“The grocery store, ATM, gas stations, doctors’ offices, the dentist, the theater, restaurants. When it began, I started changing my patterns. Different places, different times, different days.”

“What about the gym?”

She untied his gown and gently pulled it down to his hips.

“I work out in my apartment. I still power-walk outside. Four to five miles, six days a week.”

There was a distinctive pattern to his injuries that didn’t make her feel any better about him.

“Not the same walk or at the same time of day. I mix things up,” he added.

“Groups, clubs, organizations you belong to or are involved with?”

“Little People of America. What’s happening has nothing to do with the LPA, no way. Like I said, the electronic harassment just started maybe three months ago. As far as I know.”

“Anything unusual happen three months ago? Anything change in your life?”

“Terri. I started dating Terri. And they started following me. I’ve got proof. On a CD hidden in my apartment. If they break in, they won’t find it. I need you to get it when you’re in there.”

She measured abrasions on his lower back.

“When you’re inside my apartment,” he said. “I gave my written consent to that detective. I don’t like him. But he asked me, and I gave him my consent, my key, the information for the burglar alarm, because I’ve got nothing to hide, and I want you to go in. I told him I want you to go in with him. Do it right away before they go in there. Maybe they already have.”

“The police?”

“No. The others.”

His body relaxed as her gloved fingers touched him.

“I wouldn’t put anything past them and their capabilities,” he said. “But even if they’ve already gone in, they didn’t find it. They won’t find it. It’s not possible. The CD’s hidden in a book. The Experiences of an Asylum Doctor by Littleton Winslow. Published in 1874 in London. Fourth shelf of the second bookcase, left of the door in the guest bedroom. You’re the only person who knows.”

“Did you tell Terri you were being followed, spied on? Did she know about the CD?”

“Not for a long time. I didn’t want her to worry. She has problems with anxiety. Then I had no choice. I had to tell her several weeks ago when she started mentioning she wanted to see my apartment, and I wouldn’t let her. She started accusing me of hiding something from her, so I had to tell her. I had to make sure she understood it wasn’t safe for me to bring her to my apartment because I was being electronically harassed.”

“The CD?”

“I didn’t tell her where it is. Just what’s on it.”

“Did she worry that knowing you might place her at risk, too? No matter where you saw her?”