"It's not fair."

I didn't want to tell him that life's not fair. He was already finding that out sooner than most kids.

"Don't worry, they'll catch whoever did it. The detective in charge of the investigation seems like a pretty sharp guy."

"Yeah? What's he like? Like on Miami Vice?"

Enough of this morbid curiosity.

"So, listen. Did your friends like your new glove?"

"They thought it was pretty neat," he said. "Do you realize that I'm probably the last kid he ever gave anything to?"

Good changing of subject, Kate.

"Do you want cheese on your burger?"

"Okay. Kate, do you know anything about gloves?"

"Try me."

"The stitching's coming loose. Can you fix it?"

"Probably. I've watched other people do it. I'll look at it after dinner. Do you want to watch TV while we eat?"

"Yeah. Great!"

I put together a tray with cutlery and condiments and sent him up to my study with it. When I followed ten minutes later with the food, a glass of milk for him, and a beer for me, he was engrossed in The Dating Game.

"Who do you think he should choose, kid?"

"Bachelorette number three."

"How come?"

"She's got the biggest tits."

T.C. was growing up. I pretended to be shocked and he blushed.

We had a nice evening curled up on the couch. The Yankees were beating the Red Sox so badly by nine-fifteen that T.C. didn't even complain when I sent him down to get ready for bed. I turned off the set and carried the dishes to the kitchen.

A moment later, he was back.

"There's something wrong downstairs, Kate."

"What do you mean?"

"The back door's open."

"You must have forgotten to close it."

"No. It was locked before. I know it was."

"I'll go check. You wait here."

"Don't go down there. What if someone's hiding?"

The kid had a point. I dialled 911. The operator answered on the third ring. I gave her my address and told her the problem. A police cruiser pulled up no more than seven minutes later. Pretty good.

T.C. and I went through the apartment with the officers, once they had established that there were no criminals lurking in the closets. Nothing seemed to be missing.

"It could be that he ran away when you came in, son. Was the front door locked?"

I was a bit embarrassed.

"No. I don't usually lock it until I go to bed."

"What about the apartment doors?"

"I didn't lock it," T.C. said. "I was just coming upstairs. I didn't think I had to. My mum's going to be mad."

"Don't worry about that." I put my arm around him.

"When will she be home? Does she leave the boy alone often?"

"He's not alone. He's with me. T.C., get your pajamas and toothbrush. You can sleep in my bed until she gets home."

The police took another fifteen minutes to take down our story. They didn't seem terribly concerned. I guess they thought that anyone stupid enough to leave doors unlocked deserved what they got. They were probably right. When they left, I locked up and left a note for Sally on her door.

Upstairs, I tucked T.C. in and unplugged the bedroom phone.

"Sleep tight, honey. Your mother will be home pretty soon."

Chapter 14.

I'd just turned out the bedroom light when Karin Gardiner phoned.

"Sandi Thorson will give you an interview tomorrow," she said. "Can you be at her house at ten?"

"Of course. Thank you, Karin. How is she?"

"She's fine. I'm not sure it's really sunk in yet."

"Do you know what her plans are?"

"No. Her parents have been here for a few days. So that's a help. And Steve's parents got here this morning."

"And that's no help at all, right?"

"You could say that."

I had heard stories about Thorson's parents, a rather unpleasant couple who had neglected him as a child, then rushed to cash in once he made it.

"I'll try not to make it any more difficult for her."

"Thank you. Sandi asked me to be there during the interview, if you don't mind."

She gave me the address and we said goodbye. I went up to the study and pulled my file on Thorson. Shortly after eleven I heard Sally at the door.

"What's happened? Where's T.C.?"

"He's fine. He's sleeping in my bed. Don't worry about him. Let me get us a drink."

Sally was already a bit drunk from her gallery opening, but I figured one more wouldn't hurt her. I certainly wanted one. I mixed a couple of Scotch and waters and explained what had happened.

"I'll go downstairs with you, if you like, to check things out, but I don't think anything is missing."

"In a minute. You didn't hear anything?"

"I'm sorry, Sally. We were on the third floor."

"I should never have left him alone. What if something had happened?"

"You didn't leave him alone, Sally. You left him with me. And he's fine."

"Kidnappers. What if it was kidnappers?"

"After your vast wealth, no doubt. I don't think so."

"His father. It was Roger trying to steal him from me."

"Sally, Roger sees him whenever he wants. Why would he want to steal him? He doesn't want a full-time child. You know that."

"I guess you're right. Can we go down now?"

"Sure, no problem."

We started down the stairs, Sally in the lead.

I started to ask her about her party and she turned, finger to her lips, and shushed me, her eyes big. She was tiptoeing.

"I think they've left," I whispered. "You're just going to scare yourself."

At the door, she hesitated.

"For heaven's sake, give me the key," I said, in a normal voice, and opened the door. I had left the lights on. Sally held back until I was in the kitchen.

"Coast is clear, Sal. Come look."

She came in, laughing nervously.

"I'm being a wimp."

I agreed.

We made a tour of the apartment. Nothing was missing.

"It was probably just kids. You're lucky you haven't got anything worth stealing."

"Wait a minute. What do you mean? What about the television set? My jewellery? My . . ."

"There's not much of a market for fourteen-inch black-and-white TV sets, Sally. Your jewellery, while charming, would not set a fence's soul aquiver. Now, your collection of pigs. I'm amazed they missed those."

"What about my fabulous wardrobe and priceless art?"

We both giggled.

"Hey, why don't you bring some things up and spend the night. You can bunk in with T.C. I'll sleep in my study. It won't seem so bad in the morning."

"All right. Do we have to go to sleep right now?"

"No. We'll have another drink, and talk."

"Oh, good. A slumber party. I've got to tell you about the guy I met tonight."

"Right." I steered her out the door.

Sally was full of news about the opening-a retrospective of a brilliant, eccentric photographer. The mayor had been there, and the minister of culture. Mercifully, both had left before the photographer called the art critic from the Mirror a slut and she threw a drink in his face.

"Thank God no one with money reads the Mirror," she giggled. "So, we had to go out to dinner afterwards and have a few bottles of wine to recover. How's your day been?"

I ran through it for her. Towards the end of the story I remembered my promise to T.C.

"I'd better see what I can do with that glove. It's in the kitchen. Fix us another drink while I get it."

I could see what T.C. meant. The leather lacing was loose at the base of the thumb, pulled out from the palm piece.

"This is more complicated than I thought. I'm going to have to undo the whole thing and put it back together."

"Are you sure? T.C.'s not going to be happy if he finds his glove in pieces all over the floor."