Free Knockout Mouse by James Calder Page B

window and took a sip of coffee. “She’s trying to recast her role, rewrite her script.”
    Jenny only shook her head.
    Closing the book, I said, “Well, I don’t see any obvious answer to what happened to Sheila. Unless it’s in a language we don’t understand yet. I do want to find this Karen. She might be able to tell us what is really going on at LifeScience.”
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    The walk back to my flat reminded me of why I live in San Francisco. There had been a few wisps of fog in the morning, but they were gone now. The sky was brilliant autumn blue, the bay a luminous mirror. A red and white container ship slid up the Oakland channel.
    As soon as we got to the top of the stairs in my flat, Jenny turned to me in alarm. “Bill, where’s my handbag? I know I didn’t take it to the cafe with me.”
    “It was on the chair by the door, where you always leave it.”
    We began a hunt for it, starting in the bedroom, under the tossed clothes and unread newspapers. It wasn’t in the living room, either. The camera cases by the bookshelves looked out oforder. A panic hit me. I knelt and unzipped them. No, the Aaton, the lenses, the DV, the DAT recorder, all were safely in their bags. But something had changed. The side pockets were open.
    I thought for a minute. The front door had been locked. I went to the kitchen in back. The window was partially open. I was pretty sure I hadn’t left it that way. I stuck my head out. A sliding ladder leaned against the wall. The top rung rested just a couple of feet below the window sill.
    “Jenny,” I called over my shoulder, “someone broke in!”
    I clambered out the window and down the ladder. No one was hiding in the weedy postage stamp of a backyard. No one in the garage either. I did a pull-up on the fences on each side of the yard. No sign of the intruders. I went back up the ladder, two rungs at a time, and called the cops.

10
    The police didn’t stay long. They were not impressed with the extent of our loss. Yes, I admitted, the expensive camera equipment was intact. My insurance company would be spared. The only things missing were some videotapes and Jenny’s handbag. Luckily, she’d taken her wallet and cell phone with her. The cops wrote it up and told us they would be in touch. They also suggested I put the ladder away.
    That much was true. Mrs. Debler, the owner, had some roof work done two years ago. The ladder had been leaning against the back fence ever since. I collapsed the ladder and stowed it in the garage. I also checked the yard again, more slowly, and this time found a few boot prints. I went back up to get a camera.
    “This makes me so mad,” Jenny said. She was looking around for what else might have been taken. “All this really valuable stuff, and what do they pick? My bag.”
    “You think they should have taken my livelihood—my cameras—instead?”
    “You know I don’t mean it that way. It’s just that I had some personal stuff—some really good skin lotions I just bought.”
    “They weren’t looking for money. This is all about Sheila. They were looking for specific items relating to her. My videocassettes,which probably are blank. They may have thought the diary was in your handbag.”
    Jenny’s eyes widened. “You don’t think it was Fay?”
    “Could be. Or the guy from LifeScience. Or Marion. They all knew about it. I’ll ask the neighbors if they saw anyone.”
    The sound of the phone ringing startled us. I picked it up in my office. Jenny followed, hand covering her mouth.
    “Hi, Wes,” I said. “Glad it’s you.”
    Jenny exhaled with relief, then paced in the hall while I told Wes about the break-in. She came back into the room and said, “I’m going to look around the neighborhood. Maybe whoever took my bag tossed it in the bushes.”
    I told her I’d come find her.
    Wes knew about Sheila, it turned out. Marion had told him. Apparently the two of them had been burning up cell phone minutes. Wes was seeing her