FABIANA’S DOOR HAD been repaired. “I called the landlord a few days ago and told him it was broken.” She told Warwicke.
Once inside, she hung her keys on a hook behind the door and headed into the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”
“Do you have beer?”
She nodded and opened the refrigerator.
Warwicke stood in the center of her living room, remembering the overwhelming sense of fear he’d felt when he’d come into the apartment and seen her lying on the floor unconscious. He still wondered what had caused her to fall that day, but wrote it off to one of those things he’d probably never know.
Fabiana handed him the beer and headed across the room with her glass of wine. The message light was flashing on her phone recorder. She pressed the Play button.
An elegant, educated voice emerg
