devices and given free rein over her clothes, Sophie was likely to come up with an outfit that ran the entire spectrum from orange to lavender to lime green, from checks to plaid to stripes, fully accessorized, all within the same ensemble. Coordinates were not her strong suit. She was more of a freewheeling kind of gal.
On this sweltering July morning, the morning that was to begin an odyssey that would take Detective Jessica Balzano into the mouth of madness and beyond, she was late, as usual. These days, mornings in the Balzano house were a frenzy of coffee and cereal and gummy bears and lost little sneakers and missing barrettes and mislaid juice boxes and snapped shoelaces and traffic reports on KYW on the twos.
Two weeks earlier, Jessica had gotten her hair cut. She'd worn her hair at least to her shoulders-usually much longer-ever since she was a little girl. When she had been in uniform, she had tied it in a ponytail almost constantly. At first, Sophie had followed her around the house, silently evaluating the fashion move, giving Jessica the eye. After a week or so of intense scrutiny, Sophie wanted her hair cut, too.
Jessica's short hair had certainly helped in her avocation as a professional boxer. What began as a lark had taken on a life of its own. With what seemed like the whole department behind her, Jessica had a record of 4–0 and was starting to get some good press in the boxing magazines.
What a lot of women in boxing didn't understand is, you have to keep your hair short. If you wear your hair long, and keep it in a pony- tail, every time you even get tapped on the jaw your hair flies, and the judges give your opponent credit for landing a clean, hard shot. Plus, long hair has the potential to come loose during the fight and get in your eyes. Jessica's first knockout came against a girl named Trudy 'Kwik' Kwiatkowski who, in the second round, paused for a second to brush the hair from her eyes. The next thing Kwik knew, she was counting the lights on the ceiling.
Jessica's great-uncle Vittorio-who acted as her manager and trainer-was negotiating a deal with ESPN2. Jessica didn't know if she was more scared of getting in the ring or getting on television. On the other hand, she didn't have JESSIE BALLS on her trunks for nothing.
As Jessica got dressed, the ritual of retrieving her weapon from the hall closet lockbox was missing, as it had been for the past week. She had to admit that she felt naked and vulnerable without her Glock. But it was standard procedure for all officer-involved shootings. She had been on the desk for nearly a week, on administrative leave pending an investigation of the shoot.
She fluffed her hair, applied a bare minimum of lipstick, glanced at the clock. Running late again. So much for schedules. She crossed the hall, tapped on Sophie's door. 'Ready to go?' she asked.
Today was Sophie's first day at a preschool not far from their twin row house in Lexington Park, a small community in the eastern section of Northeast Philadelphia. Paula Farinacci, one of Jessica's oldest friends and Sophie's babysitter, was taking her own daughter, Danielle.
'Mom?' Sophie asked from behind the door.
'Yes, honey?'
'Mommy?'
Uh-oh, Jessica thought. There was always a Mom/Mommy preamble whenever Sophie was about to ask a tough question. It was the toddler version of the perp-stall-the technique that knuckleheads on the street used when they were trying to cook an answer for the cops. 'Yes, sweetie?'
'When is Daddy coming back?'
Jessica was right. The question. She felt her heart drop.
Jessica and Vincent Balzano had been in marriage counseling for almost six weeks and, although they were making progress, and although she missed Vincent terribly, she was not quite ready to allow him back into their lives. He had cheated on her and she was not yet able to forgive him.
Vincent, a narcotics detective working out of Central detectives division, saw Sophie whenever he wanted, and there wasn't the bloodletting there had been in those weeks after she'd introduced his clothing to the front lawn via the upstairs bedroom window. Still, the rancor remained. She had come home and discovered him in bed, in their house, with a South Jersey skank named Michelle Brown, a gap-toothed, saddlebag tramp with frosted hair and QVC jewelry. And those were her selling points.
That was nearly three months ago. Somehow, time was easing Jessica's anger. Things weren't great, but they were getting better.
'Soon, honey,' Jessica said. 'Daddy's coming home soon.'
'I miss Daddy,' Sophie said. 'Awfully.'
Me, too, Jessica thought. 'Time to go, sweetie.'
'Okay, Mom.'
Jessica leaned against the wall, smiling. She thought about what a huge, blank canvas her daughter was. Sophie's new word: awfully. The fish sticks were awfully good. She was awfully tired. It was taking an awfully long time to get to Grandpa's house. Where did she get it? Jessica looked at the stickers on Sophie's door, her current menagerie of friends-Pooh, Tigger, Eeyore, Piglet, Mickey, Pluto, Chip and Dale.
Jessica's thoughts of Sophie and Vincent were soon replaced with thoughts about the incident with Trey Tarver, and how close she had come to losing it all. Although she would never admit it to anyone- especially another cop-she had seen that Tec-9 in her nightmares every night since the shooting, had heard the crack of the slug from Trey Tar- ver's weapon hitting the bricks above her head in every backfire, every slammed door, every television show gunshot.
Like all police officers, when Jessica suited up before each tour, she had only one rule, one overriding canon that trumped all others: to come home to her family in one piece. Nothing else mattered. As long as she was on the force, nothing else ever would. Jessica's motto, like most other cops, was as follows:
You draw down on me, you lose. Period. If I'm wrong, you can have my badge, my weapon, even my freedom. But you don't get my life.
Jessica had been offered counseling but, seeing as it was not mandatory, she declined. Perhaps it was the Italian stubbornness in her. Perhaps it was the Italianfemale stubbornness in her. Regardless, the truth of the matter-and it scared her a little-was that she was fine with what happened. God help her, she had shot a man, and she was fine with it.
The good news was that in the ensuing week, the review board had cleared her. It was a clean shoot. Today was her first day back on the street. In the next week or so there would be the preliminary hearing for D'Shante Jackson, but she felt ready. On that day she would have seven thousand angels on her shoulder: every cop in the PPD.
When Sophie came out of her room, Jessica could see that she had another duty. Sophie was wearing two different-colored socks, six plastic bracelets, her grandmother's clip-on faux-garnet earrings, and a hot pink hooded sweatshirt, even though the mercury was supposed to reach ninety today.
While Detective Jessica Balzano may have been a homicide detective out there in the big bad world, in here she had a different assignment. Even a different rank. In here, she was still the commissioner of fashion.
She took her little suspect into custody and marched her back into her room. The Homicide Unit of the Philadelphia Police Department was sixty-five detectives strong, working all three tours, seven days a week. Philadelphia was consistently in the top twelve cities nationwide when it came to the homicide rate, and the general chaos and buzz and activity in the duty room reflected it. The unit was on the first floor of the police administration building at Eighth and Race streets, also known as the Roundhouse.
As Jessica pushed through the glass doors, she nodded to a number of officers and detectives. Before she could round the corner to the bank of elevators she heard: ' 'Morning, Detective.'
Jessica turned to the familiar voice. It was Officer Mark Underwood. Jessica had been in uniform about four years when Underwood came to the Third District, her old stomping grounds. Fresh-faced and fresh out of the academy, he had been one of a handful of rookies assigned to the South Philly district that year. She had helped train a few officers in his class.
'Hey, Mark.'
'How are you?'
'Never better,' Jessica said. 'Still at the Third?'
'Oh yeah,' Underwood said. 'But I've been detailed to that movie they're making.'
'Uh-oh,' Jessica said. Everyone in town knew about the new Will Parrish flick they were shooting. That's why every wannabe in town was heading to South Philly this week. 'Lights, camera, attitude.'
Underwood laughed. 'You got that right.'
