The streets where he’d thought people were watching him, following him.
The streets Andrea had wandered the last days of her life, going to and from work, running errands, doing all the little things that other people were doing right now.
Things like she was doing.
Was the killer here somewhere, watching someone else?
Watching her?
She looked around, scanning the people on both sides of the street. Was anyone watching? Or making a show of not watching? What about the man across the street, his back to her as he gazed into a shop window. Was he really looking at something in the window, or was he only pretending?
He moved on, without so much as a glance in her direction. But he wouldn’t look directly at her, would he? He could have seen her reflection in the shop window; known that she was watching him. She tracked him all the way to the corner, where he turned left and disappeared down Amsterdam Avenue.
Stupid! Caroline said to herself. Stupid and paranoid, just like Brad! Except that Brad was dead, and so was Andrea, so why shouldn’t she be paranoid? And with two people dead — her husband and her best friend — was it really paranoia? Of course not!
Or was it? Where was the connection? It was a year since Brad had been killed. And Andrea hadn’t been out running in the park, making herself an easy target. She’d been at home in her apartment.
So it was paranoia.
But even so, she couldn’t keep her eyes from searching the faces of the people around her, looking for something — anything — that might hint at danger. Now, with the Academy only a block away, she could feel eyes watching her — sense someone behind her. Now it was she who stopped to peer into a shop window, surreptitiously glancing at the sidewalk behind her.
Empty.
Whoever it was had slipped into a doorway, or maybe even one of the shops. She lingered at the window, facing a display of cutlery, the knives laid out in sprays. Like flowers, she thought, and immediately wondered where such a strange idea might have come from. Then another thought came into her mind: I’m going to be late. She glanced at her watch, and saw that she was right — the ten-minute walk had already taken her nearly twenty minutes. But still she stood rooted to the spot, certain that at any moment whoever had been following behind her would reveal himself.
Unless he wasn’t on the street at all.
A building? Could he be watching from above, looking down at her, watching her, laughing at her nervousness?
She spun away from the shop window, and scanned the windows of the buildings across the street. Above the shops were apartments, most of them with curtains drawn; someone could be peering at her from any one of them.
Now she felt panic rising inside her — an unreasoning, overwhelming terror that made her want to turn and run back to the shelter of home, to lock the heavy door of the apartment, shut out all the dangers that suddenly seemed to fill the streets.
Suddenly she couldn’t breathe! It was as if steel bands were wrapped around her chest, bands that were getting tighter with every second that passed. Instinctively, she reached out and braced herself against the window, then jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder. Spinning around, she found herself looking into the eyes of a middle-aged woman, who looked vaguely familiar.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked.
Somehow the words broke the grip of the panic that had seized Caroline, and she nodded as the terrible constriction in her chest eased and she was able to catch her breath. “I–I’m not sure what happened. I just…” But then her voice trailed off as she realized exactly what had happened: she’d let her paranoia get control of her, and had a panic attack. “I’ll be all right,” she said. “Thank you.”
The woman nodded, smiled at her, then continued on her way toward the park. Caroline watched her go, suddenly certain she’d seen the woman somewhere before, but still unable to place her. Had the woman been fol— Then, as her mind once again began responding to the seductive advances of the paranoia that had held her in its grip only a moment ago, she forced the thought aside, and turned back toward the Academy. She could have seen the woman a thousand times before — she’d lived in the neighborhood for more than ten years, and the other woman had probably been here for twice that long. Why shouldn’t she look familiar? By the time she stepped into Ralph Winthrop’s office — blessedly cool after the heavy warmth outside — she had her roiling emotions firmly in check.
Then she saw Ryan sitting on a wooden chair in the corner of the headmaster’s office, his face stormy, his eyes glittering with anger, a swollen bruise on his forehead. I can’t deal with this, she thought, knowing even as she silently spoke the words to herself that she had no choice. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to get in any more fights,” she said.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Ryan said. “Justin Fraser called me an idiot.”
“So you hit him,” Ralph Winthrop said softly. When Ryan started to say something, he held up his hand as if to physically block whatever words the boy might utter. “Don’t try to deny it — Mr. Williams and Mrs. Wennerberg both saw it. You hit him, and he hit you back. The fact you got the worst of it doesn’t mitigate the fact that you hit first.” He turned to Caroline. “I know that the policy about fighting is less stringent in the public schools than here, but I believe I made a special point of reminding Ryan of it when we agreed to take him back, given his record after he left us last year.”
Caroline’s heart sank. They’re kicking him out. After just one day, they’re kicking him out. “But—”
But Ralph Winthrop was already on his feet. “I’ve never before seen any reason to bend the policy. In fact, the policy has worked so well that I’ve only had to enforce it once.” Caroline felt a flicker of hope. “I’ve gone over Ryan’s records, and I’ve had talks with all his teachers. We all agree that given the—” he hesitated, searching for the right word, then found it: “—given the difficulties your family has experienced over the last year, we should make every accommodation we can for the boy.” The flicker of hope in Caroline glowed brighter. “But I’m afraid we can’t simply ignore it.” As Caroline waited, she saw Ralph Winthrop’s gaze fix appraisingly on Ryan, and his fingers drummed on the desktop. Finally, apparently coming to a decision that Caroline knew would be final, he stopped drumming his fingers on the desk and turned his eyes back to Caroline. “Two weeks’ suspension,” he said. “Beginning now. If there is another infraction of the fighting policy, I won’t even call you in — I shall simply send him home. And I’m sure I needn’t remind you that tuition is not refundable in the event of expulsion.” He stood up, came around the desk, and moved toward the door, leaving no doubt in Caroline’s mind that the meeting was over. But as they were leaving, he suddenly spoke one more time. “You might want to get him some counseling, Mrs. Fleming. He seems to think the building you live in is haunted, and that his stepfather hates him.”
Her face burning, Caroline led Ryan out of the building onto the street.
“I didn’t do anything, Mom—” Ryan began as they crossed Amsterdam and started toward the park. But Caroline didn’t let him finish.
“Not one word,” she said, her hand tightening on her son’s arm hard enough so that he winced. “Do you understand? Not one single word! What are you trying to do? How dare you tell anyone that Tony hates you? Since the moment he’s met you he’s done everything he can to be your friend! He’s taken your side, letting you do things I never would have. He hasn’t tried to take your father’s place, but he’s let you know he’ll be there for you, any time you need him, even though you’re barely even polite to him. Who do you think paid so you could go back to the Academy? And this is the thanks you give him? Getting yourself suspended on the second day of school?”