Baltimore Blues

Tess wanted to sigh, too, with frustration. He hadn't told her anything she didn't know. But he had kept her card. He had called. Maybe he would remember something worthwhile.

'I am going to check into it, Mr. Miles,' she reassured him. 'It's a good tip, a really good tip. I bet there's something there.'

That cheered him up. 'He was an angry man, Miss Monaghan. Angry over money. Isn't that a shame? He was mad because they hadn't paid him for dying, the way they promised. Who needs money for dying?'

'It's a good tip,' Tess repeated. 'And I think I know who it was.' I just don't know his name.

'You're good at your job, Miss Monaghan. You're very conscientious, a good, hard worker. I noticed that right off. Good night, Miss Monaghan.'

Conscientious. Good at her job. When had Tess heard that last? She couldn't remember. The words almost made her want to weep, to thank Mr. Miles profusely, to make her parents proud of her, to get an MBA or go to law school.

But all she said was, 'Good night, Mr. Miles.'

Chapter 16

Tess woke up the next morning with an unfamiliar pleasant feeling. She sat up in bed, trying to figure out what it was, this fluttery sensation deep in her stomach. She was eager to begin the day, the real day beyond her workout, before she had to show up at Tyner's office. Of course. This was what it felt like to have something to do, a job to which one wanted to go. After her conversation with Mr. Miles last night, she was more sure than ever it was essential to find the man with the baseball bat. She couldn't wait to go see Feeney at the courthouse.

But Tyner had other plans. He was waiting when Tess docked at 7:30.

'I need some help around the office today. What's your schedule like?'

'I owe Kitty a few hours this morning. And I had some stuff I wanted to do on my own this afternoon.'

'Work for your uncle?'

'Not exactly.'

Still in her shell, Tess bent over her shoes and untied them slowly, with great concentration, more than the task required. When she looked up again Tyner was giving her the hard glare usually reserved for a novice who was dogging it, or an experienced rower who caught a crab-rower jargon for putting one's oar in at a wrong angle, so the entire shell lurched. A single crab could lose a race or overturn a four.

'I hope you're not playing detective, Tess. You come to my office this afternoon. You haven't even earned back all that money Rock paid you. Maybe you can do some typing for me.'

'On Rock's case? Or some of your other cases?'

'Whatever I tell you to do, you'll do, when I tell you to do it. That's our arrangement.' And he rolled away while Tess sat in her shell, nonplussed.

Feeling mildly defiant, she did not dress up for her afternoon at the law office, prompting a stern look from Tyner when she arrived at 2 P.M., an hour late, in black jeans and a white T-shirt. She bet the jeans bothered Tyner more than her tardiness. Tyner was something of a dandy, obsessed with clothes.

Today, at least, he didn't insult Tess by making her perform tasks that had nothing to do with Rock's case. That was the adoring Alison's job when she wasn't finding endless excuses to leave the anteroom and bustle into the office.

'She has a crush on you,' Tess said after the third interruption.

'Not at all,' said Tyner. 'She just loves her job. I don't really need her, but her father owns the building, and if I have a bad month, he'll let me deduct her salary from the rent I pay.'

'Whatever you say, Tyner. I'm sure a girl whose father owns a Mount Vernon town house has nothing better to do than answer your phone and fetch you coffee.'

She was reviewing the statements collected to date, including police reports and a preliminary autopsy, and noting any contradictions. Using Tyner's color-coded system, she marked every mention of time, separating out 'good' and 'bad' testimony-i.e., what favored their version of things (red), and what could undermine Rock's case (blue).

'How's the autopsy look for us?' Tess asked.

'Well, it doesn't jibe with Rock's story. Abramowitz was choked, and Rock's fingerprints are all over his office. But he also has a skull fracture, and the medical examiner ruled the cause of death was blunt force trauma-a repeated beating against the corner of his desk. It wasn't pretty, Tess. Whoever killed him was in a rage. Half his skull was on that desk. They were picking the rest of it out of the carpet for days, I bet.'

No wonder Frank Miles had been so worried about cleaning up. 'What about Rock's clothing? Did they find any of Abramowitz's blood on his stuff?'

'Now that's one of our few breaks. Rock's clothes appear to be missing.'

'Missing?'

'Rock was wearing a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans when the cops picked him up. They went through his laundry basket and found no shortage of soiled shirts, but not a single one with blood on it.'

'So Rock didn't do it.'

'Or he thought quickly enough to get rid of a piece of incriminating evidence. He could have pulled off his shirt and stuffed it into a trash bin on Howard Street. But that's for the prosecutors to wonder about, and prove.'

Tess bent back over her work, uncomfortable with Tyner's train of thought.

Her notes now. Joey Dumbarton-a 'good' witness, for Tyner could confuse him easily, especially after a few more interviews. Frank Miles-he would testify for the state, but Tess made a note of last night's conversation. It wouldn't hurt for Tyner to ask him about the mystery man, to plant in the jury's mind the idea of an angry man, furious at being denied his money, enraged enough to kill for it.

Of course, killing Abramowitz wouldn't have accelerated the payment, quite the opposite. Who, besides Rock, had a motive for Abramowitz's slaying? Tess stared out the window at the tiny park in the shade of the Washington Monument. Ava might. Her sexual harassment claim, which couldn't be refuted now, may have boosted her bargaining power with the firm. She could have held them up for money, or for unlimited chances at the bar exam. Then again, she had recanted her story awfully fast. Perhaps she had been counting on Abramowitz to pay her off to keep her from telling the other partners? His private practice was thought to have been a lucrative one, and his estate should be entitled to some of the profits the Triple O made this year, up until his death.

'Hey, did he leave a will?'

'Abramowitz? No, surprisingly. Or perhaps not so surprisingly. Some doctors don't get physicals; some lawyers put off writing their wills. He left a sizable estate-almost one million dollars in investments and real estate-but he has no living relatives. It's in probate at orphan's court, where all estates go when there are no wills.'

'Is that what orphan's court is for? It always sounded to me like something out of Dickens, a place where orphans were auctioned off to pay their parents' debt. Perhaps I should feel sorry for Abramowitz, the poor little orphan with no one to leave his millions.'

'When we get through with Abramowitz in court, the one thing I can guarantee you is that no one will feel sorry for him.'

'What do you mean?'

'It's simple. We're going to try the victim. An ugly strategy, but an effective one. If you can convince a jury someone deserved to die, the jury might acquit. It's not supposed to work that way, yet it does.'

Tess lowered her eyes, and the reports in front of her blurred and shimmied. She wasn't naive; she knew a legal defense had little to do with innocence. It was a game. The state had to prove its case, and if it failed then one was 'not guilty.' Not too long ago, a man on Death Row had been released when DNA testing proved he had not raped a little girl who was murdered. 'He's not guilty,' the prosecutor said, 'but I'm not ready to say he's innocent.' Tyner was accustomed to those semantic realities. Tess wanted to be able to declare, with all her