'You tell him that?'
Her smile was wicked. 'I just thanked him. Politely. The way I was raised. You're my only boy.'
I sorted the clips, speed-reading, Blossom at my shoulder. 'What are we looking for?'
'First, we throw out what we're not. These, so far.' Tapping a stack of body-count dispatches from the front lines they call city streets. Shootings where the gunman was apprehended at the scene. Shootings in the course of another crime. Where the victims were only male. Gang fights. Bars, nightclubs, bowling alleys…all discards.
I kept working. On instinct now. Tossed out anything except white females. Anything outside the past eighteen months— two birth cycles. The thick stack was down to a few clips.
White female, age twenty-four. Reported shot fired at her while she waited at a bus stop at midnight. Police investigated. Nothing more.
White female, age thirty-one. Shot fired into her bathroom window while she was taking a shower after she got home from the night shift. Separated from her husband, history of domestic violence. He was under a court Order of Protection. Working his job at the plant when the shot was fired. Questioned and released.
White female, age seventeen. Girl Scout leader. Shot in the arm while leading a troop of girls through the woods in the late afternoon, learning about nature.
Human nature.
117
I HAD THE contact-address for two of the shootings. The woman whose bathroom window was shattered was listed in the phone book I'd gotten from Bostick's office. I tacked the street maps up on Blossom's kitchen wall.
'You got a Magic Marker?'
'No.'
'A crayon, anything?'
She brought me a tube of red lipstick. I dabbed a tiny blood-dot at each address. Stood back to look.
'A triangle,' Blossom whispered.
'Doesn't mean anything. Three dots, you're more likely than not to get a triangle.'
'Oh.'
'It's okay. Look at the dates. The first one was the bus stop, back in the late fall. The Girl Scout, that was in December. Then the woman in her own house, that was the spring. The lovers' lane killings, they were all this summer.'
'Why is that important?'
'I don't know if it's important. If they're all his work, it is. See it building…? The first shot, like an experiment. The woman standing there, all bundled up against the cold. Probably only could tell she was a woman by her coat. Then the Girl Scout. All covered up too. But a lot of girls around. Little girls. He may have just stumbled on them. Felt the rage. See, here? The bullet they took out of her? A twenty-two Long Rifle. A plinker's gun. Not a sniper's. Then the woman in her bathroom. Her naked image against the pebbled glass. Maybe he passed there before. Saw her. Watched. Got the signal and came back. The paper doesn't say what kind of bullet they recovered.'
'Burke?'
'What?'
'You're scaring me. Your voice. Like you're…him. Like you see what he saw.'
118
BLOSSOM'S PHONE RANG at one in the morning. The caller hung up before the answering machine could kick in. Rang again. Same thing.
Again.
I got up, started to dress in the clothes I'd brought with me.
'Where're you going, baby?'
'I'm not going anywhere. I've been right here, right next to you. All night. Never got out of that bed.'
'I'm coming with you.'
'No you're not.'
'Burke…'
'Shut up, little girl. Close your eyes. I'll be back before you open them.'
119
THE CHEVY PULLED UP outside Blossom's, headlights off. I climbed in next to Virgil. Saw Lloyd in the back seat.
'What's he doing here?'
'Caught me sneaking out.'
'He knows?'
'You know how we are, brother. One of us got something on his plate, we all got it. Sometimes it ain't gravy.'
'Lloyd,' I told the boy, 'you wait in the car. You wait until we come out, understand? A cop comes by, you
'I got it,' he said, voice steady. Streetlights picked up the slash of honor across the bridge of his nose.
'Any luck with the Nazi?' I asked Virgil.
'Reba tracked him right to his house. Lives over in Lake Station. Little nothing of a house, he got. Chain link fence, chest high. Got him a dog, though. Big German shepherd, Reba said. Saw him in the yard.'
'Let's see if he wants to talk first.'
120
THE BUILDING was dark. Virgil pulled around the back into a narrow alley, climbed out with me. Lloyd slid behind the wheel. Virgil opened the trunk, shouldered the duffel bag.
The lock on the back door was a dead bolt. I couldn't see alarm wires anywhere. I felt crude, clumsy. Wished for the Mole.
'Only one way,' I whispered to Virgil. 'I'm going to smash a window. Then we wait.'
If he was disappointed in his master-criminal brother from New York, it didn't reach his face. He nodded okay, walked back toward the car. I found a good-sized chunk of concrete block. Walked over to a ground-floor window and tossed it through.
Nothing.
Back in the car, I told Lloyd to drive slowly across the street, turn off the engine, and wait.
We gave it half an hour, Lloyd fidgeting behind the wheel, Virgil smoking. Watching.
Still nothing.
'I didn't hear a sound when I broke the glass. If there was a silent alarm, the rollers would have been on the scene long ago. Let's do it.'
121
I REACHED MY gloved hands inside the window frame through the broken glass, found the latch. Shoved it open. Virgil followed me inside.
The third floor had several computer terminals scattered about. Virgil hooked army blankets over the windows. I used my pencil beam, turned it on one of the terminals. The screen flickered into life.
I took a deep breath. If the machine asked for a password, I was finished.
No.
