CHAPTER 17
Frank slowly picked himself up and examined his head for blood or bumps. Neither was visible, but he suspected the bump would come later. His assailant had escaped away, but the weapon lay shattered on the floor beside him. It was a heavy porcelain voice with oriental paintings on its side, and which he had inherited from the previous occupant of the flat. Frank had meant to throw it away for months only that Sade liked it, so to him, it hadn’t been such a huge loss. The vase now lay scattered in little shards on the floor. Again he examined his head for damage; his finger was now rewarded with a rising bump, but he surely wasn’t in danger of dying.
Another look around told him that the slashed chairs were not the only things that he needed to grieve about. His desk was in com
