Tess began doing the math in her head. Assuming, conservatively, that Ellen Mars West Side Helping Hand brought in seventy-five hundred a week on average, times fifty-two-that was almost four hundred thousand a year. Yet the board member who hired her said there were no salaried employees. And there didn’t seem to be much money spent on the headquarters, so-Phoebe’s sharp scream interrupted her thoughts.

“Police!” she said, and Tess thought she was calling for them, but she was simply identifying them, after a fashion. Mike Collins stood on the other side of the barred window above the desk, looking in at them. When Phoebe jumped and started, he gave her a wave and then pointed to Tess, effectively miming, Don’t worry, it’s her that we’re interested in.

“You got troubles?” Phoebe demanded.

“N-n-not exactly,” Tess said.

“But he’s police, right? Black man in a suit, gun on his hip-in this neighborhood he better be police.”

“Well, DEA. But he’s just…keeping an eye on me. It’s not what you think.”

“Honey, we can’t have that.”

“But-”

“No thank you. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but we don’t need that around here. Thank you for coming in. You’re a good worker, and we’d welcome you back any day. But not your friend.”

Furious and embarrassed, Tess left. Her client’s suspicions were clearly justified, but what should have been a nice leisurely gig, with steady hours mounting up every week, had just been ruined. She’d have to wait for Crow to come back, and when would that be? For a moment she tried to persuade herself that she was no longer obligated to keep her promise to Lloyd. She hadn’t bargained for the disruption it was causing to her life.

Then again, Lloyd hadn’t bargained on his friend’s being killed. Neither one of them had known what they were getting into, and now they were both stuck. Tess remembered a Yiddish folktale that she had heard when she was in court-ordered therapy. Her therapist was big on Yiddish folktales. He told her of a woman who set out on a journey that she had long intended. On a bridge a man handed her a rope, told her not to let go, and then jumped over. If she left him, he would die. The woman had to see that the man’s choices were not hers and that she was not obliged to stand there and hold the rope.

Tess had always assumed she was the woman in that scenario, but now she was beginning to think she was the man. She had handed the rope to Lloyd, and he had walked away without a qualm. Or would it be the other way around, if she gave him up?

She started up her car and began to head home, then thought better of it. The sky was overcast, but the promise of spring was in the air. Why not take a little drive? Drawing on a knowledge of Baltimore ’s streets that is unique to firefighters, patrol cops, and former reporters, she made her peripatetic way through the city, stopping as the mood struck her. She went to Louise’s Bakery for chocolate drop cookies and a loaf of stale bread, which she then distributed to the geese and ducks along the banks of the Gwynn’s Falls. And everywhere that Tess went, her little lambs were sure to follow. She headed back downtown, ducked into the parking garage beneath the Gallery shops-then shot right back out on the other side. The maneuver gained her only a minute, but a minute was enough to lose them in downtown traffic, a victory in principle. They would be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after. But, for today, she was triumphant.

Her victory proved to be even shorter-lived than she had thought. She and the dogs were coming back from a longer-than-usual evening walk when she saw Collins on her front porch. She tried, for one valiantly optimistic moment, to imagine a piece of good news that had brought him here. He was working for Publishers Clearing House in his off-hours. She had been recognized as a point of light. No, that was a previous administration. Perhaps it was all a mistake and the federal government wanted to apologize for its treatment of her.

But she didn’t think the federal government did apologies. Waco, Ruby Ridge, WMDs. No, not their forte.

“Mike Collins, DEA,” he said, as if they had never met.

“I remember,” she began as Esskay lunged forward, her nose jabbing into Collins’s crotch. Miata, however, held her ground and semigrowled. It was more throat clearing then menace, a sound indicating that Miata could be trouble if she deemed it necessary. Jesus, what had the Doberman’s previous owner done to create this knee-jerk racism in a dog?

“We’d like to talk to you downtown.”

“Didn’t we just go through this yesterday?”

“New info.”

“What?”

“Downtown,” he said.

“I’ll need my-”

“Lawyer. That’s fine.”

“May I tell him what this is about?”

“They’ll tell you both together.”

“Are you going back to the idea that I sheltered a drug dealer and you can use that to begin forfeiture on my house and car? Because-”

“Downtown.” If his voice had any inflection to it, he could have been Petula Clark.

“May I change?” She indicated her sweats, streaked with mud. The dogs had decided it was a good idea to ford the creek, in search of quarry that turned out to be a falling leaf.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I need to call someone about the dogs-”

“Your boyfriend?”

Something about the question-an underlying keenness, a just-perceptible sharpening in Collins’s tone-made Tess uneasy.

“No, the kid who takes care of my dogs when I’m not around. Am I coming home tonight?”

He shrugged. “Remains to be seen.”

“Then you should let me change.”

“Look-” He took a step toward her, and Miata produced a full-throated snarl. Tess was touched by the Doberman’s devotion but doubtful that it would help her, in the long run, for Miata to bite a DEA agent.

“Let me put the dogs away, call my sitter, and change into jeans, okay? It’s not like I’m going to pull a Goldilocks, jump out a window. I’m not under arrest, right?”

“Not yet.”

Tess studied his face, hoping for a wisp of a smile, the tiniest crack in the stony façade. The FBI agent, Jenkins, had seemed human at least, and there had been a blustery quality to the young prosecutor that allowed Tess to believe she could outwit him. Collins, however, made her feel like growling, too, if only because she sensed he was enjoying himself a little too much.

“I’m going inside. Don’t follow, okay? Stay on the porch. My dog doesn’t like you, for whatever reason, and with Crow gone, she’s super protective of me. I can’t guarantee your safety if you follow me inside.”

“I guess she hasn’t seen a lot of brothers in this neighborhood.”

“Brothers?” The word sounded strange in Collins’s mouth, which was funny. Usually it was only white people who sounded ridiculous aping street slang. “Oh, well, I mean, she’s seen-”

She caught the name, just, before it teetered off her tongue. She had been about to say, She’s seen Lloyd, and come to think of it, she didn’t like him much either.

“She’s seen…?”

“A lot,” Tess said flatly. “Her former owner was very badly beaten when Miata wasn’t there to protect him. That’s why she’s so territorial.”

“I’m not worried. If the dog comes at me, I can always shoot her.”

“Is that your idea of a joke?” His noncommittal shrug didn’t fill her with confidence. “Just stay here, okay?”

She opened the storm door, stumbling in her haste over a FedEx package that had been left there. She scooped it up and ran inside, shutting and locking the door behind her. Moving quickly, she did all she said she would do, then tried to think if there was anything else to be accomplished before surrendering. Her eyes fell on the package, which she had thrown aside. It had been shipped from Denton, Maryland, and the sender was listed as E. A. Poe of Greene and Russell streets. Crow had been named for the poet and storyteller, and he knew that Tess was familiar with Poe’s final resting place at that downtown intersection. Inside was a cell phone, and when she powered it up, there was already a message.