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“I wasn’t there,” Abel said. “I wish I could feel relief … he’s never go
“At the Admiral?”
He nodded. He didn’t ask the question that needed to be asked. He didn’t ask, Do you believe me?
“You need an alibi,” A
“No,” Abel whispered and turned to her. “You didn’t. It was much earlier.”
“No, it was past midnight,” A
He shook his head, slowly. “No,” he repeated. “No. My alibi is my business.”
And then he did something absolutely unexpected. He pulled her close and held her for a moment, so tight she thought she could feel every single bone in his body. And somewhere between them, she felt his heart beating, fast and nervous. Hunted. He let go of her before the hug became a real hug, left her standing there, and fled from the tower. A
When Linda came home that afternoon, A
Linda stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her daughter. A
“Have you been sitting here for a long time?” Linda asked.
“I don’t know,” A
“Come inside?” Linda asked. She didn’t command; she asked. “Have a cup of coffee with me. Tell me … if you want to … tell me, what happened.”
“Nothing,” A
“You’re ice-cold,” she said. “A
“What—what did he die from then? How come you …?”
Linda turned away and put the kettle on.
“The husband of a colleague of mine works in the forensics department. She told me. I don’t know why they didn’t give this information in the newspaper … maybe the police have their reasons for not saying … but I’ll tell you. He died instantly. He was shot.”
A
Linda nodded. “From behind, she said. A shot in the neck. He didn’t suffer. I just want you to know that.”
A
Linda shook her head while A
“Then go ahead and make it now,” A
She knew Linda was standing at the window, watching her ride away, watching her teeter as her bike wheels slid in the snow that was turning to ice on the road. Linda had always wanted another child, but it hadn’t worked out. After A
She rang the doorbell three times before he opened. He was wearing a faded T-shirt and his hair was messy—messier than usual—as if he had just gotten out of bed or toweled himself off after showering. Two of the tiny cuts next to his eye had opened and were glistening, wet and red.
“Do you know how to shoot a gun?” A
“What? No,” Abel said. “Do you need to find someone who does?”
“No. You’re sure you don’t know?” she asked. “And that you don’t have a weapon, either?”
“No!” he repeated. She thought he would step back to let her in. He didn’t. He stepped forward and almost pulled the door closed behind him. He was shivering in his thin T-shirt, she could see. “Why are you asking me this?” he said.
“If you’re telling the truth, you’re safe,” A
Slowly, very slowly, a smile started to broaden on his face.
“Thank God,” he said. “I’ve never been so glad that somebody was shot.”
For a while they were standing there in the cold staircase. Then his smile disappeared. “But I can’t really prove that I don’t know how to shoot a gun,” he said. “Can I? I mean, it’s hard to prove that you can’t do something.”
“Why would you have to prove that?” She nearly started to laugh.
“They will think it was me,” he said in a low voice. “Despite everything.” He glanced back at the apartment.
“Micha?” she asked. “Is she not supposed to hear what we’re talking about? Haven’t you told her …?”
“Micha’s on a field trip with her school.” He folded his arms across his chest, as if this would protect him from the cold. Or possibly, from something else. On his upper-left arm she saw a shiny round red spot, like a burn. It looked new. It looked like a cigarette burn. He saw what she was looking at and put his hand over the wound.
“Abel …” she began, “do we have to stay out here on the landing?”
He shook his head. “No. You have to go home. You don’t belong here. You’ll catch cold.”
“It’s warmer in your apartment.”
“A
“You’ve got a visitor,” she said.
“Someone I owe money to.”
“I could lend you …”
“Please,” he said. “Go.”
For a moment, he hesitated. As if he would prefer to stay on the landing, forever. But finally, he smoothed back his hair and turned to go. He closed the door behind him, with a click.
A