"What about witness protection? Don't the feds do that all the time?"
"Only for federal crimes, like racketeering. Murder is a state-law crime."
Reheema scoffed. "Lawyer talk."
"I'm sorry," Vicki said, meaning it. She had been raised with a reverence for her profession, but for the first time, she was beginning to understand what people meant by legalese.
"You talk about making sense, now something else makes sense. I couldn't figure why a killer would give up a cell phone like that. But he gives it to a kid who can't talk."
"Yeah." Vicki nodded. It was why Chucky hadn't known when or where Albertus had gotten the phone. The child hadn't been able to tell him.
"But why not throw the phone away? Why take it at all?"
"Maybe he liked Albertus, was trying to do him a favor."
"A killer with a heart of gold. Stabbed my mother to death. We should go back."
"No."
"Turn around. I want to go back."
"No."
"I'll go back without you. Ditch you like you ditched me."
"Then I won't let you out of my sight. We'll have a sleepover at your house. I'll bring the nail polish. You got popcorn?" Vicki accelerated into light traffic, which had picked up now that people were coming home from work. She switched lanes, then took a right, a left, and another right, and in time, Reheema looked over.
"Where you goin'?"
"Cater Street."
"Then turn around, Harvard," Reheema said, with a soft chuckle, and Vicki knew they were back on track.
Darkness descended as Vicki and Reheema sat in the front seat of the Intrepid, parked near the end of Cater. They'd found a new parking space across the street; they were changing things to avoid signaling the watchers, and now that they'd identified the van, didn't need to see it pull up in front of the vacant lot.
"They'll pull in from the far side, and we'll see them when they come out. This is safer." Vicki eyed the watcher at their end of the street, four houses up from the corner. He wore a long green army coat and a dark knit cap, and he tended to face the other end of the street. "It helps that the action comes from the far side. We caught a break."
"Yeah." Reheema's tone echoed in the cold, hollow interior of the car. She had grown progressively quieter since their discovery at the Bethaves' house, and Vicki's heart went out to her.
"We'll find your mother's killer."
"You're damn right, we will. Your way or mine."
Vicki let it go, her eyes retrained on the dark street. Thick clouds conspired to hide the moon. "Hope we didn't miss the run to the supplier's."
"Yeah." Reheema checked the car's dashboard clock. "It's seven already. Won't your boyfriend wonder where you are?"
"I left him a note, saying I'd be out shopping."
"He'll believe that?"
"I shop a lot." Vicki reached in her pocket for her cell. "I figured I'd call him about now and say hi."
"Go for it."
Vicki retrieved the phone and flipped it open, making a bright blue spot in the car. She was about to press in Dan's cell number when she heard a car engine and looked up.
"It's them!" Reheema said, pointing needlessly, as the black van veered around the corner, spraying snow.
Vicki closed the phone and twisted on the ignition, and they took off.
THIRTY-SEVEN
An hour later, Vicki and Reheema had successfully followed the black van from Devil's Corner through the city to a seamy section of Southwest Philly, on Getson Street, not ten blocks from Aspinall, where Browning lived. Dilapidated row houses lined the street, but lights shone from within some. Vicki could see that people lived here, but not as many or as middle class as the solid families of Devil's Corner. Fewer cars stood parked outside and many of the houses were dark shells, tall black rectangles that stood out like missing teeth against the lighted homes.
Vicki pulled into an empty space near the end of the street, about six houses down from the row house that Eagles Coat had gone into with his gym bag. As far as she could tell in the dark, the row house was number 8372 Getson; it was two stories of brick facade with a tumbledown front porch and snowy AstroTurf on its front steps. Lights were lit inside but curtains covered the windows. Getson Street stood silent except for the occasional car driving down it, and nobody walked dogs or set out trash; it was too cold or dangerous for anybody to be outside tonight. On one corner was a seedy bar, and at the corner opposite a lighted yellow sign read THE RITE SPOT; it hung over a mom-and-pop grocery store, with black bars covering the door and a smudgy plastic window, a bulletproof square of fluorescent light.
Vicki cut the ignition. "Maybe this is his work home, or whatever they call it."
"Yeah." Reheema looked around, sliding off her sunglasses. "This neighborhood isn't nice enough to be where he lives."
"Good, and it's only eight, he has to be still doing business tonight." Vicki double-checked the clock. "Maybe he'll even pay a visit to his connect."
"It's possible. You got the gun?"
"We won't need it."
"Probably not, it's not like they're violent or anything." Reheema smiled. "Is it still in your purse?"
"Not telling."
"Backpack?"
"No comment." Actually, Vicki had moved the gun to her left coat pocket, where it could shoot out an ovary.
"Have it your way."
"The plan is we wait and we watch. Then if we see Toner, we call the cops. Otherwise, we follow where they go and give that info to the cops."
"You sure you don't want to gimme my gun?"
"Absolutely not." Vicki eased back in the driver's seat, her adrenaline buzzing. It had been more exciting to follow the van than she wanted to admit and she became acutely aware of her body; the residual ache of the teenager's blows still hurt her sides, and she could almost recall the tenderness of last night, in bed with Dan. So much had happened in such a short time, since Morty had been killed. Vicki felt oddly as if she'd lived her entire life in one week and realized that perhaps she hadn't been living it well enough before.
"You should call your boyfriend. We don't want him calling later."
"Yeah, thanks. I'll make sure of it." Vicki retrieved her phone from her purse, covered the blue light so it didn't give them away, and pressed speed dial for Dan. His phone rang, then his voicemail picked up, and Vicki faked a light tone. "Hey, babe, I'm out shopping and ran into an old friend from law school, so I'll be home late. This new phone keeps cutting out, so if you can't get through, don't worry. See you way later or I'll call. Love you." She hit the Power button, turned off the phone, and slipped it back into her pocket. "Okay, we won't be interrupted."
"Good."
"Maybe I'll take some pictures." Vicki dug in the backpack, retrieved the camera, disabled the flash, and snapped away. She didn't know how much she could get in this low light level, but she was committed to the picture taking since it had actually paid off with Toner. Fifteen photos later, she had shot every scene she could conceivably take from the car. She set the camera down and watched the house with Reheema. No one left it or went inside. Eight o'clock became nine o'clock, and Reheema touched her arm.
"You awake?"
"Yep."
"I have to go to the bathroom. Do you?"
"Of course, we're girls. And I'm hungry." Vicki twisted around and eyeballed the grocery store and the bar. "I vote for the store. I'll bet they'll have a bathroom they'll let us use."
"If we go quick, we won't miss anything." Reheema tugged down her knit cap and got out of the car, as did Vicki, who grabbed her purse and joined her.
They crossed the street with a wary eye on 8372 and hustled together toward the grocery, like an urban version of Mutt and Jeff. Vicki felt the gun inside her coat pocket, which was when she realized that you couldn't shoot a gun in mittens anyway. They reached the store, and close up, Vicki could see it had once been glass storefront, now boarded up with plywood panels that were littered with old keystone-shaped stickers for the Pennsylvania Lottery, a faded picture of the cartoon camel smoking a cigarette, and a sticker that read WE ACCEPT FOOD STAMPS.