The October List

his eyes toward what was probably an unmarked police car – a gray sedan with several small antennas bristling on the roof.
    ‘Goddamn it,’ she snapped, furious. ‘They’re all over the place!’
    ‘What should we do?’
    After a moment of debate, she said, ‘Let’s go back to my apartment. Wait, walk over there, by the curb.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Stay in the sunlight.’
    Daniel frowned, uncertainly. Then he gave a smile. ‘Ah, you want them to see us.’
    ‘Exactly.’
     
    In ten minutes they were back at her apartment building. They found no unwelcome assailants inside this time and stepped into the hesitant elevator for a ride to the second floor. In her unit, which faced south, she set the Tiffany bag he’d brought for her on an antique table by the door, her purse too. Shucked her jacket and slung it on a hook.
    Daniel looked around the place, focused on the books, the pictures of a little blond girl.
    ‘Sarah,’ he said.
    She didn’t bother to nod. It wasn’t a question anyway.
    Daniel noted other pictures, mostly of Gabriela by herself. A few with her and her parents. One he studied for a long moment.
    ‘You and your father?’
    She looked his way. ‘That’s right.’
    ‘He’s a good-looking man. Do your parents live in the city?’
    ‘He passed away,’ she told him. ‘Mom’s in a home.’
    ‘I’m sorry. What did he do for a living?’
    ‘Worked for the power company. Con Ed. Manager.’
    The picture had been taken a decade ago. It depicted a twenty-two-year-old Gabriela and her father, exactly thirty years older; they shared the same birthday, May 10. Taurus. She told Daniel this, then added wistfully, ‘He used to say people who’re Tauruses think astrology is a lot of bull.’
    Daniel laughed. And he looked over the image of the tall man, with trim salt-and-pepper hair, once more.
    She didn’t tell him that the picture had been taken a week before his death.
    They had the same expression on their faces, easy and humorous, unrehearsed. Her mother had been having a good day and she’d playfully snapped the picture.
    Then Daniel noted a dozen framed artistic photographs, all in black and white. He walked close to examine them. They were mostly still lives and landscape but some portraits too.
    He asked, ‘So these are yours.’
    She was gazing out the window, through a slit in a side curtain. ‘What?’
    ‘These photos. Yours?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, I’m impressed.’ He walked along the carpeted floor in front of them, bending close to examine each one.
    ‘I used to paint but I decided I liked photography better. There’s something seductive about taking reality and controlling it.’ Her voice was enthusiastic, but that energy suddenly vanished and she fell silent, as she gazed at a framed crayon drawing of a heart. I love you Mommy was painstakingly written in the margin.
    Now Daniel eased to the window.
    ‘See the cops?’ She turned away from the artwork.
    ‘Not yet,’ he replied looking out again.
    They discussed what to do next, how to save Sarah – getting into the Prescott Investments office, trying to find the October List and the money.
    She fell silent and sat heavily in a chair. ‘It’s overwhelming,’ she said.
    ‘Nothing’s overwhelming if you take it step by step.’ Scanning the street, he clicked his tongue. ‘Yep. There they are. There’s a playground across the street, a couple hanging out there, heads down. Only they’re in business suits and there’re no kids nearby. They might be talking into microphones in their sleeves. Oh, and then on the roof of the building facing yours? It looks like that duo from the street.’
    ‘The roof?’ she asked with a frown of disbelief. ‘They’re looking in?’
    ‘No, they’re just setting up equipment, it looks like. Microphone – a dish of some kind.’
    Gabriela turned away and looked absently around the room.
    ‘All right.’
    Daniel looked at her inquiringly.
    ‘Let me know when they’re finished.’
    She walked back and forth in front of the window, pacing anxiously.
    Only a minute later he said, ‘Okay, they’re aiming some big phallic lens this way.’
    She stepped close to him and whispered, ‘Let’s talk about Charles and the case, but don’t say anything about Joseph.’
    He nodded.
    For five minutes they carried on an improvised, but credible conversation about Charles Prescott’s alleged crimes and her desperate situation. At one point, though, real tears began cascading