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her bra. Jeannie took her hand and led her to the ladder on the wall, then made her go up first. As Jeannie followed, the door crashed open and a fireman entered in a cloud of smoke. Water swirled around his boots. He looked startled to see them. “We’re all right, we’re getting out this way,” Jeannie yelled to him. Then she went up the ladder after Lisa.
    A moment later they were outside in the fresh air.
    Jeannie felt weak with relief: she had got Lisa out of the fire. But now Lisa needed help. Jeannie put an arm around her shoulders and led her to the front of the building. There were fire trucks and police cruisers parked every which way across the road. Most of the women in the crowd had now found something with which to cover their nakedness, and Lisa was conspicuous in her red underwear. “Does anyone have a spare pair of pants, or anything at all?” Jeannie begged as they made their way through the crowd. People had given away all their spare clothing. Jeannie would have given Lisa her own sweatshirt, but she had no bra on underneath.
    Finally a tall black man took off his button-down and gave it to Lisa. “I’ll want it back, it’s a Ralph Lauren,” he said. “Mitchell Waterfield, math department.”
    “I’ll remember,” Jeannie said gratefully.
    Lisa put the shirt on. She was short, and it reached to her knees.
    Jeannie felt she was getting the nightmare under control. She steered Lisa to the emergency vehicles. Three cops stood leaning against a cruiser, doing nothing. Jeannie spoke to the oldest of the three, a fat white man with a gray mustache. “This woman’s name is Lisa Hoxton. She’s been raped.”
    She expected them to be electrified by the news that a major crime had been committed, but their reaction was surprisingly casual. They took a few seconds to digest the information, and Jeannie was getting ready to snap at them, when the one with the mustache levered himself off the hood of the car and said: “Where did this happen?”
    “The basement of the burning building, in the pool machine room at the back.”
    One of the others, a young black man, said: “Those firemen will be hosing away the evidence right now, Sarge.”
    “You’re right,” the older man replied. “You better get down there, Lenny, and secure the crime scene.” Lenny hurried away. The sergeant turned to Lisa. “Do you know the man who did this, Ms. Hoxton?” he said.
    Lisa shook her head.
    Jeannie said: “He’s a tall white man wearing a red baseball cap with the word ‘Security’ on the front. I saw him in the women’s locker room soon after the fire broke out, and I think I saw him running away just before I found Lisa.”
    The cop reached into the car and pulled out a radio microphone. He spoke into it for a while then hung it up again. “If he’s dumb enough to keep the hat on we may catch him,” he said. He spoke to the third cop. “McHenty, take the victim to the hospital.”
    McHenty was a young white man with glasses. He said to Lisa: “You want to sit in the front or the back?”
    Lisa said nothing but looked apprehensive.
    Jeannie helped her out. “Sit in the front. You don’t want to look like a suspect.”
    A terrified look crossed Lisa’s face, and she spoke at last. “Aren’t you coming with me?”
    “I will if you like,” Jeannie said reassuringly. “Or I could swing by my apartment and pick up some clothes for you, and meet you at the hospital.”
    Lisa looked at McHenty worriedly.
    Jeannie said: “You’ll be all right now, Lisa.”
    McHenty held open the door of the cruiser and Lisa got in.
    “Which hospital?” Jeannie asked him.
    “Santa Teresa.” He got in the car.
    “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Jeannie called through the glass as the car sped away.
    She jogged to the faculty parking lot, already regretting that she had not gone with Lisa. Her expression as she left had been frightened and wretched. Of course she needed clean clothes, but maybe she had a