“You don’t listen, DiNunzio. I told you guys not to talk to him.”

“I thought I could help. I just got in. Where are you?” Mary had never been so relieved to hear that it was her boss on the phone. Actually she had never been relieved to hear that her boss was on the phone, but that didn’t mean she wanted her dead.

“I’m at home, safe and sound.”

“Is Premenstrual Tom there?”

“Of course not. Thanks for worrying about me, though. Remind me at evaluation time.” Bennie laughed again, and Mary guessed she’d enjoyed the ACLU dinner, evidently celebrating her First Amendment right to chocolate martinis.

“Bennie, I think you should be taking this more seriously.”

“Relax, child. There’s nothing to worry about with him. He’s all talk.”

“How do you know he’s all talk? You don’t know that.”

“I know that.”

“A hundred percent?” Mary didn’t add that she was a little worried for herself, too. Or that Premenstrual Tom had called her a name that hurt her feelings when he threatened to kill her. “He’s such a creep!”

“Absolutely, he is. It’s a given that he’s a creep, but that doesn’t end the inquiry.”

Almost convinced, Mary flopped down on her couch, flicked on the glazed lamp on the end table, and kicked off her pumps. The shoes went skidding across the nubby Berber, and the left one landed heel-up near the front door. She glanced idly in its direction, then frowned. A skinny strip of light shone from the threshold underneath her front door. Had she not closed the front door behind her?

“Trust me, child,” Bennie was saying. “I defended murder cases forever. There’s the creeps you worry about and the creeps you don’t. I’ll tell you which is which.”

Mary watched her door. Was it open? Where were her house keys? Her hand was empty, she didn’t have them. She must have left them in the front door!

“The creeps you worry about are the ones who don’t threaten you first. Believe me, they’re the dangerous ones. They’re the ones who don’t broadcast it, or give any warning at all.”

Mary’s front door edged open. She went rigid. Was it a breeze? Or was someone out there? Opening her front door?

“The dangerous ones, the truly murderous ones, lie in wait. And then, when the moment’s right, they strike.”

“Yikes!” Mary blurted out, dropping the phone and bolting for the door. She darted across the room, wrenched her keys from the lock, and slammed the door shut with both hands. Good. Yes. Phew. She laughed with giddy relief. She twisted the deadbolt knob to lock the door and inserted the brass chain for the slide lock. Then she turned to go back to the phone, which was when she saw it.

A shadow of a man, flitting past the shutters that covered her front window.

Mary froze. Then he was gone. She listened. She didn’t hear the sound of footsteps, but then again, the walls of her house were too thick. Maybe she should open the door and see?

OF COURSE NOT! ARE YOU NUTS? She hurried back to the phone and couldn’t hide her panic.

“Bennie,” she said, out of breath. “The weirdest thing just happened! A man just ran past my front window!”

“What did he look like?”

“Like a shadow!”

“Stay calm. Was there anybody out there when you came in?”

“No.”

“And you said you just got in.”

“Right.”

Bennie chuckled. “Then there’s nobody out there now.”

“But I saw him!”

“A shadow. A shadow’s not a man, DiNunzio.”

“What if it was Premenstrual Tom? He looked up where you live, he could have looked up where I live. He’s not incapable.”

“Oh, he gave you the ‘incapable’ speech, too.” Bennie laughed. “You’re getting carried away. It’s nighttime, there are shadows. You’re a little spooked is all.”

A little?

“Now, are you okay or do I have to come over there?”

No! “Yes!”

“Good, go to bed. I’ll deal with our new best friend in the morning. Leave it to me, and thanks again for the call. Good night, kiddo.”

“Good night,” Mary said, but she hung up worried. Had she seen a man at the window? Had he opened the door? Had she been imagining it? Was it Premenstrual Tom? She rose uncertainly and padded barefoot to the window. The shutters were unhooked in the center, and she peeked out of the tiny opening between them. She could see only a cross section of her street; a sliver of red brick from the house opposite hers, a strip of flat asphalt roofline, and a slice of the black sky. Clouds rendered even heaven opaque, hiding the stars and keeping the moon a secret.

Mary stayed at the window, wondering. It seemed unlikely that Premenstrual Tom could be out there, but it wasn’t impossible. There were dangerous people in this city; she knew because one of them had taken her husband’s life. They had been married only two years, and Mike had been killed while he was riding his bicycle on the West River Drive, intentionally struck by a car. That his murderer had eventually been caught gave Mary no comfort. She was a lawyer still trying to understand the meaning of justice. She understood completely the meaning of loss.

She hooked the shutter closed, turned away from the front window, and switched off the light.

Plunging herself into a familiar blackness.

“Go away,” Mary said without looking up. She was in her usual spot in the conference room, having spent another full day reading government documents. She still hadn’t found Amadeo’s file and she had three billion documents to go. Many lawyers would have balked at the task, but not Mary. She grew up in South Philly, where she’d learned to pop her gum, wear high heels, and work overtime. One of these skills would prove useful in life. Guess which.

“Come on, you need a break,” called a voice from the threshold. Judy Carrier, fellow associate and best friend. “Let’s go, it’s time for dinner!”

Mary finished reading her document and went on to the next. Only 2,999,999,999 to go. If I never eat again, I can be finished by menopause. Yippee!

“It’s almost seven o’clock. Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”

“That’s because you move around too much. Sit still. Work.” Mary knew it was futile, even as she said it. Judy Carrier was from Northern California, where she climbed mountains for fun. Mary couldn’t relate. Once she saw a photo of Judy’s family wearing waist belts, ropes, and clips, and she thought they all worked for Comcast Cable.

“Let’s go to the sushi place across the street. I hear that super-hot guy from Dechert goes there, his name is Nicastro. Stephen Nicastro.” Judy brightened. “He must be Italian, like you!”

“Then we belong together. Register us at Bloomingdale’s.”

“Also if we go now, we can be back when Premenstrual Tom calls. Boo!” Judy had been ragging Mary all day and had even left a box of Midol on her desk.

“That’s very supportive. Now go away. Let me work. Leave.”

“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” Judy walked into the conference room and plopped into a swivel chair.

Mary looked up, vaguely annoyed. Judy was pretty in a wide-open, all-American way, with round, bright blue eyes, a small, straight nose, and an easy, optimistic grin. Her chin-length hair had been dyed most recently the canary of legal pads, which Mary hoped was coincidental. And in contrast to Mary’s stiff navy suit, Judy wore a tie-dyed T-shirt, baggy jeans, and yellow clogs that looked like bananas for the feet. The total effect was Business Casual meets Cirque du Soleil, but Mary didn’t say so. Best friends know when to shut up. “So you just gonna sit there and stare at me?”

“I want you bad.”

“Weirdo.”

“When can we eat?”

“After I find Amadeo’s file.” Mary held up the paper she’d been reading. “These are inventory sheets of property and bank accounts from other internees. If I find his inventory sheets, I’ll know what happened to his boats.”