As soon as I left his office, I fixed on Lane’s desk. It was just as he’d left it, the action figures flexing in a row. I wondered if he’d made copies of the dossier, if they were right there in the drawer. I guess I was staring at the desk a long time, because when I finally looked away, Gordon Stone gave me a sympathetic smile.

I sat at my computer, unable to make a decision. If the police had discovered I’d been at the apartment, then every second I spent at the Bystander was a second I should be escaping. But I couldn’t take my eyes off Lane’s desk. The longer I sat there, the more convinced I became that the dossier was still alive, waiting, like a snake coiled up in the drawer.

Maybe an hour passed before I glanced at the window of Mort’s office and saw he was on the phone. I thought I could read his lips: “Hello, officer. Yes. Really? I see. You’re sure?”

His eyes flicked up and he was looking at me.

“She’s here right now. I understand. I’ll do my best.”

And sure enough, he came across the office floor. Whatever mask I’d been maintaining slipped off and I stared at him, unblinking.

“What is it?” I said before he’d even gotten close.

Gordon hovered nearby.

“I just got off the phone with the police.”

“What did they say?”

“They’re ruling it an accident.”

Gordon muttered, “Poor bastard.”

“I’m a little relieved,” Mort said. “The idea that I could have someone on my staff, you know, as desperate as that, and not notice.”

“How do you fall from a window?” Gordon said.

Mort built the story in our minds, word by word. “It was during the storm. He was bringing his plants in from the fire escape. They say he must’ve leaned pretty far out, lost his balance. There was nothing solid to grip. He’d been drinking.”

“Jesus,” Gordon said.

“He lay there a long time before anyone noticed,” Mort said. “It was already morning. This city sometimes.”

8.

The police had confirmed my version of events—an accident—and I should’ve felt some relief. But when I went to bed that night, I kept thinking about Lane’s desk. It took a long time to fall into a sleep that only really deepened toward dawn. I dreamt of the desk, or more like I thought of it while sleeping.

The pounding on my door awakened me. I pulled on a T-shirt and jeans and approached the peephole. It was my building manager. When I opened the door, he licked his fingers and whisked a sheet from a stack.