Baltimore Blues

what he looked like. He preferred it that way.

'Darlin' Tess-what can I do for you? Are you going to run around again with a man's coat over your head? I didn't get a chance to see that, but it's the talk of the courthouse.'

'Next time I'll tip you off. Today I just want to figure out how to track down an individual asbestos plaintiff.'

'What do you know about him?'

'He's an elderly man.'

'You've really narrowed it down. Next I guess you're going to tell me he worked at the shipyards.'

Accustomed to Feeney's sarcasm, Tess pulled out the clipping and consulted it. 'He was awarded $850,000 in one of the last nonconsolidated trials, whatever that means. And Sims-Kever was the only defendant, at least in his case.'

'That's a start.' The keyboard still in his lap, Feeney tapped in the command for the Beacon- Light's library system. 'Luckily I got a hard drive. A lot of the bureaus don't have the library hookup, but I told 'em I did too much deadline work not to have access.'

'It keeps you out of the building, right?'

'You got it. Now I'm trying to convince them to give me my own Lexis/Nexis account. But they keep bitching about the invoice I put in for a microwave. Damn, the system's slow today.' He punched the keys viciously and, eventually, a form appeared on the screen, requesting information for a search. Feeney typed: 'Sims-Kever' and 'asbestos.'

'I'm gonna put in a time line,' he explained to Tess as he jabbed at the keys with two fingers. 'They consolidated all the asbestos cases into one big trial a few years back, trying to free up the courts, but before that there were dozens every year. I'm going to tell the computer to search before consolidation.'

He pushed a button. Ninety-seven items found, the computer replied.

'Jesus, ninety-seven stories. That's way too much to go through. We gotta narrow it down. Hand me that clip.' He skimmed it. 'Whatta piece of shit. Why'd they give this guy a column, anyway? Wait, here's another little detail.' He typed in 'Eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars.'

Three items found, the computer replied.

'That tells me there are three stories in the system in our time frame that mentioned Sims-Kever, asbestos, and $850,000.' Tess looked over his shoulder, enthralled. Electronic data bases were new to her. The ailing Star had never been on-line. In fact the morgue at the Star was famous primarily for being about five years behind at any given moment. And for filing photos of Mickey Mouse under 'Rodents, famous.'

Feeney called up each story, the words rolling so fast beneath his fingers that Tess could barely skim them. 'You've lucked out. Here are three plaintiffs who got $850,000 from Sims-Kever, two in the same trial, both in the same court, Judge West. If I were you, I'd take these names over to his clerk, see if any ring a bell. But I wouldn't count on it.'

'I also could just call 'em up, if they're still alive.'

'Yeah, but what are you going to say? ‘Hey, are you the old dude who chased that lawyer with the bat?' Or are you going to pretend to be doing a telephone survey on baseball bat ownership?'

'Good point. You're better at this than I am.'

'What exactly is ‘this'? You a private eye now? Or are you planning on law school?'

'I'm not sure, Feeney. But if there's a story here, I promise to tell you before anyone.'

'Even Jonathan?'

'He'll be the last to know. Hey-you didn't tell him that I called the other day, did you?'

Feeney shook his head. 'I didn't know I had anything to tell. Even now that I've seen the clip and know where you're headed, it seems like a long shot, Tess. What are you trying to prove, that some little old man did the lawyer? It's a big leap from running around with a baseball bat and banging someone's head to a pulp.'

The phone rang. He let it ring five times, then picked it up as if he had all the time in the world. His voice was sweet and mellow, even if his words were not.

'Feeney here. What? Well, that's the stupidest fuckin' idea I ever heard. How'd you get this job anyway? You sleeping with somebody over there?' Tess could hear the editor's nervous laughter on the other end. She pantomimed good-bye and slipped out. An old political reporter on the Star had once given her three rules for success in journalism: Be a star. Be a columnist. Report from a different city than the one in which your newspaper is based. Feeney had found his own city, just six blocks from the Blight's offices.

It was still lunchtime, but she thought she might find Judge West's clerk at her desk, wolfing down a sack lunch. Courthouse employees didn't make enough to dine out regularly at any place finer than Taco Bell. Sure enough, a round-faced young woman was hunched over her desk, a can of Coke, a bag of chips, and an egg salad sandwich on a napkin in front of her.

'Hey, I'm Tess Monaghan. I used to work at the Star. I think we met a couple of times, Ms… Collington.' She had never seen the woman before in her life, but the clerk was considerate enough to have a nameplate on her desk: D. COLLINGTON.

'Donna. Donna Collington.' She was a black woman with a reddish undercast to her skin, no more than twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a sweet baby face and fingernails long enough to rip someone's heart out. Plump, she strained the seams of a tight purple dress, but in a way most men would find attractive.

'I work for a local law firm now, and we've got this messy criminal case. I mean, it's crazy.' So far, all true. 'My boss wants me to find this guy who might be able to testify for our client, but all we know is he was one of two plaintiffs in this court two years ago, in an asbestos case. I have the names, but I can't figure out which one he is.'

'Why not call both?'

Good question. 'That's what I thought. But my boss told my specifically not to call them. And when I asked why, he told me it was none of my business, just do it his way.'

Donna Collington laughed as if she understood.

'Been there, done that. But I still don't know how I can help you. Those asbestos cases are all a blur. Just one long line of old men spitting into handkerchiefs and dragging their oxygen tanks around.'

'Well, this gentleman would have been one of the last ones, before consolidation. He also appears to have been rather rambunctious.'

'Rambunctious?'

'Feisty. Bad tempered. Prone to outbursts. Maybe he made threats, or acted up.'

Donna laughed again. 'You mean like somebody who might have tipped the judge's water pitcher on a lawyer's head?'

'Yes, for example.'

'Not ‘for example.' For real. He was this little guy, looked like an elf, cute as could be. He didn't even seem that sick, compared to the others. But he got so upset when some of the others got more money that he grabbed the judge's pitcher-splash, all over the lawyer's head. His lawyer. I'd hate to see what he'd have done to the lawyer for the other side if the bailiff hadn't cuffed him.'

Yes, you would, thought Tess, who had seen the photographs in the autopsy report. 'Do you remember his name?'

'Only his first name. Because his wife was screaming it out over and over, trying to calm him down. ‘Oh, Abner. Oh, Abner. For the love of God, Abner.' I almost wet my pants. And the judge was trying so hard not to laugh, he split his. Li'l Abner, we called him.'

Tess checked the printout Feeney had given her. Abner. Abner Macauley. A match.

'Thanks, Donna.'

'No problem. You go make your boss happy, now.' She smiled sweetly, wagging a long red nail at her. 'Tyner Gray should be real happy with you today. But next time don't come in here telling me lies, girlfriend. I knew who you were working for all along. Everybody in the courthouse knows about that long-haired girl who ran the fifty- yard dash through here last week.'

Tess blushed. She had forgotten what a small world the courthouse was, how little was secret here. All along,