And wasn’t that a horribly uncharitable thought? Nevertheless, I used lots of soap and plenty of paper towels to clean and dry my hands completely, then tossed everything in the trash can.

And no, I didn’t consider that destroying evidence. I hadn’t done anything to Minka but save her life, sort of.

Back in the classroom, Officer Ortiz was trying to keep order.

“If anyone saw or heard anything,” he said, “I want to talk to you first.”

Everyone began speaking at once.

“Stop,” he barked. “Did anyone actually witness anything specifically related to the assault on Ms. LaBoeuf? Raise your hand if you did.”

I was impressed that he pronounced Minka’s name correctly, although I always preferred to hear her referred to as La Beef. I should’ve felt more remorse that Minka had been hurt, but I was almost giddy. Not in a happy way, but more of a shaking, freaking-out kind of way. Maybe I was in shock. I’m sure the fact that someone had been attacked a few short minutes before I walked down that hall would sink in later.

Since nobody in the room could offer any real help, Ortiz gave up and passed around a sheet of paper, asking everyone to write down their contact information.

As the students took turns complying with his request, I asked Ortiz where the ambulance would take Minka. He mentioned San Francisco General Hospital, barely a mile away.

Somehow, the name of the hospital made Minka’s injury sound even more life-threatening. “I don’t suppose she just fainted and hit her head.”

It sounded lame, even to me.

“She didn’t faint,” Ortiz said bluntly.

“Was she attacked?” Whitney asked.

“Are we all in danger?” Marianne asked.

“We don’t know yet,” Ortiz said. “Until we find out, I strongly suggest that you leave here in pairs or in groups. Don’t let anyone walk to their car alone.”

“Absolutely not,” I assured him.

“Is class canceled?” Dale asked.

I looked at Ortiz, who shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. We’ll be here for a while, asking questions and checking the premises.”

I glanced around. “Who wants to keep working?”

I was surprised to see everyone in the room raise their hands.

“I guess we’ll keep going,” I said.

On the drive home, I tried but failed to find some connection to all the strange events of that night. First, the Asian man had shouted and stormed out of Layla’s office, followed by Layla giving me grief over the provenance of the Oliver Twist.

Then Minka showed up and ruined my day. And shortly after I started my class, Layla came in to make nice and introduce Alice Fairchild. That’s when I saw the pathetic look of adoration on Tom Hardesty’s face. Apparently he had the hots for Layla, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his wife, if her expression of sheer contempt was any gauge.

Then there was the attack on Minka. Followed by Naomi’s lame attempt to blame me.

And damn it, why did I have to be the one to discover Minka? My shoulders shook with dread as I recalled her statement earlier in the evening.

“Wherever she goes, somebody dies.”

And sure enough . . . Okay, she didn’t die, but tonight’s attack was a little too close for comfort.

And that train of thought had to stop immediately. This was not my fault and I refused to feel guilty about it. And hey, Minka was a rude bitch for bringing it up in the first place.

Still, I wondered what this meant for Minka. How badly had she been injured? It couldn’t be a good sign that she hadn’t regained consciousness by the time the EMTs took her off to the hospital.

True, I didn’t like her. To be honest, I pretty much despised her. She’d been a thorn in my side since the day we met back in graduate school, where she developed an unhealthy crush on my boyfriend and tried to physically injure me badly enough that I would drop out of school. There were other weird and creepy happenings during that time. A dead cat on my porch. My tires slashed. I knew Minka was responsible, but she was never caught.

So as far as I was concerned, Minka was not a nice person. And yes, on occasion, I’d wished her ill.

But the “ill” I’d had in mind was something along the lines of a large potato bug crawling up her nose and laying eggs. I’d never wished for her to die or anything. Basically, I just wanted her to go away and leave me alone.

I turned off Seventh Street onto Brannan, then waited until the oncoming traffic cleared and the security gate in front of my building garage opened. I quickly turned in and parked my car.

I had less stuff to carry upstairs than I’d brought down with me. Naomi had given me a key to my classroom so I could leave some of my cheaper, less dangerous tools and supplies at BABA. I was determined to keep the more lethal and expensive ones in my possession at all times. Thanks to my recent misadventures in Scotland, I hesitated to leave hazardous tools in a place that might not be completely secure.

The block-long brick building I lived in had been built as a corset factory in the twenties and retained some of the old quirks from those days. One of my closets used to be a dumbwaiter with ropes and pulleys to move supplies up and down. It was sealed off now, of course, but it still had steel walls, so I used it to store important documents and the occasional rare book.

Most of the windows in my apartment were original as well, and reinforced with old-fashioned chicken wire. The heating ducts were exposed. Those touches, together with the interior brick walls, gave the large loft-style living space the look and feel of the old factory.

I loved my apartment, loved the South of Market location that was a mix of converted industrial lofts like mine, small ethnic restaurants and shops, and decorators’ outlets selling tiles and used brick and wrought iron gates. You could shop and dine in upscale luxury, then turn the corner and find a blighted, burned-out factory, waiting to be bought up and converted. The recession had slowed down some of the growth in the area, but I expected it to pop back any day now.

I stepped inside the service elevator and pushed the button for my floor. This lift was original, as well. It was wide enough to carry industrial-sized machinery, with a four-inch-thick wood plank floor and an iron gate that folded back to let passengers in and out.

As the elevator rumbled to life, I recalled again the angry words of the Asian man who’d left Layla’s office earlier that night. Did he have anything to do with the attack on Minka? I should’ve mentioned him to the police. What if he’d come back to threaten Layla and Minka had interrupted him? I didn’t know who he was, but Layla would know. And if she were his real target, I figured she’d be more than glad to give the police his name.

As the elevator stopped and the gate opened, I saw my neighbor Vinamra Patel peeking out her door. Everyone in the building could hear the old-fashioned industrial elevator when it was in motion, so we all kept an eye out for each other.

“Ah, Brooklyn,” Vinnie said, waving me over. She wore overalls and high-top Converse All Stars, and her glossy dark hair was braided down her back. “I was hoping it would be you.”

“It’s me,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“Guess who went out to dinner tonight?” she said seductively.

“Really?” My eyes must’ve lit up because she laughed and grabbed my arm.

“Yes. Come in. I have leftovers packed up and ready for you.”

I followed her like a puppy. “You guys don’t have to feed me every night, you know.”

Vinnie grinned. “But you’re always so pathetically grateful, it’s fun for us.”

“Hey, I like to eat,” I said in my own defense.

And my favorite neighbors knew it. Vinnie and her girlfriend, Suzie Stein, were wood sculptors. They worked at home, as I usually did, and their loft was filled with huge, oddly shaped hunks of wood and burl. Their sculpting tools of choice were chain saws, and a number of those were mounted on the walls. It was an artistic statement in itself.