Chapter 18: Stairwell B

At twenty to seven on December fourteenth, I stood on the landing of stairwell B with a microphone taped under my blouse.

It was concrete and steel, painted institutional green, with a camera over each door.

I had died once on this very staircase.

Annie stood two steps above me in her one good blazer, and a second microphone was clipped inside her collar.

Her hands would not stay still.

"What if she doesn't come?" she whispered.

"She'll come."

"What if she brings him?"

"He's upstairs giving the toast. Jocelyn wouldn't let him near this. She wants it done right."

"She said that. She said I got it wrong the last time and she wouldn't trust me with it twice."

Annie looked at me. Her brown eyes were very wide.

"Mrs. Bancroft, in the other life. Did I do it right?"

I thought about lying.

"You did it perfectly," I said. "That's why I'm not afraid of you now."

She nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve.

Above us, around the corner of the corridor behind the upper door, I knew a detective waited with two uniformed officers.

Below us, behind the lobby door, Patrick stood next to two more officers in plain clothes, with his jaw set.

I had asked him to stay down there.

He had said, "If I hear one thing wrong, I'm coming through that door."

"If you hear one thing wrong," I had said, "you let them do their jobs."

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