organized,
as usual.
“What’s
wrong?” she asked.
He
pointed. “Is this the ladder you fell off before Dylan’s party?” She had
forgotten until now that it was broken.
“Um,
yes. Sorry, I forgot that you can’t use the top step, but I think you are tall
enough—”
“No,
Suzanne,” Jake said, with no trace of humor in his charming face. “I think
maybe you should consider calling the police.”
#
Officer
Frank Caputo of the Atlanta PD was polite and thorough, if not overly helpful.
He had arrived about twenty minutes after Suzanne called. He jotted down the
details of Suzanne’s fall from the ladder, including the time of day she’d gone
to the emergency room and the name of the doctor she’d seen. He took a picture
on his cell phone of the broken ladder, and of what Jake had just discovered: the
tiny metal shavings on the floor underneath it.
They
looked like silvery-black pencil shavings, in a small pile next to the
baseboard of the closet. Once Jake pointed them out, Suzanne was surprised she
hadn’t noticed them when she pulled the ladder out originally. Jake had noticed
them, though, which led him to look more closely at the broken step. A single
jagged point of metal stuck out where the top of the step had remained
connected to the side; the rest of the break was clean. Someone had sawed
almost all the way through the step before Suzanne had stood there. Her fall
had not been an accident.
Officer
Caputo had agreed with this assessment. Beyond, that, however, he seemed to
have little to offer.
“How
many people have keys to the office?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Just
me, my assistant Chad, and the landlord.”
“Your
assistant? Any problems there?”
“None,”
she said without hesitation.
“Is
there anyone your landlord might have let in recently? Like to do service on
the unit?”
“No,
I don’t think so,” Suzanne said, thinking. “The last time was a broken toilet,
but that’s been…more than six months ago. There have been some vendors here
dropping things off for an event recently, but Chad always meets them here with
the key.”
“Have
you filed any other reports recently?”
“Well,
my tires were slashed a month or so ago,” Suzanne said. “There was someone in
my spot so I had to park on the street. I was here late; I just assumed it was
some neighborhood kids.”
“Any
problems with the neighbors?”
“No.”
“Recent
breakups? Boyfriends?”
Marci
snorted, and then recoiled under Suzanne’s glare. Officer Caputo gave her a
questioning expression.
“There
have been a few…I’ve dated a good bit recently.” She tried for her usual
Southern charm, but it sounded instead like a bad imitation of Amanda Wingfield
in The Glass Menagerie .
I
declare, sir, I have had a good many gentleman callers.
“Anyone
you may have rejected?” the police officer asked. “Maybe someone more
interested in you than you were in him?”
Suzanne
bit her lip.
Marci
interjected, “That pretty much describes all of them.”
The
officer gave Suzanne a look she couldn’t read, and she stared down at her feet,
reddening in response. The elbow she aimed at Marci missed by inches.
“Ma’am,
I’ll file a report, but there’s not much we can do for you unless you have some
idea who is doing this.” He handed her a photocopied page with a blurry title
across the top—“Ten Tips for Stalking Victims.” Stalking . Shit.
“You
might want to make a list of boyfriends, or, um… dates , you’ve had in
the last year or so.” Suzanne could tell the word “dates” made the young
officer uncomfortable, and she suddenly felt inexplicably dirty. “Maybe even
further back if you can think of anyone who might be upset with you. Are you
ever here alone?”
Suzanne
thought about Chad’s new job with a lump in her throat. “All the time,” she
said softly.
“You
should have an alarm installed here, and maybe at your residence. You
as usual.
“What’s
wrong?” she asked.
He
pointed. “Is this the ladder you fell off before Dylan’s party?” She had
forgotten until now that it was broken.
“Um,
yes. Sorry, I forgot that you can’t use the top step, but I think you are tall
enough—”
“No,
Suzanne,” Jake said, with no trace of humor in his charming face. “I think
maybe you should consider calling the police.”
#
Officer
Frank Caputo of the Atlanta PD was polite and thorough, if not overly helpful.
He had arrived about twenty minutes after Suzanne called. He jotted down the
details of Suzanne’s fall from the ladder, including the time of day she’d gone
to the emergency room and the name of the doctor she’d seen. He took a picture
on his cell phone of the broken ladder, and of what Jake had just discovered: the
tiny metal shavings on the floor underneath it.
They
looked like silvery-black pencil shavings, in a small pile next to the
baseboard of the closet. Once Jake pointed them out, Suzanne was surprised she
hadn’t noticed them when she pulled the ladder out originally. Jake had noticed
them, though, which led him to look more closely at the broken step. A single
jagged point of metal stuck out where the top of the step had remained
connected to the side; the rest of the break was clean. Someone had sawed
almost all the way through the step before Suzanne had stood there. Her fall
had not been an accident.
Officer
Caputo had agreed with this assessment. Beyond, that, however, he seemed to
have little to offer.
“How
many people have keys to the office?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Just
me, my assistant Chad, and the landlord.”
“Your
assistant? Any problems there?”
“None,”
she said without hesitation.
“Is
there anyone your landlord might have let in recently? Like to do service on
the unit?”
“No,
I don’t think so,” Suzanne said, thinking. “The last time was a broken toilet,
but that’s been…more than six months ago. There have been some vendors here
dropping things off for an event recently, but Chad always meets them here with
the key.”
“Have
you filed any other reports recently?”
“Well,
my tires were slashed a month or so ago,” Suzanne said. “There was someone in
my spot so I had to park on the street. I was here late; I just assumed it was
some neighborhood kids.”
“Any
problems with the neighbors?”
“No.”
“Recent
breakups? Boyfriends?”
Marci
snorted, and then recoiled under Suzanne’s glare. Officer Caputo gave her a
questioning expression.
“There
have been a few…I’ve dated a good bit recently.” She tried for her usual
Southern charm, but it sounded instead like a bad imitation of Amanda Wingfield
in The Glass Menagerie .
I
declare, sir, I have had a good many gentleman callers.
“Anyone
you may have rejected?” the police officer asked. “Maybe someone more
interested in you than you were in him?”
Suzanne
bit her lip.
Marci
interjected, “That pretty much describes all of them.”
The
officer gave Suzanne a look she couldn’t read, and she stared down at her feet,
reddening in response. The elbow she aimed at Marci missed by inches.
“Ma’am,
I’ll file a report, but there’s not much we can do for you unless you have some
idea who is doing this.” He handed her a photocopied page with a blurry title
across the top—“Ten Tips for Stalking Victims.” Stalking . Shit.
“You
might want to make a list of boyfriends, or, um… dates , you’ve had in
the last year or so.” Suzanne could tell the word “dates” made the young
officer uncomfortable, and she suddenly felt inexplicably dirty. “Maybe even
further back if you can think of anyone who might be upset with you. Are you
ever here alone?”
Suzanne
thought about Chad’s new job with a lump in her throat. “All the time,” she
said softly.
“You
should have an alarm installed here, and maybe at your residence. You
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