She went into the kitchen, opened the cabinet door. In her pharmacopeia she found a full container of sleeping pills and a few left in another. She took both jars and a bottle of vodka into the bedroom. She set them carefully on the floor alongside the bed.

She checked the front door to make certain it was locked, bolted, and chained. Then she turned out all the lights in the apartment. Moving cautiously, she found her way back to the bedroom.

She sat on the edge of the bed. She took four of the pills, washed them down with a swallow of vodka. She didn't want to drink too much, remembering what had happened to Maddie Kurnitz.

Then she stripped the soaked sheet from the bed and let it fall at the foot. She got into bed alongside Ernest Mittle, wearing her oversized wedding gown and taped ring. She moved pills and vodka onto the bedside table. She took four more pills, a larger swallow of vodka.

She waited…

She thought it might come suddenly, blackness descending. But it did not; it took time. She gulped pills and swallowed vodka, and once she patted Ernie's cooling hip and repeated, "There, there…"

The scene she had been seeing all night, the blasted landscape, came back, but hazed and softened. The pitted ground slowly vanished, and only the curling smoke was left, the fog, the vapor.

But soon enough that was gone. She thought she said something aloud, but did not know what it meant. All she was conscious of was that pain had ceased.

And for that she was thankful.

July 26; Saturday…

"Surveillance reported ten minutes ago," Sergeant Abner Boone said, consulting his notes.

"Is she still there?" Thorsen said sharply.

"Yes, sir. Got home about six-forty last night. Hasn't been out since."

"Any phone calls?" Delaney asked.

"One," Boone said. "About nine o'clock last night. The desk-man in the lobby, asking if Ernest Mittle could come up."

"Mittle?" Detective Bentley said. "He's the boyfriend."

"He didn't leave," Boone said. "He's still up there."

"Shacking up?" Sergeant Broderick said.

"He never did that before," Detective Johnson said.

"Well, apparently both of them are still up there."

"Maybe he's closer to this than we figured," Broderick said. "Maybe he's been in on it all along."

"We'll soon find out," Boone said.

"How do we do this?" Ivar Thorsen asked.

"Maybe I've overplanned it," Boone said, "but rather be safe than sorry. Two cars at Lex and Third to block off her street. Precinct men for crowd control. The two guys on the wiretap will cover the basement. One man posted at each end of her hallway. Then we'll go in."

"What if she doesn't open up?" Thomas Handry said.

"We'll get the lobby man to use his passkeys," Boone said. "He's got them; I checked. Deputy, you, the Chief and I go in first. Uh, and Dr. Ho and Handry. Bentley, Johnson, and Broderick to follow. We got a floor plan of her apartment from the owner, and those guys will spread out fast to make sure she doesn't have a chance to dump anything. Sound okay?"

They all looked at Delaney.

"I don't think she'll try to run," he said, "but it won't do any harm to have a man on the roof."

"Right," Boone said, "we'll do it." He looked at his watch. "Coming up to ten o'clock. Let's get this show on the road."

Delaney, Dr. Patrick Ho, Sergeant Boone, and Thorsen rode in the Deputy's car.

"Ah, will there be any shooting?" Dr. Ho asked nervously.

"God forbid," Boone said.

"I want this to go down quickly and quietly," the Admiral said.

"Get her and the boyfriend out of there as soon as possible," Delaney advised. "Then you can tear the place apart."

"You have the warrants, sergeant?" Thorsen asked.

Boone tapped his breast pocket. "Right here, sir. She's signed, sealed, and delivered."

Thorsen remarked on the beauty of the morning; a bare sun rising in a strong sky. He said the papers had predicted rain, but at the moment it looked like a perfect July day.

It went with a minimum of confusion. The screening cars sealed off the block. Two uniformed officers were posted at the outer door of the apartment house. Precinct men began to set up barricades.

The others piled into the lobby. Uniformed men went first, hands on their holstered revolvers. The lobby attendant looked up, saw them coming. He turned white. Sergeant Boone showed the warrants. The man couldn't stop nodding.

They waited a few moments for the roof and corridor men to get in position. Then they crowded into the elevators, taking the lobby attendant along with them.

They gathered outside her door. Boone waved the others aside, then knocked on the door with his knuckles. No response.

He banged on the door with his fist, then put his ear to the panel.

"Nothing," he reported. "No sounds at all." He gestured to the lobby attendant. "Open it up."

The man's hands were shaking so hard he couldn't insert the passkeys. Boone took them from him, turned both locks. The door opened a few inches, then caught on the chain.

"I've got a bolt-cutter in my car," Sergeant Broderick said.

"Wait a minute," Delaney said. He turned to the attendant. "Gas or electric ranges?" he asked.

"Gas."

The Chief stepped close, put his face near the narrow opening, sniffed deeply.

"Nothing," he reported and stepped aside.

Sergeant Boone took his place.

"Police officers," he yelled. "We've got a warrant. Open up."

No answer.

"They've got to be in there," Thorsen said nervously.

"Should I get the bolt-cutter?" Broderick asked.

Boone looked to Delaney.

"Kick it in," the Chief said curtly.

The sergeant stood directly in front of the door. He drew up his leg until his knee almost touched his chin. He drove his foot forward at the spot where the chain showed. Wood splintered, the chain swung free, the door slammed open.

They rushed in, jostling each other. The searchers spread out. Thorsen, Delaney, Dr. Ho, Handry, and Boone stood in the living room, looking around.

"Clean and neat," the Chief said, nodding.

"Sarge!" Johnson yelled from the bedroom. "In here!"

They went in, clustered around the bed. They stared down. The drained man with his raw throat gaping wide. The puttied woman wrapped in cloth as thin as a shroud.

"Shit," Sergeant Boone said bitterly.

Delaney motioned to Dr. Ho. The little man stepped close, put two fingers to the side of Zoe Kohler's neck.

"Ah, yes," he said gently. "She is quite, quite deceased."

He peered closely at the empty pill bottles but did not touch them. The vodka bottle was on its side on the rug, a little clear liquid left.

"Barbiturates?" Handry asked Dr. Ho.

"Ah, I would say so. And the liquor. Usually a lethal combination."

Ivar Thorsen took a deep breath, hands on his hips. Then he turned away.

"You'll have to clean up this mess, sergeant," he said. "Do what you have to do."

Thorsen and Delaney took the elevator down together.

"She killed him?" the Deputy said. "Then did the Dutch?"

"Looks like it."

"How do you figure it?"

"I don't," Delaney said.

Outside, on the sidewalk, a crowd was beginning to gather. They pushed their way through. They walked slowly to the Deputy's car.

"I'll have to call a press conference," Thorsen said, "but I could use a drink first. How about you, Edward?"

"I'll pass."

"I'll buy," the Deputy offered.

"Thanks, Ivar," Edward X. Delaney said, smiling briefly. "Some other time. I think I'll go home. Monica is waiting for me."