Sara Paretsky - Sisters on the Case

The name was a jinx, Belinda had decided, directing her bitterness at her parents and sometimes at God, who had participated in the joke. She couldn’t remember when her parents had started calling her Linnie, probably to put an end to the lie.

But now the baby had come into her life. Lilly was a gift, a miracle. Belinda would shower her with love and make certain no one ever harmed her.

Her family would be shocked when they learned about Lilly. (‘‘Adopting a child? What were you thinking, Linnie? How do you plan to take care of that baby on your own?’’) They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t have understood about Megan Conway, either. That’s why Belinda hadn’t told them about Megan, or about her friend Jim Langdon. He wouldn’t have believed that his wife was cheating on him if Belinda hadn’t followed her several times and taken compromising photos that she’d left in an envelope at Jim’s office. Jim had a right to know. He had left his wife, and yes, he was miserable, but ultimately his life would be better, because of Belinda.

She hadn’t decided when to let Alicia find out about Martin and his latest. Soon, she thought. Alicia had a right to know, too.

Belinda was zipping her jeans when she heard the doorbell. Shutting the bedroom door behind her, she walked to the front door and glanced through the privacy window at a uniformed policeman.

‘‘LAPD,’’ the officer said. ‘‘We’re looking for information about the woman who lives next door. Melissa Heckman?’’

‘‘Did someone complain about her?’’ Belinda asked.

‘‘Ma’am?’’

‘‘About the noise from her apartment. I don’t like it, either. I thought about calling the police, but I didn’t. You can tell her that.’’

‘‘Actually, that’s not why I’m here. Can I come in?’’

Belinda asked to see his ID before she allowed him into her living room.

‘‘If you’re not here about the noise…’’ She caught her breath. ‘‘Did something happen to her? To Melissa?’’ Her voice sounded shrill to her ears. She hoped she hadn’t woken the baby.

‘‘I’m sorry to have to tell you Ms. Heckman is dead. We’re talking to people in the neighborhood, hoping someone saw or heard something.’’

Belinda stared at him and sank onto the sofa cushion, which whooshed under her weight. ‘‘Oh, my God. Oh, my God.’’

‘‘When was the last time you saw her? What’s your name, ma’am, by the way?’’

‘‘Belinda Ellinson. I can’t believe she’s dead.’’

‘‘The last time you saw her?’’ the officer prompted.

‘‘Last night, around seven. I saw her drive off, with a man.’’

Melisssa had left the baby without a sitter, again. Belinda had rung the bell and knocked on the door. No one had answered. Melissa had left Carrie alone several times, even though Belinda was right next door. Just for half an hour or so while she went to the market, but still… Belinda had considered calling Child Services, but what was the point? They would warn Melissa. She would promise to do better. And then she’d go back to her selfish ways.

‘‘What happened?’’ Belinda asked. ‘‘How did she…?’’

‘‘We’re trying to figure that out,’’ the officer said. ‘‘We received an anonymous call from a man about an hour ago. You mentioned hearing noises, ma’am. What kind of noises?’’

Belinda felt color creeping up her neck and face. ‘‘She has lots of men friends. And, well, you know… There’s a lot of screaming, and other sounds.’’

Night after night she had covered her ears to block the sounds and the accompanying images. Night after night she had tried not to think about the innocent child sleeping not ten feet from her mother’s bedroom. Belinda had seen the baby the day Melissa moved into the apartment a month ago. She had brought a bundt cake and offered to babysit, especially since there were no grandparents or other family to help out.

‘‘It’s just me and Carrie,’’ Melissa had said. ‘‘Her daddy’s not keen on babies. He’s not thrilled about paying our bills, either.’’

‘‘This man you saw her drive off with,’’ the cop said. ‘‘Do you know his name?’’

Belinda shook her head. ‘‘Melissa and I aren’t close. She’d borrow a cup of sugar or a few eggs. We’d say hi when we saw each other. I don’t know much about her personal life.’’ Belinda hesitated. ‘‘I did hear yelling Tuesday night, when she came back. She and this man were fighting.’’

‘‘About what?’’ the officer said, his interest quickened.

‘‘I couldn’t hear what they were saying. She sounded angry. And she was crying. I’ve heard her cry before, though. I asked her about it once, and she said it was nothing, she was fine. If I had known…’’

Belinda’s father would say that she should have known, that she was to blame. Alicia would, too, of course, and maybe even her mother. (‘‘Oh, Linnie. What have you done ?’’)

It wasn’t her fault.

Belinda had assumed Melissa would be frantic when she came home and found the baby missing. That was the point, to teach her a lesson. She couldn’t have known that Melissa would call Carrie’s father, that he would drive over. She couldn’t have anticipated that Melissa would attack him the minute he stepped into the apartment. (‘‘You never wanted her born!’’ Melissa had screamed, her anguished cry penetrating Belinda’s wall. ‘‘You took her, didn’t you? You sold her! Or did you kill her? Is that what you did, you bastard?’’)

‘‘Did this guy abuse her?’’ the cop asked.

‘‘I saw her once with a black eye, but she said she bumped into something. And like I said, she had a lot of men friends. I don’t know who she was with last night.’’

Belinda couldn’t have known that Melissa would grab a knife (‘‘Put down the knife, Melissa! Put it down, I said! Are you crazy?’’), that he would slap Melissa, that she would fight him (‘‘Baby killer! You killed my baby. Why? ’’). She couldn’t have known he would slam Melissa’s head against the wall (‘‘Shut up! Shut up, I said!’’), slam it again and again and again until Melissa was suddenly, awfully, quiet.

How could Belinda have known any of that? How could she have stopped it?

‘‘You saw her get into a car,’’ the officer said. ‘‘Can you describe it?’’

‘‘No.’’ Belinda sighed. ‘‘I wish I’d paid attention. It was a black car. Or maybe blue or dark gray. I’m sorry, I’m not good with cars.’’

She hadn’t wanted Melissa dead . She had wanted to frighten her, to make her realize how reckless she was every time she left little Carrie alone, even for five minutes. Last night after Melissa left, Belinda had let herself into the apartment with the spare key the former tenant had given her in case she ever locked herself out or if there was an emergency, which most people would say this was. The baby had been asleep in the Pack ’n Play. Belinda had scooped her up, blanket and all, and taken her to her own apartment.

‘‘Did you see the license plate?’’ the cop asked. ‘‘Even the first few letters or numbers would help.’’

‘‘I didn’t think to look.’’

The officer hadn’t asked about Melissa’s baby. Belinda had been in a near panic at first, wondering what she would do if neighbors mentioned Carrie to the police. But she had reminded herself that really, no one ever saw the baby. Melissa never showed her off, never took her out. And there had been nothing in the Times about Melissa or the baby.

‘‘What about the man? Can you describe him?’’ the officer asked.

‘‘I only caught a glimpse. I’m sorry,’’ she said again. ‘‘I’m not much help, am I?’’