Baltimore Blues

based their identities on being victims-even if she herself had done it from time to time. It was counterproductive. Instead of healing, these women ended up tearing off their scabs every week. Their idea of rebellion was to serve cupcakes at a wake, celebrating the fact that someone else had carried out their pathetic revenge fantasies.

Assuming it was someone else.

'So did VOMA ever talk about killing its raison d'etre?'

Cecilia rolled her eyes. 'We're victims of violence, not perpetrators. Most of these women are scared to go out alone after dark.'

'Well, let me ask you this: Did the group discuss the murder? Do you know where everyone was that night?'

'I know Pru was at the ball game, with two dozen kids on crutches and some other people from the accounting firm where she works. The other women were probably doing what they do most nights. Sitting up in bed, with all the lights on, afraid to go to sleep.'

'What about you?'

'Home alone. The classic alibi, right? My rapist planned to use it if the case hadn't been thrown out of court. That's the beautiful thing about a defense-it doesn't have to be consistent. ‘I wasn't there.' ‘I was there, but I didn't do it.' ‘I was there, but she wanted it.''

'How consistent is your story?'

Cecilia recited back in a bored monotone, 'I was home alone. I was there, but I didn't do anything. I was there, but he wanted it.'

Tess remembered-her bruised rear end remembered-how Cecilia had taken her on in the coffee bar. Abramowitz was shorter than she was, and he probably didn't spend two hours a day rowing and lifting. Yet life was unfair. A short, fat, out-of-shape man was still stronger than she was. Cecilia wouldn't have had a chance- would she?

'So what's the point of this visit, Cecilia? All you've done is convince me VOMA's members should be deposed in Abramowitz's murder case.'

'I thought you knew something. I thought you wanted something. Now I'm not so sure.'

'About Abramowitz?'

'No. Actually it couldn't have less to do with him.' She got up to leave. 'I don't expect you to understand this, but we're not really happy he's dead. At least I'm not.'

'Maybe you can set up a support group for him. VOMAINSOMA: Victims of Michael Abramowitz in Support of Michael Abramowitz.'

For a second little Cece, scared and vulnerable, appeared in Cecilia's eyes. She raised her hand, and Tess was glad she had a heavy oak table as a buffer between them. But Cecilia was reaching for her missing hair, looking for a strand to wrap around her finger as she thought.

'It must be nice to be so strong and to think it's because you're good, that you live right and eat right, so you deserve your health and happiness,' she said, almost as if she was working this out for herself for the first time. 'But there is such a thing as luck, and there's more bad luck than good in this world.'

With that she walked out of the store. She was tinier than Tess remembered. Prettier, too, especially when anger swept over her features and she found the courage to make eye contact. A man looking at her might be a little slower than usual off his reflexes, especially if someone had just finished banging him around. By the time he saw that little foot heading for his ear, it would be too late.

Chapter 19

Cecilia's visit bothered Tess-and not only because there had been some truth in her parting words. It made no sense for Cecilia to seek Tess out, only to tell her more about VOMA than she had ever known, and then insist it had nothing to do with Abramowitz's death. Then again Cecilia obviously had taken to heart the maxim that the best defense was a good offense. She might have miscalculated, thinking a preemptive strike would end curiosity rather than inspire it.

Still, Tess couldn't see a killer in that group. Whatever VOMA stood for, being a victim was the one constant. These women had built their lives around passivity and inaction.

She could feed the story to Jonathan-support group formed around slain lawyer celebrates his death with Hawaiian Punch and homemade cupcakes-and see what happened. Although leaks and balloons were the common metaphors, Tess had always thought placing a well-timed newspaper story was like testing a griddle: Toss a few drops of water on it and see if they pop. But she didn't want Jonathan to turn his attention back to the Abramowitz story. Besides, he wouldn't be interested now that he was happily frying bigger fish. Perhaps she could feed this morsel to Feeney or one of the lesser mortals at the Blight.

'She doesn't know what you're doing.' Crow, interjecting again. She had forgotten he was there.

'What do you mean?'

'She doesn't know you work for Rock, or that you're interested in the murder. She knows you're not a cop, so she's not worried about anything criminal. She thought you were checking her out for something else.'

'How do you know so much? How do you know I'm working for Rock?' He was right, though. Cecilia had never mentioned Rock or Tyner. Tess had steered the discussion toward Abramowitz's death, but anyone who read a newspaper might have done that. Cecilia only knew Tess wasn't the victim she pretended to be. She hadn't figured out who she was, or what she wanted.

'I listen a lot. It helps when you forget I'm here-the way you did just now. The way you do all the time.'

He smiled, pissing Tess off. It seemed as if everyone was a step ahead of her today-Feeney with his computer, Donna Collington with her long red nails, Kitty with her not-so-secret reservations about Jonathan, Cecilia with her mysterious mission. Now Crow had joined the gang. It didn't help that he was right.

It also irritated her to notice how fair Crow's complexion was. His skin was blue white, like milk, which made the dreadlocks framing his face seem even darker. The skin of someone who stayed out at night, prowling.

'Do they call you Crow after that robot on ‘Mystery Science Theater,' or because you look like that singer from Counting Crows?' Actually he was better looking, with good cheekbones and a broad forehead. If he stopped slouching he would have six inches on Tess.

'I was Crow long before either came along. Back in my native Virginia. If you're nice to me I'll tell you the story some day.'

'Sorry, that's too high a price to pay.' But he had gotten her to smile.

Tess finished her shift, then spent the rest of the evening trying to call Abner Macauley's number, a Dundalk exchange. Each time she dialed, a woman answered and refused to put Mr. Macauley on the phone unless Tess identified herself. Each time Tess refused.

The impasse continued through the evening and into the next morning, after she had returned from rowing. Rock had been at the boat house, looking confused and distracted. The Head of the Ohio was in two days, and Tess knew from looking at him that he wasn't even close to being ready. He didn't look as if he could even complete the course.

'How are you holding up?' she asked.

'I'm not sure I am. Ava still won't talk to me.' He looked guilty. 'I know, I know-I'm not supposed to talk to her. But I don't understand why her story changed. She tells me-tells you-one thing. Then she tells some newspaper reporter it's all a figment of my overheated imagination. Why would she do that?'

Because she's a louse. 'I have a hunch she had to choose between you and the law firm. Given her credit card situation, she had to go with the law firm or risk losing her job.'

'Maybe. All I know is I'm not going to row well until this is cleared up. Tyner says I'll be lucky to go to trial by January.'

Rock looked so low, so discouraged, she wanted to hold out some hope. 'Look, this is kind of premature, but I'm working a lead. I think I might find the guy who really killed Abramowitz, or at least someone with a good motive.'

'Tyner didn't say anything about that.'

'He doesn't know yet. Let's keep it this way for now, OK? Just between us, I have a feeling I'm on to