Mr. Alvarez and Mrs. Patterson would see him being led out in handcuffs.

“I need to think,” Carl said.

“You have ten seconds,” I said, raising the phone.

“I need a glass of water,” he said, his voice cracking.

He took two steps backward, away from me and toward the narrow hallway that led to the rear of the apartment.

“Don’t run, Carl,” I warned.

“I’m not running,” he muttered.

But he didn’t go to the kitchen sink.

He turned the corner toward the back door, the one that led directly to the basement stairs.

I heard his heavy footsteps hurry down the short hall.

The brass doorknob of the basement door rattled as he unlocked it.

“Carl!” I called out, taking a step after him.

The basement door slammed shut, and I heard the heavy iron bolt click into place from the inside.

He had locked himself in his workshop.

I walked down the hallway and stood in front of the locked door, listening to his muffled breathing on the other side.

I smiled to myself, the tension leaving my shoulders.