Baltimore Blues

Michael Abramowitz's death, or her night raid on the Lambrecht Building. Then they might understand why she thought someone other than Jonathan was waiting for her in the alley last night. But why? What did she know? If someone thought she had discovered something, anything, they were sadly mistaken. She opened her mouth, ready to confess, eager to boast, then closed it again.

'No reason,' she said. Tyner nodded his head slightly, happy she had taken his advice for once.

Tyner knew best. That's why Kitty had called him while Tess was in the emergency room, where the resident on duty stuck a tongue depressor in Tess's mouth, peered into her ears and eyes with the little light, and tried to convince her to have a series of X rays. Unsure if her HMO would pay for them, she refused and he gave her a faded pamphlet: What to do in case of concussion. When she asked for salve for her cuts, or a prescription for painkillers, or just some lovely tranquilizers to help her sleep, he shrugged and said: 'Any over-the-counter antiseptic cream will work on the abrasions, and ibuprofen will take care of the aches. As for sleeping-try a shot of brandy in your coffee.' She planned to do that as soon as the detectives left.

'I still think the car was trying to hit us,' she said, but it came out as a question this time. She wasn't sure what she thought any more.

'Any other day of the week, I might agree with you,' Rainer said. 'But on a Sunday morning? In Fells Point? Hey, in this neighborhood it could have been some college kid who drank all night, then scored a little flake and was still flying. We see hit-and-runs around here a lot on the weekends-not usually fatal, I'll admit. Look, it's a hit-and-run, which is bad, and if we catch the person he or she faces some tough penalties. But it's not a homicide.'

'Of course it's not, officers. Would you like some more coffee? Another pastry?' That was Kitty, in her silkiest tones, a smooth contralto a full octave below her normal speaking voice. Only Tess, and maybe Thaddeus, knew her well enough to realize how angry she must be. Impeccable manners were a danger sign with Kitty. She had been icily polite right before she bounced the rutabaga off that disgruntled parent's head. Apparently she was tiring of serving up pots of coffee and plates of kolaches to the good officers. Time to go, boys.

The detectives looked down into their mugs of coffee, too bitter to finish, and their kolaches, too hard to eat, and decided their stomachs could not afford any more of Kitty's hospitality. They left, promising to be in touch. As they walked out through the store, Ferlinghetti could be heard to say to Rainer, or vice versa: 'This won't go in the pool.'

'Fuck no. This is staying in traffic where it belongs. Which suits me fine, I got stuck with a low number-three fifteen.'

'We'll hit that by Halloween. I drew three sixty-six-a murder a day and one to grow on.'

Kitty looked at Thaddeus: 'What's that all about?'

He ducked his head, embarrassed. 'Some of the guys have a pool on the number of homicides this year. But they drew numbers out of a hat, because there're only thirty numbers anyone really wants, three thirty-five to three sixty-five.'

'Are you in it?'

'Of course not,' he said, frowning. Honesty compelled him to add, 'You had to put in a dollar to draw for one of the slots, then five dollars if you got the right to make a pick.'

'Assholes,' Kitty said, taking the good coffee beans out of the freezer. She had been serving Ferlinghetti and Rainer four-year-old canned decaf from the back of the refrigerator and stale kolaches someone had brought her after the Polish Festival in June. She tossed the pastry into the metal trash can, where it thumped loudly, then put Thaddeus to work making huevos rancheros for everyone. Tess was so disoriented from the events of the day, she didn't know if she was famished or nauseous. A little of both, she decided.

'Do you really think the driver was after one of you?' Tyner asked a little later as she sopped up her eggs with wholewheat tortillas.

She hesitated and watched again as Jonathan flew herky-jerky through the air. 'I keep a pretty regular schedule, you know. Someone would only have to watch me for a day or two to know when I leave for the boat house.'

'I hate to agree with detectives Ferlinghetti and Rainer, but why would anyone want to kill you, besides Mr. Ross's girlfriend?'

'I don't know, unless it's because I know something I don't know I know. I don't know if I mentioned it, but I've, um, been doing a little work on Rock's case on my own time.'

Tyner gripped his coffee cup so hard, Tess thought it might shatter in his hand. She knew he was yearning to scream at her, as if she were some undisciplined novice, but felt he had to restrain his temper in front of Kitty and Tad.

'How did you have time to do things on your own when I made you come to my office every afternoon?'

'There are twenty-four hours in a day, Tyner. I knew I'd have to tell you eventually what I was up to, but I thought…I thought I'd have found out who killed Abramowitz, and then you couldn't be too mad at me.'

'And did you find out?'

'No,' Tess admitted, frowning. 'I found out a lot-but none of it seems to have anything to do with Abramowitz's murder.'

Her story tumbled out, a disjointed narrative that shot forward and back in time. The trip to VOMA, the strange visit from Cecilia. Her talk with Ava. Rock's refusal to stay away from Ava, even though she wouldn't return his phone calls or see him. Tracking down Abner Macauley. Trying to find Macauley's gun.

'Jesus, Tess-what were you thinking?'

'I don't know. I thought it would show he was worried about his safety. It seems pretty lame now, I admit.'

'Did you find anything at all?'

'A floppy disk taped to his calendar. I was going to read it last night, but Jonathan showed up…' They all knew how that had ended. 'It's probably not anything. The weird thing is, all his files were empty. Does that mean anything? Could there have been something incriminating there?'

'I'm sure moving his files to other offices would have been routine under any circumstances. Death can't interfere with the business of law, not when one's hours are billed at six hundred dollars per,' Tyner said. 'That floppy you found is useless. No matter what's on it, the prosecutor would have it barred from the trial. There's no way to prove whose it is, or where it came from. It's too easy to tamper with those things.'

'I hadn't thought about that.'

Thaddeus slipped out, but Kitty stayed, sponging down counters that were already clean. Tess sat miserably, the complete failure.

'So it was a simple hit-and-run,' Tyner said. 'Some drunk at the wheel. Maybe he thought it was funny, chasing you two down the alley, then he panicked when he hit Jonathan. As the song says, it could happen to you. After all, it happened to me.'

Kitty had taken all of this in, uncharacteristically quiet. Now, as she poured fresh coffee, she asked: 'What about the possibility the car was after Jonathan, had followed him here? Maybe they waited all night for him.'

Tess shook her head. 'No, Ferlinghetti was right about that. You don't kill the reporter, you kill the source.'

Tyner chewed his eggs. 'I think you're a little paranoid. That's what happens when you skulk around, poking through other people's drawers, literally and figuratively. If you had followed my instructions, you might not be in conspiracy mode right now.'

This was no fake gruffness. Tyner was angry. Then again, Tyner was always angry.

'Can I ask you something, Tyner? Something personal?'

'I did not kill Michael Abramowitz, Detective Monaghan.'

'No, seriously. Were you always so mean, or did getting…hurt make you bitter, the way O'Neal said? The only time you're nice is when you're coaching. Even then you're always yelling.'

'No, Tess, getting hit by a car didn't make me bitter. In fact I'm actually nicer than I used to be-but that's about age, not about circumstances, about realizing that winning a silver medal in the Olympics isn't something you can coast on forever, which I might have done if I had been able to keep rowing. Believe it or not, I don't live my life in a perpetual state of before and after. The accident changed my life, but it didn't define it. I've just got a lousy personality. And you seem to bring out the worst in me, Tess.'

'Me? Why?' She had assumed Tyner's constant fury was general, not specific.