I think back to my formative years of television viewing. “Chloroform,” I say, simply. “She must be using chloroform.”
“Wouldn’t the coroner be able to find traces of this?”
Wow. Patty is good. Especially for someone who claims not to have time to watch CSI.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Maybe she conks them on the head with a baseball bat and slings ’em down the shaft while they’re unconscious.”
“The coroner wouldn’t have noticed this?”
“They’ve just fallen sixteen stories,” I say. “What’s another bump?”
Beep.
My call waiting is going off.
“Oh, that’s gotta be Cooper, Pats,” I say. “Listen, I’ll call you later. Want to go out for a celebratory brunch tomorrow? I mean, after they’ve incarcerated my boss?”
“Sure. Be there with bells on.” Patty hangs up. I push down on the receiver, then say, “Hello?” after I hear the line click.
But the voice I hear isn’t Cooper’s. It’s a woman’s voice.
And it sounds like whoever it belongs to is crying.
“Heather?”
It takes me a second, but then I realize who it is.
“Sarah?” I say. “Is that you?”
“Y-yes.” Sarah sniffles.
“Are you okay?” I sit up in bed. “Sarah, what’s the matter?”
“It’s…it’s Rachel,” Sarah say.
Whoa. Had the cops gotten there and arrested her already? It’s going to be a blow, I know, for the building staff, what with Justine turning out to be a ceramic heater thief, and now Rachel turning out to be a homicidal maniac.
But they’ll get over it. Maybe I’ll bring in Krispy Kremes for everyone tomorrow.
“Yeah?” I say. Because I don’t want to let on that I’d had anything to do with the arrest. Yet, anyway. “What about Rachel?”
“She…she’s dead.”
I nearly drop the phone.
“What?” I cry. “Rachel? Dead? What—”
I can’t believe it. It isn’t possible. Rachel? Dead? How on earth…
“I think she killed herself,” Sarah says with a sob. “Heather, I just came into the office, and she’s…she’s hanging here. From that grate between our office and hers.”
Oh my God.
Rachel’s hanged herself. Rachel realized that the jig was up, but instead of going quietly, she killed herself. Oh my God.
I have to remain calm. For the building’s sake, I realize. I have to be the one in charge now. The director is gone. That leaves me, the assistant director. I’m going to have to be the strong one. I’m going to have to be everybody’s beacon of light in the dark times ahead.
And it’s okay, because I’m totally prepared. It won’t be any different, really, than if Rachel had been hauled off to jail. She’s really just going to a different place. But she’s gone, just the same.
“I don’t know what to do,” Sarah says, her voice rising to a hysterical pitch. “If anyone walks in and sees this—”
“Don’t let anyone in,” I cry. Oh God. The RAs. This is the last thing they need. “Sarah, don’t let anyone come in. And don’t touch anything.” Isn’t that right? Isn’t that what they always say on Law & Order? “Call an ambulance. Call the police. Right away. Don’t let anyone into the office but the police. Okay, Sarah?”
“Okay,” Sarah says, with another sniffle. “But, Heather?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you come over? I’m…I’m so scared.”
But I’ve already sprung from my bed and am reaching for my jeans.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell her. “Hold on, Sarah. I’ll be right there.”
29
There’s a place called home
Or so I’m told
I’ve never been there
So I wouldn’t know.
There’s a place called home
Where they’re always glad to see you
Where they want you just to be you
This place called home
But I wouldn’t know
’Cause I’ve never had one
I wouldn’t know
Heather Wells, “Place Called Home”
It’s my fault.
Rachel’s death, I mean.
I should have known. I should have known this would happen. I mean, clearly she wasn’t mentally stable. Of course at the slightest provocation, she was going to snap. I don’t know how she figured it out—that we suspected her—but she had.
And she’d taken the only way out she felt she could.
Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now. Nothing except be there for the people Rachel’s death is likely to affect the most—the building staff.
I call Cooper on his cell. He doesn’t pick up, so I leave a message, telling him what Sarah has told me. I ask him to let Detective Canavan know. And then I tell him to come to Fischer Hall as soon as he gets my message.
I can’t find an umbrella, of course. I can never find an umbrella when I really need one. Ducking my head against the steady drizzle, I hurry over to Washington Square West, marveling at how quickly the drug dealers disappear in inclement weather, and wondering where they all go. The Washington Square Diner? I’d have to check it out one day. Supposedly they have a killer chicken-fried steak.
I reach Fischer Hall and hurry inside, flicking rainwater from my hair, and smiling a little queasily at Pete. Does he know yet? Does he have any idea?
“Heather,” he cries. “What’re you doin’ here? After what you went through yesterday, I thought they’d give you a month off. You’re not working, are you?”
“No,” I say. He doesn’t know. Oh my God, he doesn’t know.
And I can’t tell him. Because the desk attendant is sitting right there, watching us.
“Oh,” Pete says. “And hey, Julio’s doing good, by the way. They’re letting him out in a few days.”
“Great,” I say, with as much enthusiasm as I can. “Well, see you later.”
“See you.”
I hurry down the hallway to the director’s office door. To my surprise, it’s partly open, even though I’d specifically told Sarah to close it. Anyone can walk in and see Rachel hanging there…unless maybe she’s done it on her side of the grate. Yes, that would make more sense, actually. Her desk is pushed up against the wall beneath the grate, so it would have been easy for her to climb up there, then jump…