Page 137 of Fifty-Fifty

I sat up.

I really did hear banging.

On the front door to my office.

I threw on a tee, a pair of jeans and made my way into the office. The outer door was frosted glass, and I could see someone on the other side. I opened my

desk drawer, took out a pair of brass knuckles and slipped one of them onto my

right hand. Unless the person on the other side of the door was Harry, or Kate, I would punch their lights out and ask questions later. Harper died opening her front door.

More banging on the door. This was not just knocking. Whoever was on the other side didn’t seem friendly.

I took a breath, stepped forward, shot my right arm into a firing position and flung open the door.

It wasn’t Harry. And it wasn’t Kate.

And I didn’t punch them out.

The person on the other side of the door wore tight grey jeans, black boots, and a blue blazer over a dark patterned shirt. Bloch didn’t say hello. She didn’t say anything. She stared into the floor, as if she was looking through it to the concrete and metal below. Lost in thought, and something else. She looked like she’d had bad news – a relative in a car accident maybe. Whatever it was, she had trouble spitting it out. I wanted to say something but I got the impression that if I did she might put one of those Doctor Marten boots through my face.

But then I remembered Bloch didn’t talk much, and reasoned that I should at least risk the boot to get things started.

‘Bloch, you okay?’ I said.

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at me. She just said, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘What’s wrong? Is it Kate? Is she okay?’

‘She doesn’t know I’m here. Not yet. Can I come in?’

‘Sure,’ I said, stepping back. I slipped the brass off my fist and let it fall on the desk.

Bloch didn’t sit down, even after I offered her a seat. She shook her head at the suggestion of a drink.

‘Okay, you gotta help me out here. Something’s wrong, I get that. Talk to me.’

‘In the end, it was just too easy,’ said Bloch.

Sometimes it takes a simple statement to change the way you look at something. I felt like part of this case was a closed door, and Bloch had just cracked it open an inch.

I should’ve known the jury was going to convict Alexandra, and acquit Sofia.

Harry had been sure of it – the only one who didn’t see that verdict coming was me. And now I knew why. I could see it on Bloch’s face. Not only was I tired, I was unsure. Unsure about everything, and that doubt had unmoored me. I was adrift on water, surrounded by the fog of grief. And I wasn’t paying attention.

The forensic evidence in the case couldn’t be relied upon – the hair-fiber expert and the bite guy were both as unreliable as each other. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Dreyer had influenced their reports somehow, so he could point the accusing finger at both suspects. In the end, it didn’t matter because the jury didn’t take to either expert.

‘Two things bother me,’ said Bloch.

She paused. Talking wasn’t easy for her. She had to build up to it. The last rays of sun blared through a grime-colored window opposite. She gazed at the dust motes floating in the beam of sunlight.

‘I think part of the journal is true. Frank found out who was trying to poison him, and he was going to change his will – that’s why he was murdered. The Haloperidol. It’s in liquid form. Big white bottle. How come the cops didn’t find any trace of it and how come Frank didn’t notice her putting it in his food?’

‘Well, maybe she was careful?’ I said.

‘She gives it to him for months, he doesn’t see it and she doesn’t spill a drop?

But somehow he figures it out anyway?’