Читать книгу Question of Trust - Laura Caldwell, Leslie S. Klinger - Страница 14

When I got home, the downstairs door was closed, the keypad still enabled since we’d turned it on before we left for Topo Gigio and Theo had obviously used the code to get in. So then how had someone broken into my place?

I took the stairs fast to the third floor, then stopped when I reached my door. Immediately, my eyes drew down to the keypad. The cover of that panel had been pried off, exposing the wires inside.

I felt something like fear sweep a cold brush over my body. I stopped and thought about the entry system. Many people knew the password to the keypad downstairs. But the keypad to my own condo was known to only a few. Theo was one of the few people who knew it, along with my mom and Q. Apparently whoever broke in didn’t have the code. Or wanted to make it look like they didn’t.

I pushed open the door and stepped into the living room. My eyes moved over the fireplace, looked at the coffee table, where mounds of Theo’s belongings were stacked. I let my gaze scan the couch, the yellow-and-white chair that was my favorite piece of furniture in the house. I looked into the kitchen. The bar counter with the two stools in front appeared the same as when we left it—piled with towels and sheets of Theo’s.

“Izzy?” I heard a voice that sounded like Theo but also a little like someone else.

I jumped, flinching in spite of myself.

Theo stepped into the room. “Iz. Hey. I came home and saw the door panel all fucked up.”

“Are you okay? Was anyone here?”

He shook his head.

“Was anything taken?”

“I was just going through the place, and it doesn’t look like it, but it’s hard to tell, you know? Since I just moved in.” He waved his hand behind him toward the hallway, which was filled with boxes. “And I wouldn’t really know if anything of yours was taken.” It seemed, then, we knew so little of each other.

“You must have been scared,” I said.

He shrugged.

I went to him. “Are you okay?”

He wrapped me in those arms, and I smelled that Theo smell—there it was.

“Did you call the cops?” His shirt, made of a soft fabric that could almost make me think nothing was wrong, muffled my words.

The answer came in a rap on the door. Then another rap. “Chicago police.”

The responding officers listened to our tale while their radios squawked.

“You’re a lawyer, Ms. McNeil?” Officer Potowski asked me.

I nodded. “Yes. Criminal law. With Bristol & Associates.”

“That’s a good firm. High profile. You guys get a lot of publicity.”

I nodded again. Since Q had arrived at Bristol & Associates, we had gotten even more. Q loved a good press release.

“Since nothing is missing,” the officer said, “this is technically just a B and E. A misdemeanor at best. There are no prints on the doors or number locks, either. We’ll file the report, but we can file it closed if you want. And we’ll just check in with you in a little bit—tomorrow or the next day—to make sure everything’s okay. What do you think?”

I almost told them to close the case. I had explained to the cops that I’d been the subject of intense scrutiny from the media before, a place I distinctly did not want to go again. A closed case would be one of the best ways to keep the media’s nose out of our business.

But then a lick of fear swept over me again. Of what? It had something to do with a feeling that this—whatever this was—was not done yet. I looked at Theo. Strange that this had happened tonight, when he moved in.

“Leave the case open, please,” I said to the officer. “And yes. Please check in on us.”