Crime

the couch. She brings her knees up to her chest, resting her head on them. Her hair tumbles down, concealing her face.

— Ol Johnnie was only messin last night. A lil’ too much of the funny stuff.

— I saw his messing, Lennox says evenly, — and if he comes near that kid again, his voice pauses, slow and deliberate, — I’ll cut his fuckin balls off and feed them to the cunt. They’ll be his last meal on this earth, he hisses, then starts, realising that Tianna is present and not wanting to look at her.

— Whoah… hold on, Ray, buddy, what kind of fool talk is that?

— I’m no your buddy, Lennox spits.

Dearing raises his voice slightly, but remains composed. — I think you got it all wrong here. I’m sorry about our lil’ mis-understanding last night, but you must know that Robyn is a mighty troubled lady, and Lennox feels himself being wooed by the rational, reasonable tone. — She attracts trouble and I guess I’m jus a little overprotective, is all. But I can see you got her best interests at heart.

Then he thinks of Johnnie. — It’s whom you’re protective of, that’s the issue here. Now put her back on.

— She’s hysterical, Ray. You saw her last night.

— It’s her daughter, Lennox insists as Tianna pushes her hair back, — put her on.

— I’ll be round there in a short while, compadre. Why don’t y’all just simmer down a little—

— I’m telling you this right now: if you don’t put her on, I’m going to the police.

— Al-righty! Lance chuckles, then Lennox’s mind’s eye sees him turn away from the phone, his voice switching volume and direction, addressing another party, recasting him as eavesdropper. — Hear that, you crazy bitch? Ray’s got himself of a mind to do the same as me and go round to the po-leece with that lil’ gal!

— NOO! Robyn’s vivid scream, crushed to his ear to shield it from Tianna. It dies, and his arm has gone rigid. The receiver held tight in his bad fist. Pulling it away, with a silence at the other end, he settles it down on the cradle with a click.

The girl’s eyes blaze at him. — What’s happened? Where’s Momma?

What can he tell her? — Your mother’s sick. Just not feeling so good.

His words deflate the kid. Her eyes glaze over as she crumples back into the chair. — Is it the drugs? Her voice is weary in resignation. — She cain’t be takin that powder none.

— What do you know about that?

Tianna looks at him in a measured way and asks, — Dunno. What bout you?

— Nothing, his voice weak and faltering.

— The way you’re sniffin and snufflin seems like you know plenty, Tianna says, and he hates the worldly scorn in her tone.

He tries for levity: — I’ve got a cold. I’m from Scotland. It’s not like Florida.

She tugs her hair back from her face again, as her hawklike eyes scrutinise him. — Yeah, sure.

Lennox feels low and nasty. — Has your mum… gotten sick before? You know… He can’t bring himself to say ‘on drugs’.

— She jus got out of rehab.

— Who looked after you when she was in rehab?

— Starry, I guess.

— Don’t you have a gran or grandpa, like your mum’s mother and father?

She shakes her head in the negative and lowers her eyes.

Recalling Ronnie Hamil, Lennox leaves it; the last thing some children wanted was to contact grandparents. — You don’t like Starry, Johnnie and Lance much, do you?

Tianna looks fiercely at him. — They say they’re Momma’s friends but they ain’t no friends of hers.

This convinces him of the urgency of getting away from this place. He doesn’t want to see Lance Dearing or Johnnie again. — What do you want to do? Are you hungry? he asks. Robyn has given him an address. If it’s local, he could make good her request and leave the kid there. Then get back to the hotel. Make his peace with Trudi. Go to bed. Lie out on the beach, even.

Trudi. Jesus fuck Almighty.

— I don’t wanna be here. Tianna evidently feels the same as he does. — I wanna go stay with Chet.

— Who’s Chet?

— Uncle Chet. He’s kinda cool, she says, her smile suggesting that power children have to purify jaundice.

Lennox looks at the scribbled note on the pad. He can barely recognise it as his own writing. CHET LEWIS, OCEAN DAWN, GROVE MARINA, BOLOGNA.

Robyn hadn’t provided a phone number, but at least Tianna knew who her mother wanted to look after her and it was fine by the kid. — Do you have Uncle Chet’s phone number?

— I guess it’s over by the other phone, she points to the hall, — on the big board.

Lennox goes across to where the whiteboard is mounted on the wall. He freezes in panic as it gleams back at him, stark in its nakedness. Before it had been teeming with numbers and messages. — Who wiped this?

Tianna has followed him and looks from Lennox to the board and back. — Dunno.

He recalls Ally Notman, cleaning the whiteboard at work, sweeping a sponge across it in long, loping strokes. Erasing everything. End of investigation. The big, bold name BRITNEY eradicated for good.

He’d shivered as he’d watched that board being wiped clean. Now, in the hall of this Miami apartment, he feels a familiar chill.

In cop mode, he systematically searches the place for letters, notes, bills, bank statements, anything. All gone. Lennox knows that nobody as chaotic as Robyn could be so fastidious. This was a proper clean-up job, even though it had been done in haste while he was locked away with the kid in the toilet. Dearing. The last person to leave had to be him. It would have taken him seconds to wipe down the board and minutes to load her personal stuff into a bin liner if he knew where to look.

Tianna is standing a little bit away from him. Waiting. Her arms folded. — We gonna go to Chet’s?

— How far is it?

— Dunno.

— Can we walk there?

Her withering look indicates there’s little chance of that.

— Let’s go and get some breakfast and work out how far it is. I’m hungry. What about you?

— I guess so.

He looks at her bare arms. Her tank top and its salacious proclamation. — Better stick on a jacket. I think it’s colder than it looks, he says, heading to the lounge and picking up the copy of Perfect Bride.

9 Police

THE SUN RADIATES through a thin mesh of cloud, but a cool, persistent wind steals the heat from the air. Lennox is right; it isn’t as warm as advertised. Tianna, carrying a backpack designed as a flattened sheep, and wearing a light blue denim jacket, kindles some jealousy in him; he could do with something to cover his arms. He’s lost the Red Sox hat and his shades, probably left behind in one of the bars or on the bus. His good hand clutches the bridal magazine. He doesn’t have a clue where he’s going, or why. A white van sets his hackles rising as it pulls up outside the apartment block. A boiler-suited man emerges with a metal canister on his back, and is cursorily greeted by Tianna.

— Who’s that? Lennox asks.

— The exterminator, she explains, his glaikit expression compelling her to add, — They spray all the apartments for bugs.

They walk through the streets of square blocks over huge cracked concrete sidewalks, past houses and yards, coming on to a main road and a strip mall. There’s nothing of interest: a real-estate agent, a security firm