Glass Houses by Terri Nolan

care.
    Birdie sat on her hands. A year sober and they still shook from withdrawals. Cravings. Nerves. Right now they were shaking because she was on edge, a current-state normal caused by downtime, which gave her an opportunity to think. Not a good thing. Too much time allowed her to dwell on the one aspect of her life where she had no control: Matt Whelan—missing in the larger world.
    In her struggle to find a solution to a very unwanted problem, she pursued what she could control: exercise, food, work, and research. The problem was that Birdie had an addictive personality. No debate. She knew she headed deeper into the rabbit hole of hyperactivity and dependency. She could not sit still. Reflect. Pray. Meditate. The constant busywork was like a narcotic. Obsessive. Bad for well-being. Bad for the soul. She desperately needed to find balance. She was a smart, young woman. So why had the simple parts of life become so hard?
    Impatient as always, Birdie called Thom to ask about Lawrence.
    â€œHey,” he answered, “I’m at a scene.”
    â€œWas it Dominic?”
    â€œYeah. I’m going to put you on hold. Change locations.”
    Birdie deflated with sadness.
    Thom came back on speaker. “George is here. We can speak freely.”
    â€œHi, George.”
    â€œHi, Birdie. Congratulations on a year of sobriety.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œDo you know something about Lawrence?” said Thom.
    â€œI knew what kind of work he did. It’d give you a head start on background.”
    â€œGo,” said Thom.
    â€œHe’s a staff lawyer in the city attorney’s civil division.”
    â€œHe work cases?”
    â€œThe city office does prosecute misdemeanor crimes and defends the city against lawsuits, but Lawrence worked in the municipal counsel branch.”
    â€œWhat exactly is that?”
    â€œThink of it as general counsel to city departments. Lawrence specifically worked with the city council and the housing authority.”
    â€œHow do you know him?”
    â€œThrough his advocacy for at-risk kids. He and his wife were fostering kids for decades.”
    â€œWe’ve seen files on the kids. Have you met any?”
    â€œOne. A Russian girl named Jelena. A clerk in the office. He introduced her as one of his girls. At the time, I was focused on getting assistance for a homeless boy, but later I profiled her and Dominic for a Column One feature. I’ll retrieve it from archives and shoot you a copy.”
    â€œThanks, but we’ll do it from our end.”
    Birdie paused. Thom had never turned down help before. “What’s going on?”
    â€œIt’s complicated,” said George.
    â€œWhat were your impressions of her?” said Thom.
    â€œI’m not sure if Dominic wanted to keep an eye on her or if he was extremely proud.”
    â€œExplain.”
    â€œFirst you have to understand that Dominic and his wife ran a kind of halfway house that served as a transition between the orphanage and a permanent foster family. Most kids stayed with them about a year while they learned to trust. Learn boundaries. Assimilate into family life. But Jelena was a hard case. Very angry. Kleptomaniac. She’d been with them for years.”
    â€œDo you think she was capable of killing?”
    Ah, now she understood. The girl was a suspect. Birdie must be careful with her response. She didn’t want to prejudice the process. “My impression of Dominic was that he had savvy instincts. If he thought one of his kids were capable of extreme violence, I’d wager that he’d get rid of them, hard case or not.”
    â€œWork-wise who’d want him dead?”
    â€œNo one I can think of since he doesn’t deal directly with the criminally minded.”
    â€œDo you know why he fostered only girls?”
    â€œOh, boy. Well … he didn’t impress me like a creep, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think you’ll