James kicked at the glass of the fireplace absently, his hands gripped tight around the lighter. “My flight was early. I came back in the early hours of Sunday morning. Four or maybe five.”
Elizabeth took another drag. “It was four thirty-seven exactly.” She turned to Olivier and offered a weak smile. “I checked with the cab company.”
Olivier nodded. “Details like that are important, thank you.” He made a flurry of quick, exacting notes. “Please, continue.”
Elizabeth’s smile faded. She took a breath. “I ran downstairs as soon as I heard the glass break. It was from Laura’s room. The door was stuck.” She gestured to her foot. “I kicked it in, but it wouldn’t budge.”
James pounded the mantle piece. “I was just outside. I could hear the sounds as Elizabeth kicked the door. I wanted to run to the door, but Laura was out on the balcony. She was struggling, screaming. It looked like she was being pulled or carried but I didn’t see anyone. It was dark, the floodlights across the alley weren’t on.” He gripped the lighter harder, hard enough the cap flew off.
Elizabeth winced as the cap clattered to the stone and then under the couch. “James… calm down.” She addressed Olivier directly, “Our neighbor, Mr. Arnold Carmine swears the lights were in good repair. We’ve tested them several times since.”
Olivier made further notes, his rhythmic scratching invoking the practiced surety of a composer jotting down notes to a score. “Continue,” he said at length.
James continued, “There were no lights, no moon. I couldn’t see who had Laura. I only saw her being carried along. Her feet weren’t touching the ground but were kicking, she was punching at the attacker, but her eyes were closed.”
Elizabeth picked up the thread, “I got the door open then. I sprained my ankle and broke two toes. I couldn’t tell when that happened. The door was held so tight then it just came open. I rushed inside.” Her breathing was uneven and she sniffled as she spoke, years of training in decorum the only thing keeping her from bawling and smearing her makeup in her hands.
Olivier held up a hand. “Please, Mrs. Wilks. Finish your wine. Take a moment.” He stood and crossed to James at the fireplace. “If I may?” he gestured to the Zippo oozing lighter fluid down James’ arm.
James handed over the broken Zippo.
Olivier took it and led James to the couch opposite Elizabeth. “You should have a drink as well. But before that, finish with your account.”
James blinked through his own tears and huffed. “I went into the alley and tried to block their escape. The ladder didn’t move and I didn’t hear anyone heading up but they must have gone to the roof because they dropped Laura and were gone.”
Olivier poured a glass of port from the bar behind the couch he had been sitting in. “I assume you checked the alley for footprints, signs of entry?” He handed the glass to James.
James took it, nodding. “I lapped the block three times looking for anything.”
Elizabeth placed her empty wineglass on the end table and moved to stand. Olivier waved her back down and fetched the open bottle from the bar. “Alright. Now, Mrs. Wilks. What did you see when you came into the room?”
She took the wine and settled into the arm of the couch. “The room was a mess. The bed was flipped over. There were gashes in the walls. Gashes! Not just the wallpaper! Beams and wiring were cut and broken. The glass of her balcony doors was melted into the frame where it wasn’t broken.”
Olivier returned to his seat and took another set of notes. “And how was Laura after the attacker fled?”
James steadied his glass with both hands and took a long sip. “Elizabeth tried to pull her in but she screamed and struggled. She refused to come inside.” He pointed to his bruised cheek and pushed his hair aside to show a bandage on his left ear. “She punched me when I tried to pick her up, damn near tore my ear off.”
Elizabeth drained her glass and held it loosely in front of her, staring at Olivier through the tinted crystal. “I didn’t try to touch her after she attacked James. Two firemen were hospitalized. As long as nobody touches her, she just sits there calling out her horrible vulgarities. Trauma they say.”
Olivier made a show of looking over his notes, turned back two pages, and then forward again. “The cloth tied around the fire escape?”
James shook his head. “Every blanket, sheet, and towel, all of her clothes aside from the dressing gown she was wearing. In the first day, while we were still filing reports, she would just have them in her hands, tearing them up and wrapping the escape. Nobody saw her collect them.”
Elizabeth dropped her glass and wept openly. “By the second day, she was done moving. She’s just sat there. Sat there for weeks yelling obscenities.”
Olivier picked up the glass and offered a handkerchief to Elizabeth. “With your permission, I would like to check Laura’s room, maybe ask her some questions?”
James nodded and stood. “I’ll show you the way.”
Olivier grabbed James’ shoulder. “Tend to your wife. I’ll be back down in a few minutes.”