky-sweet cloud above the raucous din of the television one flight up. Beyond this room, this house, these people, the neighborhood slept soundly. Or so it seemed by the heavy silence outside. Alice wondered what she would find if she went out right now and walked the quiet nineteenth-century sidewalks. How many windows would be lit yellow, containing a fretful wakefulness? How many people in this city couldn’t sleep?
    She thought about flight. About staying and leaving. She and Mike hadn’t had a chance to seriously discuss it, but they would. Later tonight or tomorrow morning. There were a hundred places they might go. Though admittedly, at this moment, she felt less determined to flee. She was so very tired.
    “You know,” Maggie said, flouncing onto the couch next to Alice. “I’m thinking Simon and I might just give it another go.”
    “Well,” Alice said, wavering between her habitual diplomacy on this subject and a desire to say something mean and sharp to end Maggie’s indecision, “you two are meant for each other.”
    “So.” Maggie faced Alice. Silver moonlight shifted across the ceiling, shadowing her face. “Tell the truth. Do you think Tim’s involved in this?”
    Alice shuddered at that awful thought. “I don’t want to think it,” she said. “I can’t think it.”
    Maggie leaned in. “But do you?”
    “Maybe,” Alice said, allowing that possibility to seep into her thoughts. “Do you?”
    Maggie nodded decisively. “I always thought that man was too good to be true. He was too easy, do you know what I mean? Never a complaint. Perfectly devastated when Lauren died. But then he left town.”
    “He said he couldn’t stay here anymore.” Alice wanted to believe Tim