Baltimore Blues

She might have, Tess thought.

"Did he say anything else?" Tyner asked.

"He said, he said-" Rock closed his eyes, imagining the scene in his head. "He said, ‘I'm sorry.' And then he said, ‘But she really is beautiful.' That's when I hit him."

The blow knocked Abramowitz backward on his Oriental rug and broke his glasses. The metal bridge cut his nose, and his head caught a corner of the desk, a superficial wound that bled copiously. Head wounds do that, Tess knew. They can look much worse than they are.

"I stood over him and I put my hands on his throat," Rock said. "I thought I could kill him. I wanted him to know that, too, wanted to terrorize him the way he had terrorized Ava. I wanted him to feel as desperate and trapped as she must have. I held his throat in my hands and I looked him in the eyes. I even hoped he might piss himself."

"Did he?" Tess asked. Tyner gave her a look of disgust. She had never broken her habit of asking any question that occurred to her.

"No. He didn't even seem scared. Maybe because he once defended real killers, he could tell I wasn't one. He smiled at me and nodded his head, as if encouraging me. I pushed him back and his head caught the desk again, harder this time. I remember the sound-it was louder, less hollow than I would have thought, as if his head was very dense. He went down. But he was still breathing when I left. I swear he was still breathing."

"Did you notice the time?"

"Ten minutes past ten by the Bromo Seltzer tower, when I got back to the street," he said, referring to one of the city's more unusual landmarks, a ghostly clock tower with the letters of the antacid in place of numerals. "Definitely ten-ten."

"And the log says you signed in at ten, but the security guard may have rounded it off," Tyner said. "So, ten minutes, maybe less, for a somewhat detailed conversation and a brief fight. You could have killed him in that period of time, but you would have had to have been very efficient. And there is still twenty minutes before the custodian finds Abramowitz, time enough for another person to finish your work."

"But who?" Tess asked. "A disgruntled former client? A robber? One of his law partners? And isn't it awfully coincidental they happened to come along right after Rock had bloodied him?"

"You're thinking like a reporter," Tyner admonished. "Or a state's attorney. It's not your job to solve this case or poke holes in my theories. All you have to do is help me gather enough information so I can go into a courtroom in four or five months and create a reasonable doubt about Rock's opportunity. Unfortunately, thanks to you, his motive is all too strong, so we're going to have to downplay that part of it. I want you to interview the security guard and the custodian as soon as possible. The security guard first-he's more important, as he's the one who puts Rock there at ten o'clock. I'll tell you later if there's anyone else worth checking out. By the way, it would help if you looked like a grown-up. Why don't you cut off that horse's tail hanging out of the back of your head?"

"No!" It was Rock, not Tess, who yelled. Tess wore her hair long because it required less work. She had no sentiment about it. Rock obviously did.

"Then put it up. Wear a suit," Tyner said. "Usually a criminal lawyer has to make his client over, not his assistant."

"Your assistant? Excuse me, Tyner, but am I actually getting paid for this? I haven't heard anyone mention money."

"Yes. You get to keep the money Rock paid you for your initial ‘investigation.' But I think your fees are a bit high, so you're starting with a debit of twenty hours. After you put in those twenty, I'll pay you twenty dollars per hour and twenty-five cents a mile."

Shit, Tess thought. She'd have to work ten hours just to buy a suit.

"As for you," Tyner said, turning to Rock. "No interviews. Stay away from Ava, at least for now. And, since you've already taken the day off from work, I think you should go straight to the boat house for a long workout. Do some drills, then go to the fort and back, with some pyramids thrown in for good measure. The Charles will come up before your trial, and I'm going to make sure you're there."

A lawyer cum rowing coach. Maybe Rock had hired the right guy. Not many other attorneys in town knew the fall rowing schedule, or how to train for a head race. If only Tyner felt so kindly toward her.

Chapter 8

The security guard, Joey Dumbarton, lived in a part of Baltimore sometimes called Little Appalachia, a valley catching the overflow from the already marginal neighborhoods to either side. Rickety row houses spilled down the slope on the eastern edge of Jones Falls, then went halfway back up Television Hill before petering out. It was one of Baltimore 's rare all-white enclaves, and the residents were determined to keep it that way.

Joey greeted Tess at the door of his Formstone row house in a pair of cutoff sweatpants drooping over black bicycle shorts, topped off by an old robe that appeared to have started its life as bright red terry cloth. Now it was dull, the color of dried blood, and the material was flat and matted, like a dog that needed a bath. Since Tess had called in advance, she assumed this was how Joey dressed to meet all his guests.

He did seem delighted to have a visitor, offering her soda and beer, then leading her by the hand up two flights of stairs to his bedroom on the third floor.

"This place is going to be be-you-tiful," Joey told her as they climbed. "We have big plans for this house."

Plans appeared to be all they had. On the first two floors studs waited for drywall, wires hung loose, and plaster dust caked every surface. There was no kitchen as far as Tess could see, and a glimpse of the doorless bathroom convinced her to control her bladder by whatever means necessary.

Once in his bedroom, Joey sat on a bare mattress, too big for the fitted sheet someone had tried to stretch across it. It appeared to be the only piece of furniture in the room, but Tess couldn't be sure. A chair, a sofa, even a breakfront could have been hidden beneath the mounds of dirty clothes scattered across every square foot of floor space. She was ankle deep in underwear.

"Siddown," said Joey the affable host, patting a spot of mattress next to him. He was a pale, colorless man. Only a hint of yellow touched his hair, lashes, and skin; his eyes were flat gray. Tess preferred to stand, but mindful of Tyner's admonition to ingratiate herself, she perched on the corner of the bed, tensing her leg muscles so she didn't make contact with the bare mattress. The gray skirt of her new suit, a consignment find that didn't quite fit, slid halfway up her thighs.

"As I told you on the phone last night, I need to ask a few questions about Michael Abramowitz's murder," she began. "This is just an interview, sort of a predeposition if you will. No big deal."

"You know, murder is really a legal term," Joey said. "You should say homicide. Or slaying, maybe. That's a word the newspaper really likes-slaying."

Great, Joey the security guard was going to instruct her in legal nuance. "Are you studying to be a lawyer?"

"Naw, but I was an extra on ‘Homicide' last season. And I watch those real cop shows. You know, those shows where they arrest people on camera? They're very educational."

"Yeah, they're really good." Tess had never seen the kind of show he described, but she had an idea of how they worked. She leaned toward him, trying to yank down her skirt as she did. "If you were on one of those shows, what would they want to know from Joey Dumbarton, perhaps the key witness in the murder-the slaying-of Michael Abramowitz?"

"OK, right, I know this," Joey said, as if surprised by a pop quiz. He liked the idea of himself as the star witness. Tess thought he might.