Butchers Hill

talked to Tess. She had talked to three people in connection with Luther Beale's case, and two of them were dead. At least two of them.

She started to run then, not bothering to listen for footsteps, ran as if her life depended on it, and if it didn't, perhaps another life did. With Esskay setting the pace, they didn't slow down until she reached her own block in Butchers Hill.

She looked behind her one more time, gun drawn, then felt silly. No one was there. She let herself inside the office, wishing she could simply stick her head in a bowl of water as Esskay did. Instead, she sat at her desk and tried to catch her breath. When she had stopped panting, she dialed the number for the Penfield School.

'Is Sal Hawkings there?'

'Who's calling?'

'Tess Monaghan.'

'Ma'am, we don't allow our boys to take calls this late unless it's urgent. And we have strict instructions not to take calls from you at all.'

'Yes, from Chase Pearson. Look, I don't want to talk to Sal, I just want to know if he's okay, if he's accounted for.'

The voice sounded insulted. 'Of course he is. We are not in the habit-'

'Would you just please fucking check or I'm going to call Baltimore County police and report him missing.'

There was a long silence. Tess would have thought the phone had been disconnected, except for the series of clicks in the background, possibly an old-fashioned intercom system, and some murmured voices. Finally, someone came back on the line. It was a different voice, a familiar voice.

'Sal is fine,' Chase Pearson assured her. 'Is there some reason he shouldn't be, Miss Monaghan?'

'Donnie Moore's mother was killed tonight.'

A pause, as if Chase Pearson couldn't quite remember who Donnie Moore was. 'I'm sorry, but Donnie's mother always did keep bad company, didn't she? As I recall, that's how her son ended up in foster care in the first place. What could this have to do with Sal?'

'I don't know he-' But Tess decided not to share the news of Sal's visit with Pearson. 'I don't know, I panicked, I guess.'

'Indeed.'

'Are you usually at the school, Mr. Pearson?'

'I'm not sure what you mean. I'm an alum, I have my ward here, I sit on the board-'

'I mean, are you usually at the school past nine o'clock on a Monday night?'

'I was at a country club function in Phoenix and thought I'd drop by.'

A function. Whatever she did with her life, Tess hoped it wouldn't take her in the direction of attending any social event so dreary it had to be called a function. 'You're worried about Sal, too, aren't you, Mr. Pearson? You're worried that the person who killed Destiny and Treasure may come for him, and you're staying close by.'

'Miss Monaghan, everyone in Baltimore knows who killed the Teeter twins. It's only a matter of time before police find a way to charge him with the crime. Until that time, yes, I am worried about Sal. It will be harder for Luther Beale to get to him, but not impossible. He's proven to be quite a shrewd man, hasn't he?'

'If Luther Beale didn't kill the Teeter twins, then someone else is coming for Sal, Mr. Pearson, someone infinitely more dangeous because you're not looking for him.'

'Why would anyone besides Luther Beale have murdered those poor children?'

'Because they know something. They saw someone the night Donnie Moore was killed. Perhaps it was a drug dealer who threatened Sal and the others if they testified, and they gave him their promise of silence. But if they made such a promise, it's obviously no longer good enough. With Luther Beale out of jail and determined to prove his innocence, the real killer has to get to the only witnesses before he can.'

'Miss Monaghan, do you listen to talk radio?'

The question caught her off-guard. 'Yes, sometimes. But I don't see-'

'I thought so,' Pearson said, his voice edged in disdain. 'You sound just like one of the paranoid types who call those shows.' And with that, he hung up.

Chapter 23

A week went by, a week in which nothing happened. Oh, the sun came up and the sun went down, Tess went through her daily workouts and Kitty finally dumped Will Elam, which provided about five minutes of drama. He cried, he said he would never forget her, he tried to steal her first edition of Anne Tyler's A Slipping Down Life and Esskay nipped him on the ankle. Luther Beale stayed out of jail, and no one else died-at least, no one that could be linked to Tess. Inertia was too strong a word to describe the state she was in. All was waiting. Every time the phone rang, she assumed it would be the announcement of Sal Hawkings's death, or perhaps the discovery of Eldon Kane's body, bobbing to the surface in the harbor or turning up beneath the ice skating rink in Patterson Park.

But when the phone finally did ring, it was Uncle Donald, summoning her and Jackie to his office, a week to the day after their meeting with Mr. Mole.

'It has to be good news, don't you think?' Jackie asked, as they waited in the lobby of DHR, maybe ten feet from where the Hutzler's cosmetics counter used to stand.

Tess, who was beginning to buy into the no-news-is-good-news concept, tried to look optimistic. 'Well, it's too soon to throw in the towel.'

'That's exactly what I was thinking.' Jackie was almost bubbling over in her excitement. 'It's like when you ask for a shoe in a certain size. The longer they stay in the back room, the greater the likelihood they don't have it at all. But if they get right back to you, they always have a box in hand. Not that I'm comparing my daughter to a shoe. But you know what I mean.'

Tess rubbed her forehead. She had a killer headache, right at the bridge of her nose, sinuses most likely. And although she didn't want to rain on Jackie's parade, much about this hastily called meeting bothered her. The arrangement with Mr. Mole had been covert and unofficial. So why were they inside the agency, waiting to be summoned to the office of the general counsel? Uncle Donald had been strangely terse on the phone, choosing his words carefully. Tess had the distinct impression that someone was monitoring the call. They had broken the law. Maybe they were going to be reprimanded and interrogated until they gave up Mr. Mole.

One of the three elevators opened and a stout, middle-aged woman beckoned to them. 'They're ready for you.'

'They? How many people are we meeting with?' Tess asked, as the elevator climbed to the tenth floor.

'Just the general counsel, the head of the Social Services Administration, your uncle, and some private attorney, David Edelman.'

'Why is there a private attorney involved?'

'I'm sure I don't know,' the woman said placidly. She was short, with a broad chest that reminded Tess of a pigeon. The woman even had something of the same dim, self-satisfied air that such birds had. 'I didn't keep my job here for almost twenty-five years by asking about things that were none of my business. But they're agitated, I can tell you that. They've been dithering around all morning.'

This intelligence only made Tess more anxious, but Jackie was still obliviously blissful. Jackie was allowing herself to hope again, and she was almost giddy with expectation. And when they entered the general counsel's office, Tess felt her own spirits lift slightly. These folks may have been dithering all morning long, but they were nervous and deferential, as if Jackie had all the power in this equation. So why did Uncle Donald's spaniel brown eyes look so sorrowful?

The general counsel was an Asian-American woman in her thirties, while the head of the Social Services Administration was a tall, thin black man. They looked at the private attorney, Edelman, as if to say, Who goes first here? He shook his head. Not me. Not us, they shook back.