the bed, on top of the covers, folding his hands across his stomach, and let himself sink into a river of sleep.
Kate returned in the early morning. Henry thought of hiding beneath the bed, but decided not to bother. It was easier to listen from where he was. She answered a phone call midmorning, and he heard her asking whoever was on the other end if they had a warrant. If the police were coming then it was time to leave. It got quiet again for a while, and he hoped she was either napping or had left. He put his shoes on, gathered his backpack, and decided to go. He could come back that night and see Kate again. Or maybe he could come back and visit as Jack Ludovico, the bereft friend, see if he could get her to sleep with him. He thought it would be pretty easy.
He moved silently across the apartment, rubbing his arm where the cat had scratched him, but when he got to the kitchen he saw that the door to the basement was open. She must have gone down there, herself. He made a sudden decision to leave out the front of the building. It would be safe enough, especially since Kate was in the basement. He exited through the front door and walked down the hallway, then heard footsteps coming up the stairwell, plus the identifiable squawk of a police radio. His mind furiously considered his options. Walk casually past the police. Reenter Kate’s apartment. Then he remembered the key that said am on it and dug it from his pocket. He opened Audrey’s door, ducked under the police tape, and was inside, breathing rapidly. He listened to the police lumbering down the hall. A woman’s voice was giving instructions—he heard her say that they were looking for a thin knife. A man’s voice came back: “Like a filleting knife?” He didn’t hear the woman respond. They were knocking on Kate’s door. Yes, like a filleting knife, Henry said to himself. He counted to thirty, then let himself out of Audrey’s apartment and took the stairs down to the lobby, and he was outside in the bright, windy day. He filled his lungs, almost laughed out loud at how close he’d come to being caught by the police. Still, what would have happened? He’d have told them the same story that he’d told Kate. He used to date Audrey Marshall and had been coming to her apartment in order to grieve. Walking down Bury Street toward the park, he imagined the conversation with the police officers in his mind, how he’d make them believe he was some loser who’d lost the girl he loved, while Corbin was the creep next door.
The fantasy conversation was so enjoyable that he almost didn’t notice that he was being followed. But he did notice. He could feel it, the way you could feel warmth on your skin when your eyes were closed and know that the sun had come out from behind a cloud. He took a sudden left turn onto another residential street. There was a tree half a block down the brick sidewalk. He briskly walked, then leaned against its trunk where he wouldn’t be seen by someone coming from Bury Street.
Fifteen seconds later he heard the hurried footsteps coming his way, then watched as Kate’s boyfriend—Alan was the name—raced past like a man who’d lost his dog.
“Are you looking for me?” Henry asked, and the man jerked around, like a fish that’s been hooked.
Chapter 34
Henry spent a very pleasant afternoon with Alan Cherney. He remembered his surname from Kate’s drawing. They went together to a small neighborhood bar about three blocks from Bury Street. Henry did the grieving friend act and told Alan all about his theories that Corbin was a serial killer who liked to mutilate his victims.
He told Alan about Rachael Chess, found murdered on a beach in New Essex, the same place Corbin’s mother lived. Alan was riveted, but slightly uncomfortable. Henry talked him into having a couple of beers, and that began to loosen him up. Color came back to his face. As they talked, Henry tried to get a read on this Alan character. He was about the same age as he was, successful enough, or rich enough, to live where he did on Beacon Hill. He was that typical Jewish intellectual who thought he was smarter than everyone in the room, but acted neurotic so no