“Of course I’ll be there.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.” Without looking back, Jared walked out, slamming the door behind him.

“Enough of this,” Kozlow said as he listened to the end of Jared and Sara’s conversation. “She’s kicking our asses all over the mat. Let’s kill her and be done with it.”

“Are you that much of a moron?” Rafferty asked, sitting at the desk in his study. “Sara’s the best bargaining chip I have. Without her, I have nothing over Jared.”

“Who cares about Jared? If he’s not in the house, he’s useless. I say we go back to Victor and tell him to-”

“Enough with Victor. I told you a dozen times, he won’t touch the case. So I don’t want to hear any more about it.”

“All I’m saying is Jared hasn’t done anything lately to-”

“Are you listening?!” Rafferty shouted. “I said I don’t want to hear it!”

In one quick movement, Kozlow reached across the desk and grabbed Rafferty’s left ear. Pulling him forward, he whispered, “How many times do I have to tell you – don’t yell at me. I don’t like it.”

“Let go of me,” Rafferty demanded. When Kozlow obliged, he asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Kozlow said. “I just don’t like being talked to like that.”

“You’ve made your point.” Running his hand over his hair, Rafferty slowly regained his composure. When this was done, he’d deal with Kozlow.

“So you think if we want to win, our best bet is still with Jared?” Kozlow asked.

“That’s it,” Rafferty said. “Now you know everything.”

Sitting in her empty apartment, Sara tried to picture his face. She had been friends with Lenny for half a dozen years, but as she knew from personal experience, the simplest things are usually the easiest to forget. In a few weeks’ time, her vivid memories of his physical presence would begin to fade. She’d always remember who he was as a person, and what he was like as a detective, but the artist in Sara wanted something more visual. Sure, she could always look at old photographs, but that wasn’t the same. She wanted to recall how he moved across a room, and how he gestured with his short, fat fingers, and how his shoulders bobbed when he laughed. That was what she needed to remember, and that was what she spent the next two hours trying to do.

Drained by the effort, Sara reheated some leftover pasta and, standing at the kitchen counter, ate it from the container. Then, hoping to focus on something less stressful, she emptied the hamper into her purple laundry bag and headed for the laundry room in the basement of the building. Dragging her bag down the stairs, she walked out the front entrance of the brownstone, pulled out her keys, and opened the black metal gate that led to the basement door. Closing the gate behind her, she entered the laundry room and slowly separated her clothes into colors and whites.

The laundry room itself was typical for New York: quiet, musty, and difficult to access. Set off from the room was a small area for residential storage and another area that contained a poorly lit labyrinth of pipes and circuit breakers. Since the day they moved in, Sara had found the room creepy – the concrete walls made it feel like a tomb. When she was finished loading the washers, she took out her key, opened the gate, and returned to her apartment.

A half hour later, she returned to the basement. Once again, she opened the metal gate to reach the laundry room. Still regretting what she’d said to Jared, she moved her clothes from the washers to the dryers. I should call him, she thought. Tonight’s not a night to be alone. In the midst of the transfer, she heard a clanging noise from the back of the basement. Those loud pipes that keep us up all winter, she thought. But when she heard the noise get closer, she peered over her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move. Startled, she dropped the pile of clothes in her hands. Just a mouse, she realized, watching it scurry behind one of the washers. Although she was somewhat relieved, something still felt wrong. When she was done loading the dryers, she stepped outside to the black gate and realized that she had left her keys in the laundry room. She turned around and headed back. But when she checked the tops of the washers and dryers, the keys weren’t there.

Sara pulled open the door of one of the dryers and rifled through her wet clothes. Nothing. Leaning into the second dryer, she pulled out one piece at a time, carefully searching for her missing keys. Suddenly, she heard another noise behind her. She turned around expecting to see the mouse. But then, suddenly, the lights went out.

Sara was enveloped by darkness. Her first thought was that someone else was in the room. Don’t move, she told herself. That’s how he’ll find you. Holding her breath, she listened carefully. But all she heard was the monotonous churning of the spinning dryer. Over and over, the sound filled the air – it was maddening. Maybe it’s just a blown fuse, she thought. There’s no reason to panic. Then she felt a hand cover her mouth. Someone was behind her. He gripped her jaw tightly. “Hiya, Sara,” he whispered in her ear. She knew that voice anywhere. It was Sunken Cheeks.

She thrust her elbow into his stomach. It was just enough to make him let go. Sara darted in the direction of the door. Elliott was right behind her. She still couldn’t see, but running her hands along the cold wall she found the door and tore it open. When she reached the black metal gate, she grabbed the bars and screamed, “Police! Hel -!”

Before she could even finish the word, she again felt his hand over her mouth. Elliott punched her fingers until she let go of the gate and dragged her back into the laundry room. The door closed and darkness returned. She thrashed in every direction, trying to pull herself free. Holding both of Sara’s wrists in one hand, he threw her up against the wall. She was still struggling against his grip. Elliott backhanded her across the face. She stopped fighting. He leaned in and clutched her throat. She could smell the stale remnants of alcohol on his breath. “Keep him out of this house. Do you understand me? I don’t want him fishing through your stuff.”

Sara nodded vigorously.

Still holding her by the wrists, he threw her to the ground. In the pitch dark, she had no idea where he was – behind her, in front of her – he could have been anywhere. She lay completely still on the floor. Again, she listened carefully. And again, all she heard was the churning of the spinning dryer. Stay still, she told herself. He’s at just as much of a disadvantage. Then, above the sound of the dryer, Elliott’s deep voice cut through the room.

“Nothing’s sacred,” he warned. “Not even you.”

Before Sara could react, she caught a crack of light by the door. Then she heard the black metal gate swing open and slam shut. He was outside. She ran out the laundry room door and saw Elliott on the other side of the gate.

“Police! Someone! Help!” she screamed.

“Not in this city,” Elliott said. He took Sara’s keys and put them on the farthest step from the basement. “Someone’ll be along soon.” As he walked up the block, he added, “See you in court.”

Monday morning, Sara arrived at work hoping for a relaxing day. The combination of Lenny’s funeral and seeing Jared there had left her completely exhausted. So as she headed up the hallway, the last thing she expected to see was two workmen packing up boxes in her office. “What do you guys think you’re doing?” she asked.

“Moving files,” one of the workers said.

“I can see that. Who gave you permission to come in here?”

“Conrad Moore. He said we had to get all the Kozlow files, since they were removing the ADA.”

As Sara’s mouth dropped open, Guff entered the room. “What’s going on?”