Page 87 of Pieces of Her (Andrea Oliver 1)

This is a direct communication from the Army of the Changing World. We have kidnapped Dr. Alexandra Maplecroft, a tool of the fascist regime, a pawn in the dangerous game played by Martin Queller and his so-called healthcare company. We demand an apology for the part that Martin Queller played in the genocide of the Juneau family and other families across the greater California area. Queller Healthcare must be stopped. They have systematically exploited, tortured and beaten patients in their institutions. More lives will be lost if—

“Nice digs.”

Jane startled.

“Sorry.” Agent Danberry was standing in the doorway. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He stared at the view with open admiration. “My apartment, I can see the alley I share with my neighbor. If I open the window, I get to smell the puke from the junkies sleeping it off.”

Jane didn’t know what to say. Her heart was hammering so hard that she was sure he could see it moving beneath her blouse.

“They closed it a few years ago,” he said. “The bridge. Wind gusts.” He took the cigarette out of his mouth. “That piano in there—probably could pay off my car, right?”

The Bösendorfer could likely buy him fifty new cars, but he wasn’t here to talk about pianos.

“What’re the extra keys for?” He waited.

And waited.

Jane wiped her eyes. She couldn’t just stand here crying. She had to say something—anything—about the bridge, the fog, the view, but her mind was so filled with panic that even the most innocuous observation could not make its way to her mouth.

Danberry nodded, as if this was expected. He lit his cigarette. He stared past the trees at the bridge. The distant bray of foghorns floated up from the rocks.

Jane looked up at the bridge, too. She thought of the first time she’d stood with Nick in the backyard to watch the fog roll in. It wasn’t until that moment that Jane had realized that she’d taken the view for granted. Only Nick had understood how lucky they were.

Danberry said, “I saw you play once.”

Jane knew what he was doing—trying to steer her to something familiar, to make her comfortable.

“My wife dragged me to a club on Vallejo. Keystone Korner. This was a long time ago. They’ve moved across the Bay, I heard.” He pulled out a chair for Jane. She had no choice but to sit. He said, “I know this is hard for you.”

Jane wiped her eyes with her fingers. The skin felt burned by her tears.

He took a seat without being asked. “What were you doing in Germany?”

Jane knew the answer to the question, at least the one she was supposed to give.

“Miss Queller?”

She forced out the word, “Working.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. She had to pull herself together. They had practiced this. It was just like a performance. All the notes were in her head. She just had to coax them out with her fingers.

She rubbed her throat to relax the muscles. She said, “It was meant to be temporary. I was filling in for a friend in Berlin as a session pianist.”

“West Berlin, I hope.”

He smiled, so Jane smiled.

He told her, “I know what you’re thinking: we know what you did over there. We know where you lived. We know where you worked, where you ate lunch, that you went to the East sometimes. We also know your flight to Oslo was out of East Berlin, which isn’t unusual over there, right? The fares are cheaper.” He looked back at the house. “Not that you need to save money, but who can pass up a bargain?”

Jane felt the panic start to return. Did he really know everything, or was this a trick?

He asked, “How was East Germany?”

She tried to see past his question. Did they think she was a communist? A spy?

He said, “I hear everybody watches you. Like, what you’re doing, who you’re talking to, what you’re saying.” He tapped his cigarette into the overfull ashtray. “Kind of like me right now, huh?”

He smiled again, so Jane smiled again.

Danberry asked, “They let them listen to music over there?”