was a loner. A planner. Precise with details. Able to wire an electronic santa—maybe he’d studied engineering.

There were others, too. Coach Gene, for example. Rejected by both Tamara and Claudia, maybe by others. He was physically strong. Lived alone.

Damn, the profile fit both nobody and everybody I knew in the neighborhood. Of course, there were a lot more men I didn’t know. And hundreds of pedestrians who passed by each day. And friends or relatives of people in the neighborhood. The de-liveryman who brought Victor his food. Joe, Angela’s jealous boyfriend. Jake and his construction crews—a dozen guys, all strong and young and good with tools. Who knew if any of them had been bed wetters or abused as kids? And if they had, what would that mean? Nothing by itself. The report, as far as I was concerned, had been useless.

If someone had singled out my doorstep as a place to drop a finger, I had no idea who he was or why he’d picked my house. Besides, Beverly Gardener might be mistaken; the finger might not have been left there deliberately. Another, after all, had been found in Washington square. The killer might have dropped them accidentally, might just have been passing by.

Within half an hour, I’d decided that my insights were useless, that I didn’t know the killer. I’d finished “consulting.” It hadn’t been worth my anxiety over it, hadn’t required any risk or even much time. I would write Nick a brief, professionally worded note, offering my thoughts. I’d even be generous and praise the work of his “friend” Beverly Gardener. And then, I’d be done.

TWENTY-NINE

SOME DAYS, NOTHING HAPPENS. OTHER DAYS, EVENTS ASSAULT relentlessly from all sides, nonstop. Thursday was one of those days. It began in the dark, before dawn. susan called at six, hysterical for a change.

“she misses work for months, and then she gives me two weeks’ notice? I’ve got a trial next week. What am I going to do?”

“Bonita quit?” I yawned, trying to wake up.

“I can’t blame her, in a way. she’s scared. A lot of them are quitting, even some of the live-ins. I gave her the whistle and a can of Mace. I told her I’d bought the gun and was getting her a permit. But she won’t have any of it. she quit.”

“Damn. I mean, I can understand—”

“Of course. But what am I going to do? Tell the judge I can’t defend my client because the babysitter quit?”

“The girls can come to my house. Angela’s still on the job.” “How are they going to get there?” “It’s only about a mile. Walk?”

My doorbell rang. I checked the clock again. It was barely six-fifteen. Who the hell was ringing the bell? It was too early, couldn’t be Angela; besides, she had a key. Maybe Charlie? Was he feverish again?

“Mom? somebody’s at the door.” Molly’s feet thumped down the hallway. “I’ll get it!” I heard her bounding down the steps.

“Molly, no! Wait—you know the rule. susan, can you believe somebody’s at my door?”

“At this hour?” she was appalled. Calling me at this hour, however, had been acceptable.

“I’ll call you back.”

“No, don’t. I gotta get to work. It’s round the clock for me these days. And thanks for your offer. But, fact is, with all their music lessons and swim team and all, it wouldn’t work. I might have to ask Tim’s mother to stay with us. Can you imagine? It could come to that. Dear Lord—look, I’ll see you tonight, the moms’ meeting, right?”

“Right.”

The bell rang again. Molly called, “Mommy. Hurry up!” I dashed down the steps to the door and peered out the peephole.

“Who is it, Mom?”

“Nobody,” I said. “Go ahead, you can open it.” Carefully, she undid the bolt and turned the handle. “Greetings.”

Good Lord, he was growing a mustache. The thing looked alive, as if it had crawled onto his face.

“Jeez, Michael. What are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?”

“No, no, Zoe. You’re supposed to say, ‘Michael—how nice to see you! Michael—what a nice surprise. How sweet of you to bring doughnuts. Won’t you come in?’ “ He stepped around me, carrying a bakery box.

Molly stood by my side, blinking coyly.

“And who’s this pretty young lady?” Michael stooped to her level. “I’m uncle Mike. What’s your name?”

“Molly,” she muttered.

He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Molly. How are—”

“Listen, Uncle Mike,” I cut him off, “we have to get ourselves dressed here, so—”

“You have time. I came early so we’d have time to