was a family tradition to stop at B&O Espresso for coffee and pastries after the soccer game. This particular morning, the conversation was especially lively. Billy’s team had won. Billy, the goalie, had not been scored on, and he was feeling good.
When the Logan-Steins arrived home at 11:30, Sergeant Lou Ballard was rocking on the bench swing on their front porch. A listless, misty rain came and went, leaving the sidewalks slick and gunmetal grey. The damp fall breeze scattered leaves across their lawn. Before his parents reached the porch, Will was off, headed for the Blue City Cafe.
“What’s up, Lou?” Abe asked.
“Nice. I come calling on Saturday, and you don’t even ask me about the wife and kids. No sociability here.”
“Lou, you don’t have a wife and kids,” Corey said.
“You miss my point.”
“Okay. How are you, Lou? You want to come in for a drink?”
“Love to.” Lou stood, smiling meanly. He always wore a tie. Every hair was in place.
Corey brought him a Diet Coke.
“What’s up?” Abe asked again, watching him carefully.
Abe was trying to figure Lou’s mood, Corey could tell. Abe and Lou went way back. Lou had helped him when she was running from Nick Season. Later, Abe had helped Lou make sergeant. Still, Abe couldn’t read him. No one could.
“You know Luther Emerson?” Lou asked.
“You know we do.” Corey led him into the living room. They all sat around the river-rock fireplace.
Out of habit, Lou took in the room, then his hard eyes settled on Corey. “He’s dead.” Lou just tossed it out, letting it hang there.
His eyes never left Corey as she turned it over. Her face was blank, lifeless, though her stomach was churning. This day was turning sour as vinegar. She worked to go slow. “How?” she eventually asked.
“He was shot in the knee, then his throat was cut.”
“Where and when?” Abe was standing now. Corey saw that he was worried.
“In the alley, behind the pervert palace. Last night.”
“Is that what you call the building on Bentley?” Abe asked.
“And what do you call it, the Inn for Sexual Felons?” Lou cracked a knuckle.
Corey knew to ignore Lou’s wisecracks. She looked at Abe; he nodded, just barely. “We saw him last night,” she said. “I shot him in the knee when he went after Abe with a skinning knife. We left him twisting in the grass behind his apartment building.”
“You didn’t phone this in?”
“Did he phone it in? If you were me, with my history, would you phone it in? I’m telling you the truth. So knock off the cop shit. Okay?”
“Cop shit is what cops do. I should run you in for failure to report a crime.”
“Back off,” Abe said, meaning it. “And what—”
“I’m okay.” She touched his arm, pleased to be the “good cop,” for a change. She’d tell her story. Lou wanted it, even if he didn’t know how to ask. “Lou, the man kidnapped his niece, beat her ‘til she jumped through a window. I called you that afternoon. You said Luther’s sister swore she was with him the whole time, that there was nothing you could do.” She paused. “Someone had to help Annie. So I filled in his CCO, and I managed a court order to keep Luther away. You can check that out. I was delivering the news when he went after Abe with his knife. Luther was hurt, but he was okay when we left. I called 911 from a pay phone on Broadway. You can check that, too.”
“You leave a name?”
Corey shot him an are-you-kidding look.
Lou snorted. “He’s not okay anymore. I’ll need a statement. Come in Monday.”
“Fine.” Corey leaned back in her rocker, her lips pressed into a tight line. Something wasn’t tracking. Lou knew she didn’t kill Luther. What was he after? “You got any ideas on this?”
“Maybe the sister, but I doubt it. She’s got two gals swear they were with her. I called Western. The warden says that in prison, Luther looked after a guy. His pal got out a couple days ago—”
“Luther was dumb as a fence post,” Corey interrupted. “No way he was doing anything on his own.”
Lou adjusted his belt, irritated. He turned to Abe. “His pal inside was Teaser White.”
“Teaser?” Abe asked, plainly frustrated. “Teaser? Why didn’t you say that?” And to Corey, “Lou sent me copies of Teaser’s file documents. According to the file he’s uncommonly bright. Something happened to the guy in prison. He stopped feeling pain. What I read worried me.”
Corey stopped rocking.
Abe pressed on, “He’s smart, he’s dangerous—”
“It’s the law,” Lou snapped. “Don’t start—”
“C’mon Lou…” Corey interrupted, feeling antsy, unsure just why. “You know anything else about him?”
“Not much. Teaser’s 33. No priors. At Western, the guy played it smart and careful. Still, he loses it.” He turned to Corey. “One night, he drove a ten penny nail through his forearm. Another time he burned some symbol into the top of his own head.” Lou shook his head, go figure. “Teaser refused any kind of treatment.”
“You talk with Teaser?” Abe asked.
“We tried to make him for it. He’s got a story. So far, it checks out.”
She tapped her thumb on her chair. “Teaser?” Corey squinted, pursed her lips.
“Don’t know where the name comes from.”
She watched the sergeant, sipping his Diet Coke, quietly waiting. She thought about Lou, his nature. Her eyebrows inched up. “Are you asking for my help, Lou?”
Lou shrugged. “Let’s just say I’m not bringing you in on a Saturday.”
“I find kids, I’m not a cop.”
“Holly—the twelve-year-old girl he got pregnant—she needs finding.”
“That’s not what I do. That’s police work.”
“From here, it looks like you do pretty much what you want.”
“From where—”
“Corey,” he interrupted. “Just before he got busted, Teaser was connected with a kid that nearly died. No one could make him for it. She was yours.”
Corey’s face went hard, like a mask. “Jolene?” She felt suddenly wary, right at the edge of something awful.
