"Do you have any idea who was driving that car?" Warner asked.
"No."
"Can you describe the car? Or the driver?"
"The car, yes. It was some kind of sporty thing, low on the road, a shiny, silvery body."
"The driver. Male or female?"
"I have no idea."
"No idea?" Warner said, looking up at her from his notes.
"No," Tanya snapped, annoyed. "I was busy trying to stay on the road…trying to stay alive." She drank deep from her cola, her eyes closed.
"I guess that's all for today. Please, let us know if you're going to be leaving for any reason, and if you need anything, just give us a call." Detective Warner stood and offered Tanya his hand. When she reached for it, he clasped her hand in both of his. "Are you doing all right?" he asked.
"Yes, I guess I am," she replied with a soft smile, pleased he was so considerate of her. "Physically, I feel fine, but I still have terrible nightmares. I see Kathy, as she was just a bit before, and then as she was right after the accident. I can't go back to sleep after one of those."
"It's going to pass with time, Tanya. Time, as the saying goes, will heal all. The image will just be a sad memory."
"Yes, I suppose so." She looked deep into his eyes, started to say something more, then stopped. She shook his hand and left the building.
She had just returned to Judith's apartment when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Tanya? Sorry to bother you so soon. Detective Warner here."
"Yes," she said, ice filling her chest with dread. "What's wrong, Detective?"
"We've just received information your condo has been burglarized. Do you have any idea what they're looking for?"
"God, no. I left most of my belongings behind, but I can't imagine what anyone would want. I don't think I own anything of value. I brought with me some clothes, my papers and my drawing supplies."
"And you have no idea who would want to harm you? None at all?"
"No, none. Did the explosives used on my car give you any information?" She paced the length of the phone cord and back.
"Not much. The traces are similar to those we found in one other instance. We suspect an amateur, someone who is angry with you for a real or imagined slight. Maybe your art work was chosen over his, or the teacher likes you more. Whatever. My advice is to get out of town."