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out. Stanley punched a keypad I hadn’t noticed on the wall inside the doors. I heard a beep and saw a flashing red light go on. As he killed the overhead lights and pulled the door to behind him, something locked in place inside my head. I thought, Oh shit!
    That was the second thing I hadn’t counted on. The keypad and the flashing light meant I needed a code to get out . I sat there so long my feet went numb. But my brain was boiling. There was only one thing I could do. Spend the night. I’d have to find a place to hide. I’d have to hope no one would find me before the store filled up with customers in the morning and I’d be able mingle with them and walk out.
    I unfolded myself and stood up. That little movement was enough to blow the roof off and me with it. The lights went on, an ear-splitting shrilling filled the air. I’d triggered the motion detector alarm.
    I didn’t wait. I sprinted for the Womens washroom, jumped up on the toilet. The window was just big enough for me to squeeze through, but it was sealed shut. I smashed the glass out with my hammer, cleared away the ragged shards with the hammer claw and squirmed up, over and out. I landed in a dumpster full of cardboard. I hoisted myself out of it and hit the ground face-first. I lay there for a moment, stunned. My hands and arms were cut, my nose was bleeding. Then I was up and limping off as fast as I could go, leaving the wail of approaching sirens behind me.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I was ready for Marcia’s call the next morning.
    â€œHave you read the paper?” she demanded.
    I said truthfully, “No.”
    â€œThe police said it was a break-in. Was that you?”
    â€œI don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “Does Stanley suspect anything?”
    â€œI don’t think so. But the police do. Because a window was broken, but the glass fell out , not in.”
    â€œThat’s weird,” I said.
    â€œYou have five days left.”
    â€œIt’s no good reminding me.”
    â€œWell, what are you going to do about it?”
    I was ready for this too. I’d spent all night thinking about it. “I’ll do it when he takes his walk.”
    â€œTonight,” she snapped. “Make it tonight. It’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”
    â€œAll right, all right. What time does he go?”
    â€œTen thirty, eleven.”
    â€œDoes he take the same route every night?”
    She took a moment to answer. “He usually goes around the park, down Green to Maitland, left on Boswell, left again on Crawford and back to Green. It takes him about half an hour.”
    I thought fast. “So he doesn’t have to cross any streets?”
    â€œHe does if he wants cigarettes. He has to cross at Maitland and go two blocks up to Main to the Shortstop.” She paused. I could hear the gears turning in her head. “I could ask him to pick up something for me.”
    I took a deep breath. “Okay. Do that. And call me the minute he leaves the house.”
    â€œFine,” she said. I’d given her the when and where. She didn’t bother with the how. Like she said, she didn’t want to know.
    Out of curiosity, I asked, “So what’s your alibi?”
    She said coolly, “I have a cousin in British Columbia. Their time’s three hours behind ours, so it won’t be too late to ring her after he goes. We talk for hours. If you’re quick about it, I might still be on the phone with her when the police come with the bad news.”
    * * *
    That afternoon I got to know the geography of Green Park. It was a big rectangle of trees and grass running between four streets, just as Marcia had described. I parked my car a few blocks away and walked back. Maitland was a quiet road with houses set back from it with lots of shrubbery. That was good because it meant no one had a clear view of the road. Traffic was light even during the day—the occasional car, the