I stopped. Joel was sitting in his office chair, but though his eyes were open he wasn’t looking at me.
Or at anything, anymore.
I tried. I ignored the oceans of blood soaking his shirt and felt his neck for a pulse, though I knew he wouldn’t have one. But it was the by-the-book thing, and Joel would have been disappointed in me if I hadn’t done it. I looked around, taking in the open drawers and file cabinets, but I didn’t touch anything. I used my cell phone to call the police and then I waited in the corridor, so no one else would make the mistake I had, of touching the doorknob, maybe screwing up the killer’s prints. And I left Joel’s eyes open, and his yarmulke on the floor where it had fallen, though I wasn’t sure that was okay, at all.
6
“Here, drink this.”
Mary held a takeout cup with a dangling Lipton’s label. I sipped, hoping tea would clear my fog. I felt as though I were seeing through the wrong end of a telescope and hearing through a closed door. And standing in sludge.
“Sit down,” Mary ordered.
“The forensics people-”
“Then in the hall.” She led me to the corridor and pointed at the floor.
Why hadn’t I thought of that? I sank down and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes.
“They’ll be through with you soon.” Mary’s voice came from beside me. “Then you can go.”
“I missed the train.”
“What?”
“Joel told me to get up here, and I was so mad at him for ordering me around that I didn’t hurry. If I’d caught the train that was pulling out, I’d have been here in time.”
“To get killed, too?”
I opened my eyes. “To stop the killer!”
“Maybe not.”
“I was talking to Joel on the phone!”
“And maybe the killer was right outside, waiting for him to hang up.”
“Still-”
“No ‘still.’ It’s not your fault. The point is now to catch the person who did this.”