Laura Lippman - In A Strange City

“I thought I was the only one who got extra hots,” someone behind her said. The guttural Baltimore accent-Ah thought Ah was the only one who got extra hots-belonged to a tall homely woman, whose daisy-patterned scarf didn’t quite cover the short red-pink hair she had coaxed around two small pin curls at her temples.

“A cheese steak can hold its own, but the turkey needs a little help,” Tess said agreeably, glancing down at the woman’s feet, curious to know the fashion choices made by a woman who wore pin curls in public. This extra-hots fan wore a pair of men’s Oxfords, broken at the backs and untied, and pantyhose that sagged on gaunt, bony shins. The hair suggested a South Baltimore housewife, making a quick trip to the market, but the shoes indicated someone who was homeless. Or a gentle lunatic, on the lam from an overworked family member who had dropped her guard, exhausted by the constant demands of caretaker duty.

“I sure would like me one of those turkey sammiches,” the woman said, staring openmouthed at Tess’s white-papered sub as the counterman slid it into a paper sack.

“You want a turkey sub? Or just money?” Tess preferred to buy food for panhandlers instead of handing over cash.

“I sure would like a sammich,” the woman repeated, eyes fixed on the sack now, literally smacking her lips. “I like turkey.” Ah lüke turkey.

Tess handed the sub to the woman. “You want the chips too? And something to drink?”

“The barbecue ones. And a Mountain Dew.”

Tess nodded to the counterman, who rang up another package of chips, another bottle of soda.

“You take this sandwich, I’ll wait for another one. You got a place to stay around here? Because-”

The woman had already scuttled away, the bag tucked under her arm like a football. Still, Tess felt good about her little burst of charity, until she caught Fuzzy Iglehart at the end of the aisle, smiling crookedly at her. Now that he knew what a soft touch she was, it would be even harder to collect.

Work, paying work, was still on Tess’s mind when she called on Tyner after lunch, to see if he had anything to throw her way. After twenty months on her own, she still wasn’t used to the ebb and flow of self-employment. Her taxes for last year showed a respectable income, more than she had ever made in the newspaper trade. But the house seemed to consume every dollar, and this year had gotten off to a slow start. January, to quote Fuzzy Iglehart, was terrible, and while February always brought a spate of work, it tended toward suspicious spouses staking out their partners on Valentine’s Day. Perhaps she was more dependent on her occasional spasms of publicity to drum up new business than she liked to think. Maybe she should have taken Jim Yeager up on his offer.

And maybe she should have a small hole drilled between her eyes, so what little common sense she had could dribble out once and for all.

“I’ve got some courthouse stuff-property records, incorporation records-that I could get my paralegal to do, but she’s snowed under, so I’ll throw it to you,” said a strangely agreeable Tyner. The relationship with Kitty had mellowed him, but Tess wasn’t sure Tyner was meant to be mellow. Without his usual astringency he was a bit like paint thinner that could no longer thin paint. “Easy stuff.”

“I’m no enemy of the easy buck.”

“So, what else is going on?” he asked her, trying to do the fond-uncle thing. But Tess, as she often reminded Tyner, had nine uncles: five on her father’s side, four on her mother’s. She wasn’t auditioning any new ones.

“Not much. You?”

“I went to a community meeting for Mount Vernon businesses and residents last night. People are concerned that there’s been no arrest in the attack on Shawn Hayes, and this rumor that it’s connected to the Poe killing only fans the flames. The gay men who live in the neighborhood want to know if the assault was motivated by his lifestyle. Everyone else secretly wants it to be exactly that.”

“I can’t believe people here are that hateful.”

“Not hateful, scared, and desperate to believe they’re immune from misfortune. They rationalize it can’t happen to them-because they’re smarter, more prudent, with better security systems. Because they’re richer, or they’re poorer. It’s funny. It’s not just rape victims who get blamed for being victims. I’ve noticed that people who fear certain things will turn themselves inside out, trying to find a reason it won’t happen to them. They often find that reason in the victim’s behavior. ”Oh, he went out late at night.“ ”She talked to strangers.“ That kind of thing.”

“Human nature,” Tess said, trying to find a comfortable spot in the ultramodern chair opposite Tyner’s desk, two thong-thin strips of leather hung on chromium bars. She had long suspected Tyner of choosing office decor that would make those who dared to visit as uncomfortable as he was. Tyner didn’t want people who could walk to stop being grateful for this fact, so his furniture challenged the spine and left one’s legs with pins and needles that had to be stomped out.

“It’s not just crime,” he continued, on a roll. “An old friend, a state’s attorney, has a little boy diagnosed autistic. So her inconsiderate pregnant friends quiz her about her diet, her lifestyle, her genes, and what form of birth control she used before conceiving. Here she is, on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of the stress level in her life, and all her so-called friends want is the assurance it won’t happen to them.”

“Well… people, Tyner.” Lord, he was chatty today. This was the kind of conversation Tess was used to having with Kitty. She feared some odd mutant was emerging from the relationship, a kinder, gentler Tyner. A Kyner!

“Yes, people. So the residents of Mount Vernon went back to their homes and businesses last night, reassured of nothing, other than Detective Rainer’s general incompetence. Meanwhile, I’m worried Shawn Hayes will stay on life support for more than a year and a day, which means his attacker will never face homicide charges. It’s a hard call for a family to make, but I hope they’re aware of the legal implications of letting him linger.”

“Assuming Rainer ever makes an arrest.”

“Ah, yes, Rainer. He took me aside last night for a private chat.”

Tess might have straightened up at this information, if the chair had allowed such movement.

“What did he want to know?”

“He wanted a reading on Cecilia. She clerked for me summer before last. Remember?”

How could Tess forget? Tyner’s decision to hire a clerk had forced Tess out on her own, long before she wanted to be. Even now, with Tyner’s faith in her proven, she couldn’t help remembering how it felt when she was exiled from this office. It was like riding her bike without training wheels for the first time, Daddy running behind and promising not to let go. And then Daddy did let go-and she had promptly crashed. But she got back up, the way everyone gets back up.

“So, what did you tell him about our old friend, the soapbox queen?”

Tyner was puzzled. “Cecilia drives go-carts?”

“No, as in, She’s always on a soapbox.”

“Oh. He asked if I could ”control‘ her, convince her to settle down and stop making so much noise. I told him Cecilia will keep yapping until someone listens. I then asked him point-blank if she was right, and he was evasive.“

“Evasive? That would represent a whole new level of subtlety for Rainer. He usually just stands there, mouth gaping open, when he doesn’t know how to answer a question.” Tess couldn’t help recalling Fuzzy Iglehart’s stand, the blank-eyed stares of the fish on ice.