"This is the place, man," the kid said. "I'm freakin' soaked."
The cat had been shot. I could see the shattered skull where the dry skin had receded. I could tell Pearl was considering picking it up. I told her not to. As I circled the clearing, there were other dead cats, and a shiny scatter of brass. I picked up one of the casings. It was nine-millimeter. I scuffed through the leaf meal bed of the clearing. There was more brass. Probably a couple of hundred rounds. Pearl nosed out several more cat remnants, and I had to admonish her again. There were a couple of squirrels, too. And a raccoon and some empty catfood cans, the labels peeling off, the inside cleaned by all the squirrels and birds and bugs that had fed from them since the cans were opened.
"They come up here and shot a lot," the kid said.
He looked miserable. His sweatsuit jacket was soaked through. He was trying to smoke a damp cigarette. Because his hat was on backward, the rain drove straight into his face. But he was too fashion-conscious to turn the hat around.
"That would be Grant and Animal?"
"Yeah, and Jared, too, the other guy."
"He come with Animal and Dell?"
"I guess. I don't remember. I just know I seen him up here, too, when there was shooting."
"You watch them shoot?" I said.
"Jesus, no," he said. "You think I'm going to hang around Animal when he got a gun?"
"When did they start?"
"Last winter. They'd come up here in the freakin' snow."
I stood with my coat collar up and my hands in my pockets and looked at the clearing. Pearl, deprived of cat carcass, had gotten under the low branches of a big evergreen at the edge of the clearing and was sheltering there.
"So I get some reward?" the kid said.
I nodded.
"How much?"
"Shhhh," I said.
I kept looking. The empty cans probably meant that the cats had been lured here with cat food. The shell casings meant they had fired a lot. Some of the trees along the far edge of the clearing showed bullet scars, and a big cardboard box, now limp in the rain, looked as if it had been used as a target. I went and looked closer. It had; the crude figure of a man had been drawn on it. It was full of bullet holes. There were cardboard ammunition boxes around, faded and misshapen by long exposure. The foam interior case, where the bullets had sat, each in its own hole, was impervious to decay and would probably be there long after everyone had stopped remembering the Dowling School Massacre.
"So how much, mister? I showed you this place, huh? How much."
I got my wallet out and took five twenties and gave them to him.
"A hundred?" he said. "That's all? I thought there was a big reward."
"The big reward is for big help," I said. "I wouldn't have given you that much if it weren't raining."
"Shit, man, I'm risking my freakin' ass, Animal found out... "
"Animal's not a factor," I said. "What can you tell me about Jared Clark?"
"Nothing. I didn't know him. I didn't know Dell, neither, 'cept he hung with Animal."
"But Jared didn't."
The kid shook his head.
"I just seen him come up here to shoot sometimes."
The sound of rain was different in the woods. There was no other sound competing with it, and its passage among the trees and bushes made a larger rushing sound than you heard in the city.
"Let's get out of here," I said and turned down the dirt road.
Pearl saw me move and was on her feet and moving with me. She knew the car was in that direction, and that it was dry inside the car. Her lap-dog training had kicked in.
"I don't think it's right," the kid said. "You tole me there was a reward. It ain't freakin' right I get a hundred."
"Bring me something else," I said. "Maybe I'll give you more."
We left the clearing.
Chapter 37
RITA FIORE came into my office at lunchtime, carrying a bag of sandwiches and two cups of coffee.
"Where's your dog," she said.
"Susan has a dog walker. Pearl's with her this morning."
Rita nodded.
"I got tuna salad," she said, "on whole wheat, ham and cheese on whole wheat, egg salad on white, and pastrami on light rye."
"Excellent," I said. "Are you having anything?"
"We're sharing," she said.
"Oh."
"I want the egg salad," she said.
"I'll make do," I said.
She set everything down on my desk, took the lids off both coffees, sat down in my client chair, and unwrapped her egg salad sandwich. I took the tuna.
"So whaddya want?" I said.
She grinned at me and crossed her legs. She was wearing a pale green linen suit with a long jacket and a short skirt.
"Same old thing," she said. "Susan's away, and I thought I might fill in."
"Would that include, say, bopping me on the couch?"
"It would," Rita said.
"You need to work on your inhibitions," I said.
"Controlling them?" Rita said.
"No," I said. "Acquiring some."
She laughed. I took a bite of my tuna sandwich.
"I take it that's another rejection?" she said.
"Sadly, yes," I said. "Where were you when I was single?"
"Prosecuting felons in Norfolk County," she said, "and keeping an eye out for Mr. Right."
"I'm not sure the Norfolk County jail was the best place to look. No wonder you never found him," I said.
She drank some coffee and patted her lips carefully with a paper napkin.
"Actually, I've found him half a dozen times, but he never ripens well."
"'Songs unheard are sweeter far,"' I said.
"Thank you," she said. "How you doing out in Dowling."
"I am finding out more and more about less and less," I said. "I will eventually know everything about nothing."
"Like law school," she said.
"But with a better class of people," I said.
We each chewed our sandwiches and drank some coffee and used our napkins.
"I keep you talking, you may change your mind about the couch," Rita said. "Tell me what you know so far."
By the time I finished, the sandwiches were gone and the coffee was low in our cups.
"Major Johnson," she said. "Wow, that was a long time ago. How old would he be now?"
"I figure around thirty."
"And still gangbanging."
"Older gang," I said.
"Why would he help you out like that?"
"Couple of reasons. One, I'm a friend of Hawk's, and he always wanted to be like Hawk. Two, because he felt like it."
"Just because he felt like it?"
"Yes. He could, and he felt like showing that he could. Being the man is important to Major."
"So he helped you to prove he da man?" Rita said.
"Be my guess," I said.
"Is he proving it to you?"
"To me," I said. "Through me to Hawk, to Yang, to the rest of his crew, to himself. You don't know people will do what you tell them to do, unless you tell them and they do it."
"God, what a way to live," Rita said.
"It's the way he's got," I said.
"You saying he had no choice?"
I smiled and shook my head.
"I'm not navigating the nature/nurture shoals with you again," I said. "I got no idea."
"You know as well as I do," Rita said, "that whatever the psychological reality might be, civilizations have to act as if the individual is responsible for what the individual does."
"I'd settle for knowing who was responsible for shooting up the Dowling School," I said.
Rita nodded. She finished her coffee and put the empty cup on the edge of my desk. She uncrossed her legs and recrossed them the other way.
"Perfect moment for a smoke," she said. "If we smoked. Which we don't. You could take two cigarettes from a Chinese lacquered box on your desk, and light both of them and hand one to me."
"And look you up and down insolently," I said, "through the blue smoke."
"Aladdin's lamp is mine," Rita said. "You know what strikes me about Dowling?"