At the middle of the block, four vehicles crowded the curb outside number four hundred and eight: a city building inspection van, two patrol sedans with their hazard flashers pulsing in amber sync, and the unmarked flatbed truck Victor’s private crew had abandoned against the fire hydrant. The flatbed still held six untouched sheets of five-eighths-inch exterior plywood and an open red steel tool chest. The two men who had brought the timber were sitting in the back of the second police car, their fluorescent vests unzipped over gray work shirts, staring down at the rubber floor mat while an officer stood guard at the rear pillar.
Elena parked behind the flatbed, cutting the engine. "Stay close to me, Naomi," she said, clipping her county photo badge to the lapel of her wet coat. "The building inspector has already checked the riser cuts in the crawlspace, but we need you to identify the hardware on your landing before anyone touches the locks."
I didn't answer with words. I unlatched the heavy passenger door, stepped straight into three inches of street runoff, and pulled my canvas backpack tight against my chest. My uniform trousers were frozen against my shins, but inside the zippered pocket beneath my arm, Maya’s albuterol inhaler was dry.
The front entry door of the four-story brick building had already been forced. The brass latch-plate hung loose by a single wood screw, the mortise splintered where a pry-bar had bitten deep into eighty-year-old Douglas fir. Standing in the foyer, illuminated by the beam of a heavy halogen work light set on the mailboxes, was city building inspector Frank Alvarez. He had chalk dust across the knees of his coveralls and held a clipboard layered with carbon-copy inspection tags.
"Elena," Alvarez called out as our wet shoes echoed on the hexagonal floor tile. "The water main was cut clean with a cordless saw right below the manifold valve. No accidental rupture. It was done inside thirty minutes from the street shutoff. They tried to flag it as an immediate health hazard under municipal code section one-seventy-eight."
"Did they post the physical placard?" Elena asked.
"They had the red tag peeled and ready on the clipboard," Alvarez said, nodding toward the abandoned tool chest outside the door. "They never pinned it to the lintel. The neighbors came out into the hall before the first timber screw bit into the casing."
I looked up the stairwell. At the first landing, Mrs. Gable’s door stood four inches ajar, secured only by the heavy brass security chain she had installed after her husband passed. Through the narrow gap, I saw the hem of her floral housecoat and the toe of her orthopedic slipper.
"Mrs. Gable?" I said, taking the stairs two at a time.
The door swung back instantly, the chain rattling in its track. Maya was sitting at the low oak breakfast table right where Mrs. Gable had placed her, her third-grade spelling workbook open to page fourteen, her yellow pencil resting neatly in the crease of the paper. She was wearing her thick wool cardigan with the mismatched plastic buttons, her dark hair pulled back into two tight braids.
When she saw my face, she didn't jump up or shout. She looked at my waterlogged apron, at the dark patches of rain across my shoulders, and laid both hands flat over her spelling words.
"Mom," she said, her voice small and steady. "The men downstairs made a lot of noise with the drill."
"I know, baby," I said, crossing the kitchen linoleum in two strides. I dropped to my knees beside her chair, uncapping the inhaler, checking the tiny counter on the plastic casing. It read twelve remaining doses. "Take a sip of water first. We’re safe."
Mrs. Gable closed the door behind me, resting her hand on my shoulder. Her fingers felt like warm, dry parchment through my wet shirt. "The DA's people got here four minutes after you called from the pantry, Naomi. They caught the younger man on the third-floor stairs with an impact wrench. He had the master ring Victor gave him."
"Did they touch our door?" I asked.
"They took the deadbolt cylinder out," Mrs. Gable said quietly. "They dropped it in a bucket of kerosene to make it look like corrosion. But they didn't get the boards up. Officer Ramos took the tools off them before they could drive the first screw."
Footsteps sounded on the landing outside—heavy, measured rubber soles. Elena Ruiz stood in the doorway, holding a yellow county inspection form and the transparent plastic evidence sleeve containing the torn blue draft from table twelve.
"Naomi," Elena said gently. "Inspector Alvarez just finished the emergency shutoff isolation. He managed to cap the severed riser line with a brass compression plug, which means the upper three floors have functioning domestic water pressure again. The building is not condemned. The department is issuing an immediate stop-work order against Hale Development and all affiliated operating entities."
"What about Tuesday's calendar?" I asked, standing up while keeping one hand on Maya’s shoulder. "Victor told the officers on the curb that this is still a civil boundary dispute."