“We will be in touch about the formal statement, Mara,” he said.

“I understand,” I said.

Sloan remained on the threshold, her black flip-book tucked into her coat pocket.

“You should check the latches on your windows tonight,” Harris said, looking down the dark alleyway that ran along the side of the building.

“They are locked,” I said.

“Check them anyway,” Harris said.

“The window by the fire escape has a weak catch.”

I had never noticed the looseness of the wood on that frame, but now it felt like an open invitation.