Two officers arrived.

One checked the building entrance while the other reviewed my message and took down the phone number.

They could not promise the sender was still nearby, or even that the photograph had been taken that evening.

They could document it, preserve the original, and tell me what to do if another threat arrived.

I phoned my friend Elena Cruz, a former coworker who had left The Grand Bell six months earlier.

“Come here,” she said before I could finish.