"I'd forgotten how hot those rowhouses get in the summer," Jackie said, taking the can of Coke Tess offered and holding it against her neck and brow before she opened it. "And how nasty some of them are. People who can't believe the way folks live in Third World countries ought to try a tour of East Baltimore some time."

"Did you find any leads on the kids?"

"In fact, I did. Not much, but something." Jackie smiled, pleased with herself. Why not? She had succeeded so quickly where Tess had failed. That's why Tess had recruited her, yet it still needled, this sense of barriers, of places she could not go, people to whom she could never really speak. She turned on her computer and opened up Luther Beale's file. There wasn't much there, just the notes from their initial interview, and a record of yesterday's futile interviews with Keisha, et al.

"Tell me what you've got."

Jackie recited her findings as she might have outlined a fund-raising plan for one of her clients: quickly, efficiently, with few wasted words. "Two of the kids were dead-ends. Salamon Hawkings and Eldon Kane. The neighbors don't recall seeing them around here since the shooting, no one knows what happened to them. But the twins, Treasure and Destiny, never really got away. Officially, they're in the care of an aunt somewhere over on Biddle Street, but the neighbors see them around here all the time. The supposition is that they're actually living here."

"Their own place? Who rents an apartment to two teenagers?"

Jackie looked at Tess as if she were too stupid to be believed. It was the same smug expression she had worn when Tess showed up on her doorstep in Columbia that morning.

"They don't pay rent," Jackie said. "They're squatting in a vacant house. Their aunt shows up from time to time and makes them go home. Sooner or later, they're hanging out here again. Treasure has a taste for crack. He's on the circuit."

"The circuit?"

Another look. "He gets his meals at the soup kitchens in the area. Beans and Bread; Bea Gaddy's on the days that Beans and Bread is closed. Destiny doesn't go for that, though. She's a car girl."

"What's that?" Maybe if she admitted her ignorance of things, Jackie wouldn't be so quick to condescend.

"Sort of an apprentice prostitute. A guy comes along, offers her a ride. It's understood that he's asking for sex and she'll get something out of it, but she's not really a pro. Destiny has a taste for Versace, the neighborhood ladies tell me, and fancy leather pocketbooks. But she's got some come-and-go steady boyfriend who provides her with the big-ticket items. The car dates are more for walking-around money. And drugs for Treasure, I'd bet."

"Versace? How does her boyfriend afford Versace?"

"Why, I believe he's what we call a pharmaceutical entrepreneur," Jackie said, raising one eyebrow. "No one seemed to know his name, but they wouldn't tell me even if they did. I don't care who you are, people around here aren't going to go naming names when it comes to the local dealers. People die for that."

"How did you get the neighbors to open up as much as they did?" Maybe Tess could learn something from Jackie.

"I didn't bullshit them. I told them I was trying to find the kids who used to live in the group home, the one where the little boy was shot all those years back. It's funny-people get shot and killed around here every week, but everyone remembers the night Donnie died. I'll tell you this much, they really hate the old man who shot him."

"Luther Beale? What do they say about him?"

"They say he's stuck up, which is about the worst thing you can be in these parts. He thinks he's better than they are, and he makes no secret of it. People will forgive you for a lot, but not for that. Whatever you do, you can't let people know you want more from life than they do."

It occurred to Tess that Jackie might be speaking from firsthand experience.

The school day was almost over by the time they headed out to Gwynn's Falls Middle School. Again, Tess coached Jackie along the way. Telling the truth was an okay system, as far as it went, but it had limitations. The tough-cookie principal wasn't going to divulge the whereabouts of her former student, Salamon Hawkings, just because Jackie was a straight shooter.

"I'm to say I'm from Arena Stage?" Jackie asked, puzzled. "I thought I was going to be a relative. If I'm going to make up a story, why not say I'm from the School for the Arts? That's much more plausible."

"Uh-uh. Another school, even one in a different jurisdiction, could track down a student in a single phone call. So you're from Arena Stage, and you're putting on an original work next season, with this really talky part for a teenage boy, reams of dialogue to memorize, and you've heard this Salamon Hawkings is a gifted public speaker."

"What's the name of the play?"

"The name? Jesus, I don't know, Jackie. Improvise."

"I prefer to plan things in advance," she said primly.

I bet you do. "Okay, the play is called-" Tess glanced to the side of the road. They were near the lot where an old amusement park once stood and, just beyond it, the place where her mother had bought produce from a truck farmer in the summers. He had graduated from his truck to a small shop, then added seafood. The store had burned to the ground in a mysterious fire a few years ago, and the family had simply disappeared. Now a small cinderblock church stood in its place. But Tess still remembered the hand-lettered sign that had hung over the fish in their icy beds.

"The play is called ‘Fresh Lake Trout.' It's an August Wilson-style drama about a local family scraping by with a produce stand. Lots of tension between the father and son, over whether he's going to stay and help the business, or go to college. How's that?"

"Not very original, but I guess it will have to do. So Arena Stage is putting on ‘Fresh Lake Trout,' and it needs a teenager who can handle lots of dialogue."

"Right, and you remember hearing about Salamon Hawkings from one of your cousins, whose daughter competed against him in the state finals."

Jackie looked as if she didn't know whether to be impressed or disgusted. "This is what you do for a living? Make shit up?"

"The truth may set you free, but it doesn't get you much in the way of information. Trust me, when we start looking for your daughter, you're going to appreciate what the right lie can do."

Children were pouring out of the tired-looking school. Tess scrunched down in the passenger seat of Jackie's car, waiting. She didn't want to risk being seen by the principal, who was sure to make good on her threat to have Tess arrested. As it was, the woman was sharp enough that the Arena Stage story might not fly. Tess wished she could be at Jackie's side, ready to provide the additional lies such a situation might demand. Despite the elaborate ruse Jackie had used on her, she didn't seem to have any innate ability for spontaneous prevarication. Successful lying required a certain amount of joy in the act itself. If you focused only on the results, you missed the hang-gliding sensation of simply getting away it. You were out there, high above the landscape where most people lived, feeling the wind on your face. Besides, the Arena Stage story was one of Tess's more inspired lies; she would have liked to deliver it herself.

Fifteen minutes had gone by. The school had emptied quickly and now seemed desolate. Jackie had parked in the shade, but it was hot in the car, the leather seat stickier than a cloth one would have been. Tess rolled down the window, stuck her head out, and panted a little bit, imitating Esskay. She had wanted to bring the dog with them. After all, she had to go all the way back to Columbia to pick up her car, and she could have used the company on the ride back. But Jackie had been appalled at the idea of a dog in her pristine car. Tess wasn't sure she was that keen on having her in it.