'Onceagain, we're sorry for your loss,' Byrne said to them both, putting away hisnotebook. He dropped a pair of business cards on the cluttered coffee table.'If you think of anything that might help us, please call.'

    Theywalked the half-block to the car, adrift on their own thoughts, sizing up thesubdued reactions of Beckman's widow and stepson. It was not the usual responsethey got from notification, to say the least.

    Thetemperature had dropped a few degrees since they had entered the Beckman house.The rain continued, getting colder. For the first time that year, it felt as ifit might snow.

    Inthe parking lot at the Roundhouse they saw Josh Bontrager getting into one ofthe detective cars. Spotting them, Bontrager closed the door and crossed thelot. Dennis Stansfield, already in the car, wisely stayed put.

    'What'sup, Josh?' Byrne asked.

    'Haveyou made notification yet?'

    'Justdid. What do you have?'

    'Iran Kenneth Beckman,' Bontrager said. 'A couple of things jumped out.'

    'Suchas?'

    'Well,at one time he was a person of interest.'

    Bontragermeant that the deceased had been looked at by the police for some sort ofcrime.

    'Whatwas the job?' Jessica asked.

    'Ahomicide.'

    Jessicafelt her pulse kick up a notch. 'This guy was looked at for a murder? When wasthis?'

    '2002.'

    'Howfar did the investigation go?'

    'Theyhad him in, but I guess he didn't roll,' Bontrager said. 'The detective workingthe case kept an eye on the guy for a few years, made a few more notes, butthen it went cold. Nothing in the file since '06.'

    'Whowas the victim?'

    Bontragerpulled out his notebook. 'A nineteen-year-old girl named Antoinette Chan. Causeof death was multiple blunt-force trauma. Weapon was a claw hammer found at thescene. The weapon had been wiped clean of prints.'

    'Whatwas the date?' Jessica asked.

    Bontragerflipped a few pages. 'March 21, 2002.'

    Acold finger traced a path along Jessica's spine. It was the date that the oldcodgers had mentioned earlier. She shot a look at Byrne, who also seemedtransfixed by the information.

    'I'mgoing to take a ride over to Record Storage, get the whole story,' Bontragersaid.

    'We'lldo it,' Byrne said. 'Check out the next of kin in the Chan family, see wherethey are, who they are. If they held Beckman responsible they may be worthlooking at.'

    'Noproblem.'

    JoshBontrager got into the car, drove away, a stone-faced Dennis Stansfield in thepassenger seat.

    'Whatdo you think?' Jessica asked.

    Byrnetook a few moments to answer. He absently ran a finger over the small V-shaped scarlocated above his right eye, a keloid souvenir of the time he had been grazedby a bullet years ago. Jessica knew this meant the wheels were turning.

    'Ithink we need to see that original file.' He looked at his watch. 'But first Iwant to have another word with the lovely and talented Mrs. Beckman.' He lookedback at Jessica. 'Funny she didn't mention any of this.'

    'Right.When I asked her if she knew who might have done this and she said "Lookin the fucking mirror" I didn't really get it. Now I do. She blames thepolice.'

    'Whata rarity,' Byrne said. 'And she seemed so nice.'

    'Realdebutante,' Jessica said. 'I'll run checks on her and the stoned kid. See wherethey were and what they were doing in March '02.'

    'I'llmeet you at Record Storage,' Byrne said. 'Call me if she has any wants orwarrants. I don't care if Sharon Beckman did just lose her husband. I'd love totoss her in a cage for a while.'

    'Oh,please,' Jessica said. 'You just like putting women in handcuffs.'

Chapter 12

    Inthe first ten minutes after the police left her house, Sharon Beckman found shecouldn't move. She stood by the front door, paralyzed.

    Jasonwent back out. God only knew what he did these days. What Jason had not toldthe cops was that the last time he had seen Kenny the two had gotten into afist fight. The last thing Jason had said to his stepfather was 'If you evertouch me again I'm going to fucking kill you.'

    Thatwas not something you told the police. She knew Jason would never doanything like that, but they didn't.

    Thehouse was quiet.

    Kennywas dead.

    Sharonknew she was supposed to be feeling something, something akin to grief,something like heartache, but she didn't. All she felt was a faint cold fear.And the knowledge that she had to move. Fast.

    Fromright when she'd first met Kenny, Sharon had known it was all going to fallapart one day. It wasn't like she didn't know who he was when they'd met, whatkind of life she was getting into. She was no angel herself. But eight yearsago, when Kenny had robbed all those houses and put himself on the policeradar, she'd known a day like this would come.

    Whenshe had set fire to the house on Lenox Avenue, back in 2002, destroying allthat evidence, she'd known she'd pay for it some day. Today. She had been alittle sorry that the whole block had gone up in flames, but no one had gothurt. She didn't lose much sleep over it. There was no love lost between herand her neighbors on Lenox Avenue anyway. Fucking lowlife crackheads.

    Sheturned around three times in the living room, trying to organize her thoughts,trying to think straight.

    Sheshould have left a long time ago. When cops followed up on things it was a clearsign that they had you in their sights. Cops always knew a lot more than theylet on. It was like those jobs she used to go on with her father when she wassmall. Her dad would work on somebody's plumbing, and when he was all done he'dturn the water back on and slide a sheet of newspaper under the pipes. If onedrop of water fell, blotting out on the paper, the job was shit. Her fatherwould always tear it out and start over. If there was one solitary drop therewas certain to be more.

    Samething with cops.

    Drip,drip, drip.

    Thenthey had you.

    Kennyhad put all the new stolen merchandise into a storage locker on Linden Avenue.He'd learned the first time not to keep anything in the house. They both had.She wasn't sure what he had in there these days and that was fine with her. Theless she knew, the better.

    Sharonalso knew what Kenny had done to that girl in 2002, even as she tried hard toblock it out of her mind. Of course, there wasn't a jury in the world thatwould give a shit. They had gotten away with it once, but now that Kenny wasdead everything was going to fall on her like a load of bricks. There was noway she could deal with this on her own. She knew at least a dozen people whomight have wanted to do Kenny in, a dozen people who'd had a beef with him, andonce the police realized this they were going to see her as a link. It was onlya matter of time until they revisited the Antoinette Chan case. She knew howhard cops worked on burglaries. They didn't give up until they had you in ajail cell.

    Murder?

    Forgetit.

    Sharonran upstairs. She would load the car with what she could, go find Jason. Shewould get the keys to the Master lock that was on the door at the storage locker,throw them in the Delaware River, and she and her son would be long gone.

    Butwhere would they go? They couldn't go to her sister's in Toledo. That would bethe first place they'd look. She had exactly eight hundred twenty-six dollarsto her name. Plus whatever was in the coin jar, plus whatever was in the gastank.

    Sharonwas only forty-four. Still young. Still had her looks, or whatever looks she'dhad to begin with. She'd start a new life. Meet a man with a real job.