‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve not done right today.’

I pulled up another chair and sat so I would not tower over her.

‘You’re upset,’ I said.

She bit her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as her eyes filled with tears.

‘What can I do to help you?’ I asked.

She shook her head and began to sob.

‘I can’t stop,’ she said. ‘I can’t stop crying. And if someone even scrapes their chair across the floor I jump.’ She wiped tears with a paper towel, hands shaking. ‘I feel like I’m going crazy.’

‘When did this all start?’

She blew her nose. ‘Yesterday. After the sheriff and the policeman were found. I heard about the one downstairs. They said even his boots was on fire.’

‘Jennifer, do you remember the pamphlets I passed out about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘It’s something everybody’s got to worry about in a place like this. Every single one of us. I have to worry about it, too.’

‘You do?’ Her mouth fell open.

‘Certainly. I have to worry about it more than anyone.’

‘I just thought you was used to it.’

‘God forbid that any of us should get used to it.’

‘I mean’ - she lowered her voice as if we were talking about sex - ‘do you get like I am right now?’ She quickly added, ‘I mean, I’m sure you don’t.’

‘I’m sure I do,’ I said. ‘I get very upset sometimes.’

Her eyes brimmed with tears again and she took a deep breath. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better. You know, when I was little my daddy always was telling me how stupid and fat I was. I didn’t figure someone like you would ever feel like I do.’

‘No one should have ever said such a thing to you,’ I replied with feeling. ‘You are a lovely person, Jennifer, and we are very fortunate to have you here.’

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, eyes cast down.

I got up. ‘I think you should go home for the rest of the day and have a nice long weekend. How about it?’

She continued looking down at the floor. ‘I think I saw him,’ she said, biting her bottom lip.

‘Who did you see?’

‘I saw that man.’ She glanced at my eyes. ‘When I saw the pictures on TV, I couldn’t believe it. I keep thinking if only I had told somebody.’

‘Where is it you think you saw him?’

‘Rumors.’

‘The bar?’ I asked.

She nodded.

‘When was this?’

‘Tuesday.’

I looked closely at her. “This past Tuesday? The day after Christmas?’

That night Gault had been in New York. I had seen him in the subway tunnel, or at least I thought I had.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Jennifer said. ‘I guess it was about ten. I was dancing with Tommy.’