“But all the information wasn’t available then.”

“I know that. My friend, Montalvo, recently gave me a list of three new suspects. Two didn’t pan out, but I still have the third one to investigate. Paul Black. Is that the name you ran across?”

“His name popped up.”

Eve’s gaze narrowed on Catherine’s face. “But?”

“I was more interested in someone else.”

“Who?”

“He had opportunity. He might have had motive.” She was speaking quickly, tersely. “In this type of crime, there’s ample precedent for this kind of perpetrator.”

“Dammit. Why are you being so evasive?”

“Joe. I can see you have to walk very carefully where he’s concerned. He’s very emotional about your obsession with Bonnie. He’s nuts about you.” Her hands tightened on the porch rail. “And he doesn’t need to come face-to-face with this for it to tear him apart. Hell, it might tear you both apart.”

“Catherine.”

“Okay.” She drew a deep breath. “Joe has been thinking about you as being totally his own since the moment you met. It’s been the saving grace when he had to come to terms with your obsession with Bonnie. It would disturb the hell out of him to lose that security.”

“There’s no way he would lose it.”

“No? You’re very cool, very controlled, but it wasn’t like that always. There was a time when you lost your head and spun out of control over a man.”

Eve was beginning to see where Catherine was going. No, it couldn’t be. It was impossible. She asked hoarsely, “Catherine, who killed my Bonnie?”

“I didn’t say I was certain.”

Eve was shaking. “Tell me. Tell me the name.”

“You want a name?” Catherine drew a deep breath. “The name you didn’t even see fit to put on the birth certificate, Eve,” she said gently. “Bonnie’s father, John Gallo.”

*   *   *

EVE HAD BEEN EXPECTING IT, but the name struck her, stunned her. She couldn’t breathe. She could barely speak, “No … it’s not true. You don’t understand. It’s not true.”

But if Catherine thought it true, then somehow it might be.

No, it was impossible.

“Eve, I wouldn’t have just pulled his name—”

“No!” She had to get out of here. She had to be alone. She whirled and was across the porch, fumbling at the screen door. “You’re wrong, Catherine. You couldn’t be more wrong. It’s not—” She slammed the door behind her and leaned back against it, staring into the darkness.

Cool and controlled, Catherine had called her. Where was that coolness now? She felt as vulnerable and emotional as she had when she was that sixteen-year-old kid who had given birth to Bonnie. So angry, so defiant, so passionate.

John Gallo.

Catherine’s words had sent her spiraling back to that sixteen-year-old girl.

Back to John Gallo …

CHAPTER

2

Peabody Housing Development

Atlanta, Georgia

“I NEED A LITTLE MONEY, EVE.” Sandra Duncan’s soft, Southern tone was coaxing. “You got paid last night, didn’t you? A ten spot will do me.” Her hand fluttered to her short red-brown hair. “I need to get my hair tinted so that I can go look for a job. I’ve got to look my best.”

Her mother was stoned again, Eve realized in despair. Eyes a little unfocused, movements slow and uncoordinated. And the ten spot she wanted might go for crack or marijuana instead of hair tint. Yet what the hell could she do? Sandra hadn’t had a job in four months, and they needed any money that her mother could bring in. The rent at their apartment was a month behind, and Eve barely made enough working part-time at Mac’s Diner to pay the utilities. “I can give you five, Mother. Can you go to that beauty college in College Park and get it any cheaper?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Sandra?” her mother said. “Everyone tells me I’m much too young to have a grown daughter of sixteen. Why, I’m just a little over thirty myself.” She reached over and patted Eve’s cheek. “I had you when I was only fifteen. I could have had an abortion, but I decided to keep you. It wasn’t easy for me. You owe me, don’t you, honey? Ten?”

Sandra always brought up how much Eve owed her when she needed something, Eve thought with annoyance. When she was younger, it had hurt her. But then she’d realized that her mother used it to get what she wanted, and that big sacrifice was probably because Sandra had been too far along to safely get an abortion. She reached into her wallet and brought out a ten-dollar bill. “Okay. But I want you to show me how pretty you look tomorrow after you get your hair done.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Sandra looked in the mirror. “You never say so.” She patted her hair again. “You’re not exactly pretty, Eve, but you have my hair. Everyone says that my hair is very unusual.” She picked up her handbag. “That’s why I have to keep it looking nice.” She headed for the door. “Do you know, I bet that manager at Mac’s Diner would give you a full-time job if you asked him nicely.”

It wasn’t the first time Sandra had made that suggestion. Her mother always conveniently forgot what she didn’t want to remember. “I’m not going to ask him. I haven’t graduated from high school yet, Sandra. And Mr. Kimble has already said he’ll keep me on and work around my hours when I go to college.”

“College?” Sandra smiled with genuine amusement. “People like us don’t go to college, honey. You’ll be much happier if you get that thought right out of your head.”

“Would I?” She tried to smother the anger, but it burst free. “And are you happy jumping from job to job, Sandra? Are you happy sniffing coke to make you think everything is what it should be?” She looked around the shabby apartment. She tried to keep it clean, but everything about it was worn, drab, and depressing. “Are you happy living here? Well, I’m not, and I’m not going to stop thinking of ways to get away from here.”

Sandra was looking at her in bewilderment. “Don’t be ugly. There’s nothing wrong with smoking a joint or sniffing a little coke now and then. It’s not as if I’m one of those drug addicts on Peachtree Street.”

“No? Have you tried to kick it lately?”

“Why should I?” She opened the door. “You’re just too intense about most everything. You seem to be mad at me every time you see me. You work or read all the time. You don’t even have a boyfriend. Sometimes I don’t understand you, Eve.” She slammed the door behind her.

Sandra had never understood her, Eve thought. Even when she’d been a child, her mother had often looked at her as if she were some strange creature from another planet.

But then Sandra had been revolving in her own solar system ever since Eve could remember. Marijuana, crack, coke, acid.

Don’t think about it. Sandra wouldn’t listen to her, and she had her own battles to fight. She couldn’t help her mother, but she could help herself. She had grown up in the streets and learned every trick in the book to fight those battles.

She glanced at the clock. It was almost six. She had to get to work, or she’d be late. She’d hoped to finish her geometry before she had to leave, but Sandra had been home, and that usually meant a delay. She closed her geometry book and stuck it in her canvas book bag. Maybe she’d get a chance to finish on her break.

She locked the door and ran down the four flights of cement stairs that led to the front entrance of the housing development. The stink was overwhelming. Someone had thrown a sack of garbage on the third landing. All they’d had to do was take it down two flights more to the garbage cans, but that was too much trouble.

Don’t look at the garbage, the iron banister rails, the scrawled graffiti on the dirty gray walls. She had control of their apartment, but all she could do was ignore everything outside their apartment door.