While I waited for the police, I called Joe Pike.

He said, You think it ties in with the calls you were getting yesterday?

The timing's too perfect for anything else.

Something with Byrd?

I don't know, but I'm not sure that was the point. The file is still here, and the way it was dumped with everything else it's likely they didn't read it. They slashed the couch and kicked out the glass in the French doors. It looks more like vandalism. Somebody pissed on my chair.

Maybe they want the vandalism to cover the search.

Maybe. I'll go through everything, see if anything's missing.

You want me to come over?

There's nothing to do. The police are on the way.

Maybe I should sit on your house. Make sure nobody pisses on your couch.

That might be a good idea.

I called my insurance agent, then the building manager to let him know about the break-in and arrange for the doors to be fixed. We ended up shouting at each other. After the shouting, I went across the hall to ask my neighbors if they had seen or heard anything. None of them had, but everyone wanted to see the damage, so I let them. Two patrol officers arrived while they were looking, questioned me, then set about writing up the complaint. While the officers surveyed the damage, one of the women from the insurance office told us she had worked until almost eight-thirty the night before, so whoever did this had come after she had gone.

The senior officer, a sergeant-supervisor named Bristo, said, You work late like that, ma'am, make sure you lock your door.

She patted a little handbag.

Don't think I sit up here alone.

Bristo said nothing. Everyone packs.

When the police and the women from across the hall were gone, I took a soap dispenser and paper towels from the bathroom at the end of the hall. I cleaned the urine off my chair, piled the debris on the couch so I could move without stepping on things, then went back to work. You let something like a vandalized office screw your day, pretty soon you're calling in sick for a pimple.

Three minutes later I was speaking with Angel Tomaso's aunt, Mrs. Candy Lopez. I explained my relationship with her nephew, and told her it was urgent I speak with him.

She said, Give me your name and number. I will tell him you called.

It would be faster if I call him directly.

It might be faster, but I'm not going to give you his number. I don't know you. For all I know you're a nut.

I didn't know what to say to that.

She said, And please note the idiot who called last night has given my number to you without my permission, and here you are a person completely unknown to me invading my privacy. He gives my number to strangers, he might as well write it on a bathroom wall.