"No. People like you never listen to people like us."

"Hey, you're not exactly scraping bottom, okay? You're a Quantrell."

"Don't remind me," snapped Maeve. She turned and started to walk away.

"Your father's waiting out on the street," M. J. called after her. "He wants to talk with you."

Maeve turned around. "Why? He never bothered to talk with me before. It was always at me, not with me. Ordering me around. Telling me to clean up my act, toss out my cigarettes. Hell, he's not even my real father."

"He wanted to be."

"But he isn't, okay?"

"So where is your real father? Tell me that."

Maeve glared at her, but said nothing.

"He isn't here, is he?" said M. J.

"He's living in Italy."

"Right. In Italy. But Adam's here."

"He's not my father."

"No, he just acts like one. And hurts like one."

Maeve shoved away a crate and sent it toppling.

"Oh, great," said M. J. "Now we're going to have a tantrum."

"You're a bitch."

"Maybe. But you know what I'm not? Your mother. And I don't have to take this crap." With that, M. J. turned and walked away. She heard, off in the shadows, a scrambling of footsteps, then Maeve's command: "Forget it. Let the bitch go."

M. J. managed to navigate her own way out of the building. It took her a few wrong turns, a half-dozen rickety flights of stairs, but she finally found her way outside. Looking back, she realized she'd been in the abandoned mill building. Boarded-up windows and grafitti-splashed brick was all one saw from the street. She wondered how many pairs of eyes were watching her from behind that wall.

She walked on, heading briskly back to South Lexington Avenue, back to Adam.

She saw him pacing by the car, his fair hair tumbled by the wind, his hands deep in his pockets. The instant he spotted her, he started toward her.

"I was about to call the police," he said. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you all about it." She opened the car door and got inside. "Let's get out of here."

He slid in beside her. "Did you see Jonah?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"It was an unforgettable experience."

He started the engine and muttered, "So was waiting for you."

They pulled onto South Lexington and headed north.

"I saw Maeve," said M. J.

Adam almost slammed on the brakes. "She was there?"

"Celeste got it right. She's Jonah's lady." She glanced back at the line of cars honking behind them. "Keep moving, you're holding up traffic."

Adam, still rattled, turned his attention back to the road. "Did she seem… happy?" he asked.

"To be honest?" M. J. shook her head. "I don't think that kid was ever happy."

"Will she talk to me?"

M. J. heard it in his voice and saw it in his face: a father's fear, a father's despair. All at once she wondered about her own father, that nameless man with the green eyes. She wondered where he was, if he knew or cared he had a daughter. Of course he doesn't, she thought. Not the way this man does.

She looked ahead, at the line of traffic. "She isn't ready to see you," she said.

"If I tried to-"

"It isn't the time, Adam."

"When will it be the time?"

"When she grows up. If she ever does."

He gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead in frustration. "If I only knew what I did wrong…"

"Some kids are just born angry. In Maeve's case, my guess is she's angry at her real father. But he's not around to scream at, so she takes it out on you. Nothing you do is right. You exert a little control, and you're a tyrant. You try to set limits, she smashes them." M. J. reached over and touched his knee. "You did the best you could."

"It wasn't enough."

"Adam," she said gently, "it never is."

He drove in silence, his troubled gaze focused on the road. How quickly he accepted the blame, she thought. As if Maeve had no responsibility for her own life, her own mess.

"She did clear up a few things," said M. J. "In fact, she cleared up a lot. Esterhaus was the source. He stole the Zestron and passed the drug to Nicos for a delivery. Nicos must have kept some for his own use. That's how it got into the Projects."

"A delivery? To whom?"

"Maeve didn't say. But you know who she says is behind it all?" M. J. laughed. "The city elite, unspecified. Meaning all the creeps in power. She figures they're distributing the drug in order to clean the trash off the streets."

"I hate to admit it, but she's got the city elite pegged just about right."

M. J. glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "But systematically pushing poison? To clean the riffraff from Albion? That's a big leap." She gazed out at the numbing landscape of abandoned buildings, shattered windows. "Still, I admit the same thought did cross my mind a few days back. But that's paranoia for you. Conspiracies are seductive…" She paused. "By the way. Did you know Esterhaus was arrested a year ago? Possession of marijuana plants."

"No, I was never informed."

"Somehow it stayed off his record, and he walked."

"Maybe the feds stepped in to protect their old witness. Had him released."

There was a silence. Quietly Adam said, "What if it wasn't the feds?"

"Come again?"

"What if he made, say, other arrangements to avoid the charges?"

"You mean… bribery?"

"He had access to an inexhaustible supply of narcotics. At Cygnus. That's a pretty persuasive bribe."

"So he cuts a deal. With a judge. Or…"

"The police," Adam finished for her.

They were back on the old conspiracy kick, but it was hard to let it go. Esterhaus's death had been an apparent execution. She thought of what Maeve said-that Esterhaus was being pressured to steal the Zestron and deliver it somewhere. The bombing of her house had been a professional job. She thought about all the doors that had slammed in her face when she'd tried to publicize the overdose victims. The powers that be in Albion had systematically shrugged off the deaths of those three junkies in South Lexington.

Shrugged off? Or covered up?

"Head downtown," she suddenly said.

"Why?"

"We're going to City Hall. I want to see Ed."

Adam turned onto the downtown exit. "Why?"

"Force of habit-I like to torment him. Plus, he might get us the information we need. Namely, which cop arrested Esterhaus-and then let him go. And what else the said cop has been involved in."

"Would Ed know that?"

"He has a direct pipeline into Police Internal Affairs. If there's a crooked cop involved, they might have a file on him."

"Unless they're all crooked."

"Please," she groaned. "Don't even mention the possibility."

City Hall had been turned into a media circus. Banners were everywere: Mayor Sampson Presents the Albion Bicentennial, 200 Years of Vision, Albion: looking toward the third century. In the hall was posted a map of Friday's two-mile parade route. Anyone who bothered to study that map would see that the parade didn't even go anywhere near Albion's center, but skirted around it, along the northern city limits, thereby avoiding the South Lexington district entirely.

Ed was in his office, barricaded by a fortress of papers. Campaign posters were plastered across the wall behind him. A picture of a kid serenely skipping rope caught M. J.'s eye: "Albion. Safe, and getting safer." For whom? she felt like asking.

Ed, as usual, did not look happy to see her. "I haven't got a lot of time, okay?" he grumbled as M. J. and Adam settled into chairs. "This bicentennial thing is turning into a disaster. The weatherman says rain. Three high school bands have dropped out because of sniper rumors. And now the cops say they can't guarantee crowd control."

"Yep, that's our town," said M. J. sweetly. "Safe, and getting safer."