“A movie, huh?” the young patrolwoman says. “So where are they?”

“It was just the one scene. They needed the exterior shot.”

“The witness report said helicopter, unmarked, low altitude. Men swarming down ropes. Some kind of assault type of situation.”

“Stuntmen. Fortunately no one was hurt, and they’re paying for the repairs. Part of the contract.”

The patrolwoman makes a note, looks at me doubtfully. “There’s nothing about a film permit for this block.”

“Not my department. Up to the movie people.”

“You got a name for the production company?”

“Not me. The property manager might.”

“Name and number?”

I hand her our attorney’s card. A perfect endless loop, as the young patrolwoman will discover, if she bothers to follow up. Doubtful, since we’re not filing a complaint.

“There’s glass all over the sidewalk,” she points out.

“I’ll get my broom.”

More notes. The cop gives me a long look, as if trying to decide if I’m fronting for some criminal activity even now taking place inside the residence. “Must charge a lot, a place like this, to let ’em bust your windows.”

“Again, not my department. But I assume it was a generous offer.”

“What is your department, Ms. Crane?”

“Alice. I’m the caretaker.”

“Uh-huh. Is the owner in residence?”

“As I understand it, the property is owned by a real estate holding company.”

“So this is like, what, an investment kind of deal?”

“Apparently. As I say, I’m only the-”

“Caretaker. Yeah, I got it.” The notebook snaps shut. “We’re done. Have a nice day. My advice, take care of the glass. This city, somebody’ll sue ya.”

“Thanks, Officer.”

All of the above is conducted on the sidewalk, below the entrance, which rises seven steps from the pavement.