The call took less than two minutes. George gave the address, said there was a man at his door who wouldn’t leave, and that he had reason to believe the man was threatening his wife. He was surprised by how calm he was under the circumstances.
Marcus, hearing this, finally moved—not toward them but backward, off the step, onto the path. He said to Zoe, “You didn’t have to do this.” “Leave,” Zoe said. She wasn’t frightened anymore, or if she was, she was forcing herself to be calm. “The police is already involved. They know your name. Please just go.”
Marcus looked at her for a long moment. Then he looked at George—a look that was hard to categorize, not threatening exactly, more like someone reassessing a situation they’d misread. He put his hands in his pockets and walked to the car parked across the street. He didn’t drive away. He sat there. George watched through the glass until the blue lights appeared at the end of the road, and