tables. The thin-paneled walls were covered with children's photographs, all boys. Their front teeth vanished in one picture and reappeared in the next, playing photographic peeka-boo. The focus of the living room was a large portrait that hung over the couch, a posed photograph of the mother and her three sons, with the small Dennell in her lap.
The mother was tired, awakened from sleep, but listened without comment, her neat head tilted at a dubious angle. Her features were large and not entirely pretty, but her round eyes showed intelligence. She had on a thin white robe and her short hair was cut natural. The only time she touched it was when Judy explained how Mary had been shot. 'Why aren't you goin' to the police about this?' the woman asked warily. 'Why you comin' to me?'
'I will, but all I have now is suspicion. They can't do anything about it tonight anyway. Besides, if your son knows something, wouldn't you rather have me talk to him than the police?'
'At this hour of the night? No.'
'I'm sorry about that. I can't help it.'
The woman wrapped her robe closer around her slim body. 'My baby Dennell don't know this homeless man you're talkin' about. Dennell never said nothin' about somebody named Eb. Or Heb.'
'I think Dennell did know him. He told us he did. Dennell plays outside a lot, doesn't he? He must have talked to Eb while you were at work.'
'Dennell don't know him. He don't know people hangin' on the street. He don't talk to those people.'
'How do you know that? You work at the store during the day.'
The mother pursed her lips. 'Look, I do what I can. I work, I don't take no handouts. Rasheed, he watches the baby when I'm away, or the neighbor lady. What do you know about it anyway? You don't know nothin' about it.'
Judy reddened. 'I'm just telling you what Dennell told me and Mary.'
'Like I tol' you, Rasheed watches Dennell good. I told him not to let the baby talk to no strangers.'
'Heb wouldn't be a stranger. Some of the neighbors knew him.'
'I didn't. Not me.'
'Dennell said Heb was rich.'
The mother's brow knitted. 'He said that? To you?'
'Yes, he told me Eb gave him money.'
'Dennell don't have money.'
'Isn't it possible that Heb gave Dennell money?'
'No. I never saw a dime of it.'
'But Dennell told me about street money. Did you know about that?'
'Street money?' the mother scoffed. 'You don't know if Dennell was for real or not.'
'Does Dennell lie?'
The mother didn't reply.
'I didn't think so,' Judy said, and the mother looked at her hard.
* * *
The window in the children's crowded bedroom was insulated with Saran Wrap and Scotch tape, and Dennell's skinny bed sat underneath the peeling windowsill. The little boy squinted sleepily against the sudden brightness from a ceiling fixture of old, frosted glass. 'Momma?' the boy murmured without opening his eyes.
'Dennell, wake up and talk to me a minute, baby.' The mother stroked his head as he lay against a pillow covered with Star Wars characters. 'There's a lady here to ask you some questions.'
'I'm the lady with the skis,' Judy said softly, sitting at the foot of the bed. 'Remember me, Dennell?'
The boy's eyes remained closed, and his mother shook him gently by the shoulder. He wore a thick Sesame Street sweatshirt; the bedroom was cold despite a space heater whose two squiggly coils glowed orange in the far corner, near a bookshelf cluttered with battered board games, paperback books, and cassette tapes. The two older sons shared a double bed and one son was wide awake as the other slept. It was the oldest one who was awake, and Judy judged him to be about fifteen. He wore a bright red T-shirt that said CHICAGO BULLS. 'Whas' up, Ma?' he asked.
'None of your business, Rasheed. Go back to sleep.'
Rasheed quieted but stayed propped up in bed next to his somnolent brother, watching the odd scene. His face was long and handsome with strong features and dark, smallish eyes. Tacked on the wall above the bed were posters of Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, and Dennis Rodman's hair.
'Dennell,' said the mother, shaking the boy only reluctantly. Dennell dozed on.
Judy considered giving up, but it was too important. Somebody had tried to kill Mary and she had to get to the bottom of it. She had a rapport with this boy, and the police wouldn't. Something was telling her it had to be done tonight. Now. 'Dennell,' Judy called. 'Remember we played with the skis?'
The child cracked an eye. 'The skis?'
Judy inched up on the bed beside Dennell's mother. 'I slid the ski to you. We played, remember?'
Both large eyes flew suddenly open. 'You said it's not a toy!' he said in the loud voice Judy recalled.
'Well, it isn't.'
