A Noise Downstairs(38)

Frank White looked at his daughter with weary eyes. “Someone broke in?”

Anna reached across the kitchen table and put both hands over his. “I don’t know. He might have been just trying to rattle me.”

“Who is this?”

“One of my patients. Well, a former one,” she said. “It was something he said yesterday.”

“Is he the one you think sent the police here?”

“I don’t have any proof, but yes, that’s what I think. The police have already talked to him about the other incident. But they don’t have any real proof for that one, either. But some things you just know. I’ve been through the whole house. I’ve checked the windows, the sliding glass doors, everything, and they all look secure.”

Frank nodded slowly, then said, “We need to tell Joanie all this.”

“Of course,” Anna said.

“But don’t make too big a deal of it. I don’t want to worry her needlessly.”

“I’ll look after it.”

Her father smiled. “Or I could tell her when we go see her.”

She smiled. “Sure.”

“What did you do to your finger?” he asked, looking down at the Band-Aid and lightly touching it.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I broke a glass yesterday.” Anna paused. “There’s something else on my mind.”

Frank waited.

“It’s a bit of a professional dilemma,” she said. “I have a feeling that this one patient might be a threat to my others. I’m wondering whether I need to warn them.”

Frank’s eyes seemed to grow vacant. Anna knew he was unlikely to solve her problem, but airing her concerns out loud might help just the same. “I’ve already reported this man to the police, and some of what he’s done is a matter of public record. So I think the ethical concerns are minimal.”

Frank nodded, then pushed himself back from the table and stood. “I’m gonna hit a few balls. Let me know when it’s time to go.”

She gave him a sad smile. “Okay, Dad.”





Twenty-Three

Oh, my God,” Charlotte said, staring at the page in the typewriter, then whirling around to look back into the kitchen. “Someone really is here.”

“No,” Paul said, gripping her shoulders. “No one’s here now, and I don’t see any evidence that anyone’s been here at all. I’ve checked doors and windows. I’ve been through the whole place. I’m certain no one got in here after we went back upstairs.”

“You don’t know that,” she said.

“Come with me,” he said. He walked her over to the stairs that led down to the front door. “Look.”

“What am I looking at?”

“That shoe.”

There was a single dark blue running shoe on the floor by the door.

“I’ve been doing that the last few nights. One shoe, up against the door. If someone opened it, the shoe would have moved.”

Charlotte stared, dumbfounded, at the shoe, then at Paul. “So what’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“Where did you get that typewriter?” Paul asked.

“I told you. At a yard sale. Some people were moving, clearing out their stuff.”

“Where?”

Charlotte blinked several times, trying to recall. “It was on Laurelton Court. A two-story, three baths, double-car garage. I didn’t have the listing, but I drove by, you know, because I like to be aware of the houses in Milford that are on the market, and they were having this sale. I saw that typewriter and knew instantly that you’d like it.” She paused. “I sure called that wrong.”

“Could you find the house again?”

Charlotte gave him a “ seriously?” look.

“We need to talk to those people,” Paul said.

“Why? Why does it matter where it came from? It’s just a fucking typewriter! Paul, honestly, you’re scaring me.”

“I need to know who else has used it. I need to know who has used this machine.”

“Hundreds of people could have used it,” Charlotte said. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking?”

“Read it again.”

“What?”

“Go on. Read it again.”

He led her back to the small room, grabbed the sheet of paper by the top, and ripped it out of the typewriter. “Just read it.”

“I’ve read it.”

Paul read it aloud: “‘We typed our apologies like we were asked but it didn’t make any difference.’ That doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“Paul, I swear.”

“That’s what Kenneth made them do. Before he killed them. Before he killed those two women.”

Charlotte stared at him blankly for several seconds, then back to the page in his hand. “This is insane.”

“No kidding. You think I don’t feel nuts even suggesting it?”

“And what the hell are you suggesting?”

He shot her “ seriously?” look right back at her.

Charlotte said, “Hang on, let me try to get my head around what I think you’re saying. You believe those women are sending you a message? Through this typewriter? Paul, listen to yourself.”