“I’m sure you have a point. I can promise that neither my grandfather nor I will discuss silver patterns if you join us for dinner. Miss Bette makes a terrific pumpkin pie.”

“Fresh?”

“Absolutely.” A smart woman knew when to back off. “You’ve got some time to think about it. I wouldn’t have bothered you with it now, but with everything that’s been going on, I’d forgotten the whole thing myself until Grandpa called a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I’ll give it some thought.”

“And don’t worry. If you decide against it, I’ll still bring you a piece of pie. I’ve got a patient waiting.”

“Tess-”

“Yes?”

“Nothing. Nothing,” he repeated. “See you later.”

“Paris.”

“Sorry.” He hung up the phone and turned. “What you got?”

Pilomento handed him a sheet of paper. “We finally tracked down that name the neighbor gave us.”

“The guy who was hanging around the Leery girl?”

“Right. Amos Reeder. Not much of a description because the neighbor only saw him come by once. Creepy looking was about the upshot, but she admitted she only saw him go to the Leerys’ once, and there wasn’t any trouble.”

Ben was already picking up his jacket. “We always check out creepy looking.”

“I got an address and rap sheet.”

Before he stuffed his pack of cigarettes into his pocket, he noted with some disgust that he only had two left. “What’d he do time for?”

“When he was seventeen he carved another kid up for pocket money. Reeder had a nickle bag of pot in his pocket and a line of needle marks on his arm. Other kid pulled through, Reeder was tried as a minor, got drug rehab. Harris said you and Jackson should have a talk with him.”

“Thanks.” Taking the papers, he headed to the conference room, where Ed had his head together with Bigsby on the Priest homicide. “Saddle up,” Ben said briefly, and started toward the door.

Ed lumbered beside him, already bundling into his coat. “What’s up?”

“Got a lead on the Leery case. Young punk who likes knives was hanging around the girl. Thought we might chat awhile.”

“Sounds good.” Ed settled comfortably in the car. “How about Tammy Wynette?”

“Kiss ass.” Ben punched in a cassette of Goat’s Head Soup. “Tess called a few minutes ago.”

Ed opened one eye. He considered it best to handle the Rolling Stones blind. “Problem?”

“No. Well, yeah, I guess. She wants me to have Thanksgiving dinner with her grandfather.”

“Whoa, turkey with Senator Writemore. Think he needs a caucus to decide whether it’s going to be oyster or chestnut dressing?”

“I knew I was going to get grief on this.” More for spite than out of desire, Ben pulled out a cigarette.

“It’s okay, I got it out of my system. So you’re going to have Thanksgiving dinner with Tess and her granddaddy. What’s the problem?”

“First it’s Thanksgiving, then before you know it, it’s Sunday brunch. Then Aunt Mabel’s coming over to check you out.”

Ed dug in his pocket, decided to save the yogurt-covered raisins for later, and settled for sugarless gum. “Does Tess have an Aunt Mabel?”

“Try to follow the trend here, Ed.” He downshifted and brought the car to a halt at a stop sign. “You turn around twice and you’re invited to her cousin Laurie’s wedding and her Uncle Joe is punching you in the ribs with his elbow and asking when you’re going to take the plunge.”

“All that because of mashed potatoes and gravy.” Ed shook his head. “Amazing.”

“I’ve seen it happen. I tell you, it’s scary.”

“Ben, you’ve got bigger things to worry about than if Tess has an Aunt Mabel. Scarier things.”

“Oh, yeah, like what?”

“Do you know how much undigested red meat is clogging up your intestines?”

“Jesus, that’s disgusting.”

“You’re telling me. My point here, Ben, is that you can worry about nuclear waste, acid rain, and your own cholesterol intake. Keep these things in the front of your mind and join the senator for dinner. If he starts looking like he’s ready to welcome you into the family, do something to throw him off.”

“Such as?”

“Eat your cranberry sauce with your fingers. Here’s the place.”

Ben pulled up at the curb then tossed his cigarette through the crack of his window. “You’ve been a big help, Ed. Thanks.”

“Any time. How do you want to handle this?”

From the car Ben studied the building. It had seen better days. Much better days. There were a couple of broken windows with newspapers clogging the holes. Graffiti was splashed lavishly on the east wall. Cans and broken bottles were in more profusion than grass.

“He’s in 303. Fire escape’s on the third floor. If he bolts, I don’t want to chase him all over his own territory.”

Ed dug a dime out of his pocket. “We flip to see who goes in and who covers the back.”

“Fine. Heads I go in, tails I climb up the fire escape and cover the window. Oh, no, not in here.” Ben put a hand on Ed’s arm before his partner could flip the coin. “Last time you flipped in here I ended up having bean sprouts for lunch. We do it outside, where we’ve got some room.”

In agreement, they got out and stood on the sidewalk. Ed took off his gloves, pocketing them before he flipped the coin.

“Heads,” he announced, showing the coin. “Give me time to get in position.”

“Lets go.” Ben kicked the glass neck of a beer bottle out of his way and started into the building. Inside it smelled like baby puke and old whiskey. Ben unzipped his jacket as he climbed to the third floor. He took a long, slow look up and down the hall before he knocked on 303.

The door was opened a crack by a teenager with matted hair and a missing front tooth. Even before he got the first whiff of pot, Ben saw by his eyes that he was high. “Amos Reeder?”

“Who wants him?”

Ben flipped open his badge.

“Amos ain’t here. He’s out looking for work.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you.”

“Man, you got a warrant or something?”

“We can talk in the hall, inside, or downtown. You got a name?”

“I don’t have to tell you nothing. I’m in here minding my own business.”

“Yeah, and I smell enough grass coming through this door to show probable cause. Want me to come in and take a look around? Vice is having a special this week. For every ounce of pot I turn in, I get a free T-shirt.”

“Kevin Danneville.” Ben saw sweat begin to pearl on the kid’s forehead. “Look, I got rights. I don’t have to talk to no cops.”

“You look nervous, Kevin.” Ben pressed a hand to the door to keep the crack open. “How old are you?”

“I’m eighteen, if it’s any of your fucking business.”

“Eighteen? You look more like sixteen to me, and you’re not in school. I might have to take you down to juvie. Why don’t you tell me about a little girl whose daddy had a coin collection?”

It was the shifting of Kevin’s eyes that saved Ben’s life. He saw the change of expression, and on instinct whirled. The knife came down, but instead of severing his jugular, made a long slice through his arm as he fell against the door and crashed into the apartment.

“Christ, Amos, he’s a cop. You can’t kill a cop.” Kevin, rushing to get out of the way, crashed into a table and sent a lamp shattering to the floor.

Reeder, flying on the PCP he’d just scored, only grinned. “I’m going to cut the motherfucker’s heart out.”

Ben had time enough to see that his assailant was barely old enough to be out of high school before the knife swung toward him again. He dodged, fighting to free his weapon with his left hand as blood poured out of the right. Kevin scooted over the floor like a crab and whimpered. Behind them the window crashed in.

“Police.” Ed stood outside the window, legs spread, revolver level. “Drop the knife or I’ll shoot.”

Spittle ran out of the side of Amos’s mouth as he focused on Ben. Incredibly, he giggled. “Gonna slice you up. Slice you into little pieces, man.” Hefting the knife over his head, he made a leap. The.38 caliber, blunt-nosed wadcutter caught him in the chest and jerked his body back. For a moment he stood, eyes wide, blood pumping out of the hole in his chest. Ed kept his finger wrapped around the trigger guard. Then Reeder went down, taking a folding table with him. The knife slipped out of his hand with a quiet clatter. He died without a sound.