“Okay.”

Mrs. Hanson wasn’t happy that I was taking Tanya for a walk, but her husband calmed her down and gave me directions. He also, I noticed, followed us from a distance, which I didn’t mind at all. We walked quietly together, Tanya and I, turning left and then right, ending up at a small drugstore with a large white freezer in the corner. She picked the prepackaged ice cream cone with the chocolate and nuts on top, I took the Chip-wich. We found a curb on a quiet street on the way back to sit while we finished off the treats.

“Do you like it here?” I said.

She nodded.

“You called Mrs. Hanson Mama. Why did you do that?”

“She likes it.”

“Do you like her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“She’s nice. She fusses over me and buys me stuffed animals. Did you see how many I have?”

“Yes, I did. Wow. It’s like a zoo in there.”

“I’m going to fill it up until I can’t hardly walk into the room. Then I’m going to jump right on top of the pile and sleep there every night.”

I glanced up the street. He was sitting on a hydrant about a hundred yards away, just keeping an eye on things. I gave a little wave, and he waved back. “Do you like Mr. Hanson?” I said.

“He’s nice, too.”

“And Charles?”

“Yeah, though he’s not home much. He’s really smart. He’s, like, a brain.”

“Do you think about your mother ever?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to go back and live with her?”

“I don’t know. I like it with the Hansons. Is Randy still there?”

“Not right now. You don’t like Randy?”

“He didn’t like me. Always yelling, smacking me. Can I have another cone?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Just asking. How’s Daniel?”

“He’s all right,” I said. “I think he’s okay now. We fixed his teeth.”

“They sure needed fixing. I miss him. Can you go to my mommy’s place and tell him I miss him?”

“He’s not with your mother right now.”

Her eyes widened.

“Randy was hurting him, and your mother didn’t stop him. So Randy was arrested and Daniel’s now with another family.”

“I want to see him.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Are you really here to help me?”

“That’s right. Believe it or not, I work for you.”

“I don’t have any money to pay you.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “Why should you be different from any of my other clients?”

“What happened to your face?”

“My television bit me.”

“I guess that’s why they don’t let me watch too much.”

“Does that make you sad?”

“Not really. There’s a nice school here. I can walk to it and it’s a pretty color outside and the kids I play with in the neighborhood, they go there, too, and will walk with me. Sam, he has a little pool and we swim together when it gets hot.”

“So what do you want me to do for you?”

“I don’t want to leave. I like the school.”

“Okay.”

“But I miss Daniel.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe he can go to the school, too.”

“He’s still a little young for school.”

“Yeah. Can I have another cone now?”

“No,” I said.

I left her with the Hansons. I thought about it, thought about the options, and the responsibility of the thing scared the hell out of me, but sometimes I think the braver thing is to do nothing, and Tanya deserved my bravery, so I left her there. I gave Mrs. Hanson Isabel Chandler’s name and phone number. I told her to call, to set up an interview with Social Services, to do what she had to do to become a certified foster home so her custody of Tanya could be made official. But until then I wouldn’t do anything to remove Tanya from her home.

“I was so worried when the reverend told us you were asking around about Tanya,” said Mrs. Hanson. “I was having nightmares about you.”

“I seem to have that effect on people.”

“She’s such a wonderful girl. She’s already part of the family. I told the reverend I was terrified you were going to take her from us.”

“I was terrified, too,” I said.

Sometimes I almost start to believe that the human race, contrary to all reason and against all odds, has a chance after all.

73

What do Broadway musicals and murder trials have in common? Leggy blondes with short skirts and high-heeled tap shoes? Only in my dreams, which might say more about my subconscious than I am comfortable with. No, they both need to end with the big finish, and I’m not talking about some glandular case named Paavo. I would have put on a big production number if they let me, but François Dubé’s fate was playing out not on the Broadway stage but in a court of law, where the performers wear suits and intone Latin and are required to follow the rules of evidence. Nothing puts a crimp in the old song and dance like the rules of evidence, believe me, but I still had my big finish planned. Mrs. Winterhurst to link the victim to Dr. Bob, Franny Pepper to link Dr. Bob to the circumstance of the photograph in Leesa Dubé’s cold, dead hand, and finally, Dr. Bob himself, to lie on the stand and then wither under the onslaught of my brilliant cross-examination.

I was so confident of the power of my big finish that I was barely paying attention in court. Beth had taken charge of the timeline of François’s alibi. It wasn’t much of an alibi, to be truthful, but every little bit helped. So Beth was putting on testimony of François’s whereabouts through the whole of the evening of his wife’s murder, placing him in the kitchen till the restaurant closed, at the zinc bar for an hour or so after, finally walking off into the night exhausted and ready for sleep. The jurors were ready for sleep, too, by the look of them, and I could relate. In fact, I was just about to zonk off myself when Torricelli waved his fingers at me.

I snapped awake. What the heck was that? It was as if he were saying “Toodle-oo,” which was strange, because Torricelli was not a toodle-oo kind of fellow.

The mystery of the little finger wave was solved at the lunch recess. As the courtroom cleared, Torricelli came over and placed his big old hand on my shoulder.

“How’s it hanging, Carl?”

I looked at his hand, looked back at Torricelli’s ugly mug. “Fine?”

“What happened to your face?”

“My television bit it.”

“No matter how inviting the porn, Victor, you still can’t jump through the screen and join the action.”

“Have you been drinking, Detective? Because some people when they drink become overly friendly.”

“Not me,” he said cheerfully. “When I drink, I turn into a mean son of a bitch.”

“So it has no effect.”

He laughed, which was more than disconcerting. Torricelli was in way too good a mood.

“What are you so merry about?” I said.

“I’ve been having this problem with my tooth. I couldn’t figure what it was, but suddenly it’s taken care of.”

“You don’t say.”

“It was a simple thing, a cavity hidden from the normal probes. An X-ray caught it. My tooth has now been drilled and filled, and I am feeling fine.”

“Sounds like you found yourself a dentist.”

“Yes I did. Nice guy, too. Maybe you know him.”

“Maybe I do.”

“Think of it, Victor. I come to him just to ask a few questions about a murder, and I come out with a whole new outlook on the world.”

“He has that way about him, doesn’t he? Did he explain away the name change?”

“He said it wasn’t the right image for a dentist to be named after a soda pop, which makes some sense, doesn’t it?”

“And you bought it?”

“Why not? And after he fixed me up, he gave me a little parting gift.”

“A lollipop?”

“His fingerprints.”

“You don’t say,” I said, though he just had.

“Quite voluntarily, I might add. I made the suggestion, and he ripped his rubber gloves right off and offered me his hands.”

“He is obliging, isn’t he?”