Laura Lippman - Butchers Hill

"I believe you," Jackie said. "Now when can I see her?"

They finally agreed on Wednesday, after school. Jackie and Tess would have tea with Molly Edelman, all very civilized, make polite chit-chat while Jackie observed her daughter. But Wednesday was also the day of the crab feast at her mother's, and Tess also had to make a fruit salad. Not just any fruit salad, either, but Gramma's favorite, with a particular poppy seed dressing and all sorts of conditions and regulations involving the fruit. (No kiwi, green grapes not red, extra strawberries, all melon must be balled.) She was assembling it in the small kitchen in her office, when Tull knocked.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she said, holding up her hands. "I'd shake, but I'm juicy."

Tull reached into the cookie jar and tossed Esskay a bone. The dog gulped it down gratefully, then returned to the kitchen to keep her vigil near the fruit salad. Esskay liked melon, balled or not.

"The baby-" Tull began.

"Laylah."

"Yeah, Laylah. She's been moved to a group home. The sister-in-law took her for a few days, then decided she couldn't handle it."

"I can't decide if that's good or bad."

"I did some checking on the place where they put her. It's pretty nice. Out in the country, lots of land. Woman usually takes in HIV-positive babies and special needs cases, but she had a vacancy just now."

"Great. I mean, not great, but okay, I guess." Although Tess wondered if Laylah, who had no "special" needs, would get as much attention as the others. Being an eight-month-old orphan wasn't considered all that special, not alongside children with disabilities and the AIDS virus.

Tull continued to stand there, looking strange and uncomfortable.

"About Luther Beale," he said.

"What about him?" She had gone back to her fruit salad.

"Just be careful, okay? The double homicide-it turns out he doesn't have an alibi. Home alone, listening to the radio."

"But you said it was probably drugs. You said you were going to question him just to fuck with his head."

"Yeah, well, Lavon and Keisha weren't involved in drugs, as far as we can tell. Sure, she was ripping off social services, claiming the baby's father wasn't around. But Lavon was doing painting work on a cash-only basis. Real reliable, according to his boss. No sign that either of them used drugs, much less sold 'em."

"So what are you saying?"

Tull met her eyes. There was no oneupmanship in his gaze, no sense of triumph or I-told-you-so, just concern, direct and simple. "I'm saying someone killed Destiny Teeter and made, it look like a trick gone bad. Someone bashed in Treasure Teeter's head and tried to make it look like he burned himself up. And someone killed Lavon and Keisha in a way that made us suspect a drug hit. I'm saying I want you to keep carrying your gun, and I want you to be careful."

"Even if Beale did any of these things-and I don't think he did-why would he hurt me?"

"Because this killer is crazy, and getting crazier. Because this killer is beginning to strike out at anyone even tangentially related to Donnie Moore. We're keeping watch on the prosecutor from the case, the judge, the Nelsons down in D.C. But you're on your own, Tess. I can't protect you from your own client."

"And Sal?" Tess asked. "You're watching Sal?"

"Sal's the easiest one to protect. He's staying at Penfield for the summer session. They even got him a bodyguard for when he wants to leave the premises."

Tess bet Sal just loved that. A bodyguard. Just another reminder that he wasn't anywhere near as tough as he thought he was.

Tull turned to leave.

"Martin-" Funny how strange his first name felt in her mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Tell me something about yourself, something personal. Anything. Something about your marriage, or why it ended."

He deliberated for a moment. "We had a cat."

"The marriage ended because you had a cat?"

"Give me a second. You asked for a story, then you charge right in, interrupting me. We had a cat. He was named Stanley, because he had this weird meow, it sounded like he was yelling ‘Stella.' I kid you not. I loved that cat. The night my wife left me, she took Stan. She also took everything else-our bed, the air conditioning units, the major appliances. I mean, she took the fucking stove, okay? But she left the litter box. I think she was trying to tell me something."

"And that was?"

"I'm still trying to figure it out. You got any ideas?"

"My guess is that she was a greedy head case who wasn't anywhere near good enough for you."

Tull smiled, walked back to the desk, and grabbed another biscuit for Esskay, then gave Tess a comradely thump just above the elbow. "Be careful," he said. "Please be careful."

Less than four hours later, Tess and Jackie sat in a gazebo behind a gingerbread Victorian in Mount Washington, a neighborhood full of gracious old homes. Molly Edelman was serving them iced tea, homemade cheese straws, and ham sandwiches with the crusts cut off. Her hands shook as she poured the tea. No one was eating.

"Just think," Jackie murmured, almost to herself. "When I came to Fresh Fields, I was practically in her backyard. I might have seen her here. She might have been over at Starbucks. Or walking through the little business district, looking at the clothes and jewelry at Something Else."

The boys came home first, as their grade school was at the foot of the hill. There were two of them, red-headed boys, almost close enough in size to be twins.

"Sandwiches. Excellent," the older one said, grabbing a handful.

"Remember your manners, Henry," Molly said. "Henry, Eli, say hello to my guests, Miss Weir and Miss Monaghan."

"'lo," Henry said around bites. Eli looked up shyly from luminous green eyes, too bashful to speak.

"Can we practice, even though you're having guests?" Henry asked.

"Sure," Molly said. "Just keep control of it. I don't want a lacrosse ball coming at us."

The two boys disappeared into the house, returned with lacrosse sticks scaled to their height, and began throwing the ball against a netted backdrop, passing it to one another. As they played, a Volvo station wagon stopped in the alley and a long-legged girl climbed out. They dropped their sticks and ran to her, falling to the ground and grabbing her by the ankles.

"Thanks, Ms. Reston. See you at school tomorrow, Hannah." The girl looked down, an amused giantess. "Get off me, you spazzes."

She wore the short blue skirt of a local private school-Bryn Mawr, Tess thought, or Roland Park County. Her body was hard and slender, the tea-colored legs crisscrossed with scratches. The honey-colored hair was pulled back into a plait, but small, tight curls had popped out along the forehead and at the nape of the neck. The face was a lighter version of Jackie's-the broad forehead, the expressive mouth, the deep-set eyes.

"Sammy, Sammy," the boys yelled, still holding on to her ankles. "Will you work on our drills with us?"

"I'm tired of practicing," she said, but she was smiling. "Let me get something to eat and I'll be right out."

"Mom's got cheese straws and little sandwiches in the gazebo. She let us have some."

"Cool." Samantha King bounded up the steps of the gazebo, stuffed a cheese straw in her mouth, then gave Molly Edelman a kiss on the cheek, leaving a few crumbs behind. Molly didn't seem to notice. "I finished my science notebook today and turned in my final paper for English. I'm cruising."

Again, Molly made the introductions, but her voice was more strained this time. Sam reached out and shook their hands with a heartiness so familiar that Tess could almost imagine their overlapping DNA meeting at the fingertips. After all, she was related to her, too. There was as much Weinstein as there was King in this striking young girl.