I declined. Bad enough I’d let him question me when I was still shaken from the stair fall sabotage and riding my fury at Robin Sparto. At least I had the sense not to let him get me alone in a police car. I’d already incriminated Leo—and me—plenty. Leo! I needed to warn him. The zendo wasn’t far. I slipped into the wardrobe wagon. As I changed back into my own clothes—sweater, loose pants, good leather belt, thick black nubby vest—reality slapped me. Furious as I’d been with Robin Sparto, the full import of what had happened hadn’t struck till now. Someone had tried to kill me! Or close to it! It was only because of luck, or skill, that I wasn’t lying at the bottom of the staircase with my brain all over the sidewalk. Who? Who even knew I was going to be here? Who had I told? The film crew sure wasn’t friendly or careful, but kill? That was a huge leap. If not them, who? And how? But that part was easy. In the dark there’d been plenty of time for someone to come up from the bottom of the staircase, pull off the padding, and splash a thermos of water.
