As I passed Vinnie’s apartment door I wanted to kick it in, to violate his home as he had decimated Mrs. Frizell’s. I’d been there several times last year; I knew it was filled with high-priced modern art. Almost as good an investment as a federally insured CD. Figure out how to replace that stuff, I thought, panting as I pictured myself trashing it. I actually gave the door a savage kick that left a scuff mark on the paneling. That alone would drive him into a frenzy: he had personally sanded and painted it an eggshell white. The rest of us were content with the dark varnish that came with the building.

Up in my own place I undid the locks, forgetting my new electronic alarm until a high-pitched whistle interrupted me as I gulped down a glass of water. I sprinted down the hall to the front door and punched in the numbers to shut off the system. I hoped I’d been fast enough to forestall a visit from the cops.

I went back to the kitchen and filled another glass under the tap. I drank it more slowly, carrying it with me as I walked to the living room to call Max. I took off my shoes and socks and massaged my toes. The loafers didn’t give enough support; my feet ached from walking around in them.

Curling my legs under me, I leaned back in the armchair with my eyes shut. I needed to relax before I talked to Max. Get the image of Mrs. Frizell restlessly moving in her hospital bed out of my brain, let my anger with Vinnie and Chrissie work its way out of my shoulders and fingertips. I’ve never been too good at that kind of exercise; after a few fruitless minutes I sat up and dialed Max’s number.

He had just emerged from one meeting and was on his way to a second, but he agreed to talk to me for a few minutes. I exchanged greetings with him cautiously, in case he was angry with me again on Lotty’s account.

“Lotty still won’t talk to me. How is she?”

“She’s getting better. The crack is starting to heal and you can’t see the bruises now.” His tone was noncommittal.

“I know she’s back at work—I keep just missing her when I call the clinic.”

“You know Lotty. When she’s scared she gets angry—with herself for being weak. And when she’s angry she starts driving herself into a frenzy of action. It’s always been her best protection.”

I grimaced at the phone; that was my armor as well. “I hear she’s hired a new nurse. Maybe that will ease some of the tension for her.”

“She stole away one of our best pediatric nurses,” Max retorted. “I ought to disown her for that, but it seems to have cheered her up.”