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that he understood. He folded the letter carefully and slipped it back inside its envelope.
    The visitor raised the automatic pistol. “Then I won’t be needing this anymore.”
    â€œNo,” Walter agreed. “You can put it away.”
    The man released the ammunition magazine and pulled the slide to show an empty chamber. “It wasn’t loaded. But I thought you might attack me before you understood that I’m in no way involved. I mean, I would never hurt your wife. I have no idea what they’re asking of you. Like I said, all I’m really doing is reporting a crime. That doesn’t make me a criminal, does it?”
    He stood slowly, slipping the pistol into the side pocket of his suit jacket. “I really hope that everything works out well for you.”
    Walter glared back, about to spring toward the man’s throat.
    â€œOh, just one more thing. My instructions said that they had left something for you in your mailbox.”
    Walter rushed past the man and out the front door. He was tearing the package open as he ran back up the driveway from the mailbox. In the dim light of the foyer, he recognized the contents: Emily’s wedding and engagement rings rolled together in tissue. He looked up into the living room, wondering if his messenger knew what had been left as proof that his wife had been taken. But the man was gone.
    He squeezed the rings in his hands as he pumped up the stairs. Their bedroom was in disarray, with Emily’s tennis things scattered on the floor. He turned into the bathroom and saw the broken curtain rings on the carpet before he realized that the shower curtain was missing. Then he noticed the bra and pants next to the laundry hamper. It was obvious that they had caught her while she was changing from her morning tennis game, probably while she was in the shower. With the curtain ripped away, the rings broken, and the carpeting soaked, he guessed that she had put up a straggle. “Oh, Jesus …” There was a small red stain surrounding the drain, where bloody water had run out.
    He went back into the bedroom and walked around in an aimless circle as he tried to imagine the scene. The more hethought about it, the more violent the image became until he bolted out of the room to keep from becoming sick. He took the back stairs down to the kitchen, pausing to notice the water stains at the top step. This was how they took her out, he thought, still soaking wet from her shower. He picked up the kitchen telephone and dialed.
    Angela picked up on the third ring.
    â€œI’ve got to see you in the morning, early,” he said in an angry staccato.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?”
    â€œEmily … she’s been kidnapped …”
    He could hear the air escaping from Angela’s lungs. Then a gasp, which was all she seemed able to manage.
    â€œDid you hear me? She’s been kidnapped. I’ve got a ransom note. Jesus, I was coming home to tell her … about us … and someone had taken her.”
    Angela’s voice was soft and calm. “Did you call the police?”
    â€œI can’t. They’ll kill her.”
    â€œOh my God … dear God! You’ve got to get her back. Do whatever they ask … anything … you’ve got to get her back.”
    Emily had just plunged the pruning shears into Walter’s chest and was taking great satisfaction in the bewildered expression that had flashed across his face. “Emily, this isn’t like you. You’re not a violent person. You’re supposed to forgive me,” Walter was saying as his knees slowly buckled.
    â€œOh,” Emily taunted, “did you expect me to just go quietly? Without a scene?”
    Walter’s knees hit the floor. “A scene, of course. But this?” He gestured to the round handles that were sticking out of his chest. Slowly he rolled over onto his side. His efforts to talk became a gurgle. Emily smiled as she