Chapter 4
I felt as if I were wearing gumboots stuck in mud. I had my jacket on, my car keys in hand, but I couldn’t move. Two hours since Zoë left, and I stood in the middle of my kitchen having a make-believe conversation that was not going well.
‘What did your intruder look like, ma’am?’
‘I don’t know. His features were hidden.’
‘We’ll dust for prints.’
‘He wore gloves.’
‘What make of vehicle was he driving?’
‘I never saw.’
‘Maybe you heard a truck?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll need you to have an examination.’
‘He didn’t r**e me.’
‘And you expect us to do what exactly?’
I leaned back against my kitchen cupboards and threw the keys on the counter. They skated six feet across the tiled granite counter top like a jackrabbit on skis and crashed into the side of the refrigerator
