"Ha." Reheema let out a short burst of laughter, like semiautomatic fire, then unlocked the trigger, lowered the weapon, and shoved it inside her coat pocket like a pack of gum.
"Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Now we're even." Reheema snorted. "You attacked me at the conference."
"Oh, that. Shall I go?" Now that the threat was over, Vicki had lost her sense of humor. It seemed as if it should be the other way around, but she was too angry to puzzle it out now. "I'm finished with the condolences. You blew the mood."
"Not yet." Reheema yanked the cap off her head and shook her hair out. It had been mashed flat under the cap but she didn't seem to care; she was still strikingly beautiful, for a stone bitch. Her cheekbones curved almost delicately, and her mouth was soft and full, however nasty her expression. "Why do you think I was involved with what happened to your partner and Jackson?"
"Because you're the one who benefited from Jackson's murder. The timing's too coincidental, and Jackson dimed on you. She told my office that you two were best friends. She testified before the grand jury to that effect and she was ready to go to trial to convict you."
"I told you, I don't know the girl. She lied."
"She was under oath."
"Oooh. Nobody lies under oath." Reheema grinned crookedly, and Vicki reddened.
"You sure you don't know her?"
"Never met the girl."
"Jackson also said she knew who you sold the guns to. She was my confidential informant in the case."
"That's a lie, too. I didn't sell the guns to anybody."
"What did you do with them?"
"None of your business."
"It would help if you told me."
"Tough."
I should have strangled you when I had the chance. "If it's true that you didn't know her, then it would mean that Jackson, a complete stranger to you, framed you for a straw purchase charge. At risk of perjury, by the way. Why would she do that to you? How would she even get your name?"
"I don't know and I don't care." Reheema's gaze didn't waver. "I care about getting this house cleaned up. You're leaving."
"Not so fast. What did you do with the guns?" "I said, it's none a your business." "How about I tell you? You gave them to your mother, who sold them or traded them for drugs. Or you sold them yourself and gave her the money or the drugs." "I would never give my mother drugs." "But you bought the guns for her, didn't you? One for you and one for her? Then somehow she traded them both. That's why you wouldn't take the deal I offered you. You wouldn't give her up."
Reheema blinked, and Vicki knew she had scored. "Just tell me. If you tell me, I'll go." "You'll go anyway." "No, I won't. I can be a real pain in the ass." "I know," Reheema answered, unsmiling. "Fine. Whatever.
She said she wanted a gun for protection. I left mine here when I moved to my apartment, and she took it." "She sold them for drugs?" "She'd sell me for drugs. She sold everything I owned." Reheema's tone was beyond bitter; it was utterly without affect, but Vicki still felt strange speaking ill of a woman who had been murdered in this very room.
"I know where your mother bought drugs last night." "You proud of yourself?" Well, yeah, Vicki thought, though the question may have been rhetorical.
"You think I don't know that?" Reheema arched an eyebrow. "You think I didn't find that out five minutes after I found her?"
"It's on Cater Street."
"I know, the vacant lot. They opened a store there." A store? "Did you go there?" "That's none a your business." "I was there, last night. I followed your mom, after she took my wallet." "You?" Reheema laughed, less like gunfire this time. "A white girl?" "In a white car." Vicki smiled. Yay! We're bonding! "Why?" "First I wanted to get my wallet back, then I wanted to see where she bought her drugs." "Why?" "Curiosity." Vicki felt tougher by the minute, just talking to someone so tough. In fact, she was sure she'd never experience another emotion again. "You wanted to know, too. You went over there, to see who killed your mother."
"Wrong. I know who killed my mother. My mother killed my mother. Whatever junkie finished her off did her a favor." Vicki couldn't speak for a minute, the thought was so cruel. "Time for you to go, lawyer. I got a U-Haul out front and I got to get to the dump before this snow gets too deep." "Just one thing. Do you really not know Jamal Browning?" "Don't know him," Reheema answered, her response quick, direct, and believable. "I think he was Shayla Jackson's boyfriend." "Whatever." "How about Jay-Boy and Teeg?" "I told you, no." "They're drug dealers, or work for one." Vicki didn't tell her about the fish-scale coke. It wasn't prudent to reveal police business to a gun-toting ex-con. "Time to go." Reheema gestured to the door, but Vicki stayed put. "Jay-Boy and Teeg were the shooters. They killed my partner and Shayla Jackson, who was pregnant. I saw them."
"Life in the city. Now, get out."
"Your mother, she was very beautiful, when she was younger," Vicki heard herself say, then wondered why. If she was trying to make some connection, it was futile. Reheema's face remained impassive, and she had already started picking up Hefty bags, two in each hand, and lugging them to the door, which she opened with difficulty.
"Leave."
Vicki swallowed hard and walked to the door, then stopped in the threshold. "I'm gonna bust whoever sold those drugs to your mother."
"You go, girlfriend." Reheema dropped the bags and began to clap, and her ironic applause followed Vicki as she walked out the door.
And into the snowstorm.
TWENTY
Snow fell hard, and Vicki hurried to her car, her head bent against the icy flakes that bit her cheeks. She reached the Cabrio, got inside, but didn't pull out of the space right away. Snow dusted her plastic back window, but she could see in her outside mirror that Reheema was carrying Hefty bags out of the house and tossing them into the bed of an orange-and-white pickup, double-parked out front.
She turned on the ignition and watched Reheema work, pretending she was letting the engine warm up. Clearly the woman was determined; a Lady Tiger, indeed. Carrying concealed and aiming without blinking. Cleaning the house the same morning her mother was killed. Being practical, levelheaded, and emotionless about all of it, even her mother's addiction. You didn't need to be Dr. Phil to guess that Reheema might have been the parent growing up, taking care of her mother. Even buying her a gun for protection. Had Reheema been fooled, or did she know? Was she telling Vicki the truth? Either way, Reheema had taken the rap, spending almost a year at the FDC. And she would have been convicted if Jackson hadn't been killed.
Jackson. Morty. Who was Jackson to Reheema? How were they connected, if at all? Was it possible that Jackson knew Reheema but not vice versa? How?
Vicki yanked down the emergency brake and eased out of the spot. There was no one on the street, playing or driving. Not a living soul except Reheema, coming out of the house with another load of bags, a tall, dark figure with dark bags against the white snow, receding in the rearview mirror.
Vicki reached the corner and turned, noticing things about the houses that she hadn't before, now that it was daytime and the street felt more familiar. Here and there, lights glowed inside the houses, and in one of the windows flickered an electric candle, ringed by a plastic holly wreath left over from Christmas. There was still life in Devil's Corner; still families making their way, and people like Reheema, moving in and trying to set up house.
Vicki cruised ahead, the car interior warming, and approached Cater. The corner at the mouth of the alley was empty. No scary guys in dark hoods. She drove forward slowly and eased to a stop, looking to the right as she had last night. She parked and scanned the street, which looked different in the daylight. There were no cars parked on it, so she could conceivably drive down it, and it was lined with houses, many of which had lights on and trash at the curb collecting snow, their black bags like misshapen body bags. But even in the terrible weather, she could see people milling at the far end of the street. They seemed to be going inside the vacant lot.