the next cul-de-sac that a group of older kids was playing basketball with a backboard on wheels, while younger girls threw pebbles and took turns with a chalk hopscotch grid drawn on the sidewalk. Now that she was paying attention, there weren't many adults around, but there were plenty of children: skateboarders in the next cul-de-sac soaring over a jump erected in a driveway, more girls jump-roping, a war with squirt pistols on a front lawn.
Mostly latch-key kids, Nell guessed. Rather like Kim had been for too many years. As she herself had been. Family patterns that played themselves out, generation after generation.
Please not the next one, she prayed.
"Here we go," Hugh said with satisfaction, pulling to the curb in front of a ranch house with a row of rosebushes blooming beside the driveway.
"I didn't look at who we're interviewing," Nell said. "What floor did we get assigned?"
Hugh showed her the map of the wing of offices on the fourth floor. "Gann's last stops. We're to interview everyone working along this hallway, and then the people upstairs where the last victim was, too, if we finish these in time."
Nell nodded.
On the walk up to the front door, she paused to inhale the heavy fragrance of a huge, fiery red bloom.
The interior of the house was shadowy, but a tinny woman's voice cried, "How could you? I trusted you!"
Over the ring of the doorbell, the man's deeper murmur was indistinguishable. Music cued dramatically, followed by the familiar jingle of a television commercial.
A young woman came to the door immediately. She was pretty, no more than twenty-one or -two. A blonde who wore her hair in a ponytail, she wore shorts and a skimpy tank top that outlined high, full breasts.
"Officers. Please, come in." Her smile wavered. "They said you'd be coming."
"Thank you." Narrow-eyed, Nell stole a glance at her partner. He'd damn well better not be checking out their interviewee, who reminded Nell uncomfortably of Kim.
But he only nodded courteously and gestured for Nell to go ahead. Ladies first. She had mixed feelings about his gentlemanly instincts. She was counting on him being chivalrous enough to keep his mouth shut. On the other hand, cops with old-fashioned attitudes generally didn't like the idea of the little woman under gunfire. Frowning, Nell reminded herself that they'd functioned like a well-practiced team in the Joplin Building.
Watching the young woman turn off the television set, Nell rubbed her temple. A headache, and well deserved. Why in hell was she obsessing about Hugh McLean, she wondered irritably. They were stuck together temporarily. That was all. They could stand each other for a few months. Who cared what made him tick, or what he thought about her?
Stick to your real worries, she advised herself. The unprotected sex she'd had, and a teenage daughter with overactive hormones.
Like her mother's, apparently.
Nell winced before realizing that Hugh was looking at her.
He raised his eyebrows.
She gave her head a small shake before smiling at the young woman. "You're Carla Shaw?"
"Yes. I don't know that I can tell you very much." She swallowed and then squeezed her hands together. "Um, would you like to sit down?"
"Thank you."
They chose opposite ends of the couch, facing the TV, while Ms. Shaw sat in an old upholstered rocker.
She rushed into speech, her voice tight with anxiety. "I didn't actually see very much, you know."
"That's fine," Hugh said, more gently than Nell would have guessed him capable. "We just want to know when you figured out someone was shooting, what you did, whether you saw him at all."
"I…" She shivered, her face pinched. "I got a phone call from a friend downstairs. Becca is in Accounting. You know, down on the third floor? We're roommates. Her bedroom is at the end of the hall."
She gestured vaguely. "Only she's in the hospital. Doctors say she'll live, but…" A shudder rolled through her body. "Excuse me, I think I'll get a sweater. I
Mostly latch-key kids, Nell guessed. Rather like Kim had been for too many years. As she herself had been. Family patterns that played themselves out, generation after generation.
Please not the next one, she prayed.
"Here we go," Hugh said with satisfaction, pulling to the curb in front of a ranch house with a row of rosebushes blooming beside the driveway.
"I didn't look at who we're interviewing," Nell said. "What floor did we get assigned?"
Hugh showed her the map of the wing of offices on the fourth floor. "Gann's last stops. We're to interview everyone working along this hallway, and then the people upstairs where the last victim was, too, if we finish these in time."
Nell nodded.
On the walk up to the front door, she paused to inhale the heavy fragrance of a huge, fiery red bloom.
The interior of the house was shadowy, but a tinny woman's voice cried, "How could you? I trusted you!"
Over the ring of the doorbell, the man's deeper murmur was indistinguishable. Music cued dramatically, followed by the familiar jingle of a television commercial.
A young woman came to the door immediately. She was pretty, no more than twenty-one or -two. A blonde who wore her hair in a ponytail, she wore shorts and a skimpy tank top that outlined high, full breasts.
"Officers. Please, come in." Her smile wavered. "They said you'd be coming."
"Thank you." Narrow-eyed, Nell stole a glance at her partner. He'd damn well better not be checking out their interviewee, who reminded Nell uncomfortably of Kim.
But he only nodded courteously and gestured for Nell to go ahead. Ladies first. She had mixed feelings about his gentlemanly instincts. She was counting on him being chivalrous enough to keep his mouth shut. On the other hand, cops with old-fashioned attitudes generally didn't like the idea of the little woman under gunfire. Frowning, Nell reminded herself that they'd functioned like a well-practiced team in the Joplin Building.
Watching the young woman turn off the television set, Nell rubbed her temple. A headache, and well deserved. Why in hell was she obsessing about Hugh McLean, she wondered irritably. They were stuck together temporarily. That was all. They could stand each other for a few months. Who cared what made him tick, or what he thought about her?
Stick to your real worries, she advised herself. The unprotected sex she'd had, and a teenage daughter with overactive hormones.
Like her mother's, apparently.
Nell winced before realizing that Hugh was looking at her.
He raised his eyebrows.
She gave her head a small shake before smiling at the young woman. "You're Carla Shaw?"
"Yes. I don't know that I can tell you very much." She swallowed and then squeezed her hands together. "Um, would you like to sit down?"
"Thank you."
They chose opposite ends of the couch, facing the TV, while Ms. Shaw sat in an old upholstered rocker.
She rushed into speech, her voice tight with anxiety. "I didn't actually see very much, you know."
"That's fine," Hugh said, more gently than Nell would have guessed him capable. "We just want to know when you figured out someone was shooting, what you did, whether you saw him at all."
"I…" She shivered, her face pinched. "I got a phone call from a friend downstairs. Becca is in Accounting. You know, down on the third floor? We're roommates. Her bedroom is at the end of the hall."
She gestured vaguely. "Only she's in the hospital. Doctors say she'll live, but…" A shudder rolled through her body. "Excuse me, I think I'll get a sweater. I
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