Tess Gerritsen - Peggy Sue Got Murdered

"Which says something about your sanity."

"There's a code of honor here, Adam. You may not believe it, but people do play by the big man's rules. Jonah says I'm in, then I'm in. And no one touches me."

"What if the rules have changed?"

"I'm gambling they haven't."

"There's the word for it. Gambling."

"Are you comin' or what?" said Leland.

"I'm coming," said M. J., and turned to follow him.

Adam caught her arm. "One question, M. J. Why are you doing this?"

"Because you need your daughter. And I think she needs you. Besides." She laughed. "I'm a sucker for a warm fuzzy, remember?" With that she pulled away and followed Leland up the street.

They turned left, into the alley, then right, up another alley. There Leland halted. He pulled out a bandanna and tossed it to her. "Put it over your eyes," he said.

"You boys got a secret hideout?"

"We wanna keep it that way."

Stupid kid stuff , she thought as she wrapped the bandanna over her eyes and tied it in back. The cloth stank of cheap after-shave. "Okay. I'm blind as a bat. Now don't screw up and let me trip on anything."

"You, lady, I'll be happy to throw out a window. Come on." She felt his paw take hold of her arm-not gently, either.

They moved forward. She felt glass skitter away before her blindly shuffling feet. Leland's grip remained firm, her only link to the world. She tried counting paces, then gave up after awhile, knowing only that they'd traveled a long way-maybe in circles. She stumbled over a threshold, was dragged back to her feet. They were in a building, she realized, listening to their footsteps echo across the floor. Too many turns to keep track of now. Up some stairs, then back down. Cold air on her face-outside? A walkway, perhaps? Back inside-those echoing footsteps again.

The echoes elongated, bounced off widely spaced walls. There were others here; she could hear footsteps and a murmur of voices.

Leland halted.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"My castle," said a voice-one she didn't recognize. It boomed forth, like an actor's from the stage.

"Are you Jonah?" asked M. J.

"Why don't you see for yourself?" said the man. "Take off your blindfold."

M. J. hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached up and pulled off the bandanna.

She was standing in a dark room-a warehouse. On her right was a window, covered over by fabric. Only the faintest of light managed to seep through the weave, offering her a dim view of scattered crates, sagging posts. I have an audience , she thought with a sudden flash of nervousness as she realized shadows were moving around her.

A light sprang on, a single bare lightbulb swaying from a wire.

She squinted against the glare, trying to make out the faces surrounding her. There were at least a dozen of them, all with eyes trained on her, watching her, waiting for signs of fear or vulnerability. She tried not to show either.

"So," she said, "which one of you is Jonah?"

"That depends," someone said.

"On what?"

"On who you are."

"The name's M. J. Novak. And this used to be my neighborhood."

"She's a cop," said Leland. "Goes around askin' questions like one, anyway."

"Not a cop," said M. J. "I work for the medical examiner. People die, my job's to find out why. And you've had folks dying around here."

"Hell," someone said with a laugh. "Folks dyin' all the time. Nothin' special."

"Nicos Biagi wasn't special? Or Xenia? Or Eliza?"

There was a silence.

"So why do you care, M. J. Novak?"

Even before she turned to face the speaker, she knew it was Jonah. The tone of command in his voice was unmistakable. She found herself gazing at a magnificent man, towering, with unnaturally pale eyes and a lion's mane of brown hair. The others remained silent, as he moved forward to confront her in the circle of light.

"Is it so hard to believe, Jonah, that I would care?" she asked.

"Yeah. Because no one else does."

"You forget. This was my neighborhood. I used to hang out on the same streets you hang out on now. I knew your mamas. I grew up with them."

"But you left."

"No one ever really leaves this place. You can try all your lives, but it stays with you. Follows you wherever you go."

"Is that why you're here? To help the lost souls you left behind?"

"To do my job. To find out why people are dying."

"To do your job? Is that all?"

"And-" She paused. "To warn your lady, Maeve."

Jonah stood stock-still. No one moved.

Then the steady click-click of boot heels across the floor cut through the silence. A shadow, sleek as a cat's, came out of the darkness. Casually the woman strolled into the circle of light where she stood with arms crossed, gazing speculatively at M. J. She was dressed all in black, but in various textures of black: leather skirt, knit turtleneck, a quilted jacket with patches of shimmery satin. Her hair looked like broomstraw- stiff and ragged, the blond strands tipped with a startling shade of purple. She was thin-too thin, her eyes dark hollows in a porcelain face.

The woman walked a slow, deliberate circle around M. J., studying her from the side, from behind. She came around to the front, and the two women stood face to face.

"I don't know you," said Maeve. Then, with that declaration, she turned and started to walk away, back into the shadows.

"But I know your father," said M. J.

"Bully for you," said Maeve over her shoulder.

"And I knew Herb Esterhaus. Before he was shot to death."

Maeve froze. She turned to face her.

"You're a suspect," said M. J. "The police'll be coming around, asking questions."

"No, they won't."

"Why not?"

"Because they already know the answers."

M. J. frowned. "What do you mean?"

Maeve glanced at Jonah. "This is between me and her."

After a pause, Jonah nodded and snapped his fingers. "Out," he said.

Like magic, the circle of people melted into the shadows. Maeve waited for the last footsteps to fade away, then she reached for a crate and shoved it toward M. J. "Sit," she said.

"I'll stand, thank you," said M. J., unwilling to yield the advantage of height.

Maeve, unruffled, propped one black boot on the crate and regarded her adversary with new interest. "Where did you meet my father?"

"The city morgue."

Maeve laughed. "That's a new one."

"He came in to look at a body. We thought it might be yours."

"He must've been disappointed when it wasn't."

"No, as a matter of fact, he was terrified by the prospect. As it turned out, it was someone you probably knew."

"Eliza?" Maeve shrugged. "Everyone knew her. You couldn't avoid it. She'd bum you out of your last dime."

"And your last matchbook?"

"What?"

"She had a matchbook. L'Etoile Restaurant. Had your father's phone number written in it."

Again, Maeve shrugged. "She needed the matches. I didn't."

"What about Nicos and Xenia? Did you know them too?"

"Look," said Maeve. "They were stupid, that's all. Took some bad medicine."

"Who passed it to them?"

Maeve didn't answer.

"You know, don't you?"

"Look, it was a mistake-"

"On whose part?"

"Everyone's. Nicos. Xenia-"

"Yours?"

Maeve paused. "I didn't know. The bastard never bothered to tell me. He just said he wanted to make a delivery, needed a runner out to Bellemeade."

"And you told him Nicos was available."

"I didn't know Nicos was dumb enough to snitch a sample for himself. Pass it to his girlfriends."

"So you arranged it all," said M. J., not bothering to keep the disgust out of her voice. "You do this sort of thing all the time?"

"No! It was a favor, that's all! Old times' sake. I didn't know-"