Goldstein

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The place smelled of wood and glue and fresh paint. She was alone with the darkness and the silence, with only her breathing and the faint tick of the watch in her jacket pocket for company. The man seemed to have disappeared again, yet she decided to wait a little longer, stretching to get the blood flowing through her arms and legs. At least there were no coat hangers on the rail; she could see a chink of light through the crack in the door. She took the watch from her jacket pocket. It was just gone nine. The night watchman would soon be completing his rounds on the sixth floor.

Confirmation came with the grinding of the lift, echoing so loudly through the darkness that she gave a start. It was time. He was on his way back down, and in the next few hours would only be concerned with the roller grilles in front of the doors and display windows, with making sure that everything was locked and no one could break in.

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