I stood there breathing hard, looking at the wreckage of my father’s clock.
Only after the noise had faded did I realize what I had done.
I had destroyed the object that might have proved someone had been watching me.
Chapter 2: The Visitor Who Had a Key
The police officer who arrived that night was named Elena Ruiz.
She was calm, careful, and visibly unimpressed when I told her my neighbor had probably planted the device.
She asked whether I had actually seen Patricia enter the house.
I admitted I had not.
She asked who else had access.
My former wife still had a key until our divorce was finalized, but she had moved to Denver six months earlier.
My cleaning service had stopped coming in the spring.
The electrician who repaired the dining room fixture had been there only once.
Then I remembered the neighborhood emergency-preparedness inspection.
Patricia had organized it on behalf of the Briar Glen Residents Association.
She had arrived at my door on a Saturday morning with a clipboard and a younger man carrying a tool bag.
She said the association was checking smoke alarms and electrical panels before the annual insurance review.
I had argued that the association had no authority to inspect private homes.
She told me the board had approved the visits and showed me a notice printed on association letterhead.
I let them inside because I was late for a meeting and wanted the argument over.
Patricia remained in the living room while the younger man inspected the utility closet.
At one point she asked about my father’s clock.
She said it was beautiful and wanted to know whether it still worked.
I had told her the mechanism needed repair.
She had smiled and said she knew someone who restored antiques.
Now the memory made my stomach turn.
Officer Ruiz photographed the broken components without touching them.
She asked me to leave everything in place until a technician could examine it.
Then she said something that stopped me from speaking.
A hidden camera could be a serious matter, but suspicion was not evidence of who installed it.
She advised me to preserve the inspection notice, any messages from Patricia, and the names of everyone who had entered the house.
Before leaving, she looked at the damaged clock and asked why it mattered so much to me.
I told her my father had built its frame after retiring from the railroad.
He had died the year before, and the clock was one of the few things I had kept from his house.
Ruiz nodded without offering the empty comfort I had learned to hate.
