"Hello?" Vicki said. The house was still. She braced herself and went into the bedroom where Mrs. Bristow had been killed. The dirty mattress had been lifted up and was standing on end, with the bloodstained side evidently against the wall. Still, it emitted an awful stench; rotting, human blood.

Vicki turned away. The end table had been pushed against the mattress, she guessed to hold it upright, and this room had been cleaned, too, all the debris and crack paraphernalia swept into trash bags and piled in the center of the bedroom. She went into the kitchen, expecting more of the same, and she was right. The cabinets hung open and empty; all the food and cigarettes had been taken out and, presumably, disposed of in the trash bags in the center of the room. The floorboards had been swept and mopped; a large white Rubbermaid bucket sat in the corner and a lemony Pine-Sol odor filled the room. A cockroach skittered across the counter, but Vicki sensed he'd be history soon.

"WHO'S IN THERE?" someone shouted, all of a sudden, and Vicki startled, whirling around.

She froze at the sight of Reheema Bristow, aiming a small, lethal Beretta at her. The black woman's mouth set in a grim line, and she stood tall and four-square, her feet planted wide apart, as if she were ready to fire.

"I'm within my rights to shoot you dead, Allegretti." Re-heema's dark eyes glittered under a navy-blue watch cap. Snowflakes dotted the cap and her broad shoulders in a navy-blue pea coat.

Stay calm. "That's the third gun pointed at me in two days, and it's getting old. Why don't you put it away before I arrest you for ag assault and weapons offenses?"

"You're trespassing."

"Then I'll go. I came to tell you I'm sorry about your mother." Vicki's chest tightened. She was pretty sure Reheema wouldn't shoot her, but pretty sure had too much wiggle room when it came to small-caliber weapons.

"Why was your wallet on her?" Reheema shot back, her tone icy as winter.

"Put the gun away and I'll answer you. I don't like being threatened."

"I don't like being put in jail. I said, why'd I find your wallet in my mother's pocket?"

"Okay, she took it out of my purse. I came to see her and when I went out of the room-"

"How'd you know she lived here? The phone book?"

D'oh. "That would have been too easy. I found out from your old boss at Bennye's."

"Why'd you come here?"

"To learn about you."

"What did you wanna know?"

"If you had anything to do with my partner's murder. If you had Shayla Jackson killed so she wouldn't testify against you, or if someone did that on your behalf. If you resold the guns, and to whom, which I'm still wondering since the one in your hand isn't one you were indicted for. And that's just for starters. Now, put the gun away."

"Ha." Reheema let out a short burst of laughter, like semiautomatic fire, then unlocked the trigger, lowered the weapon, and shoved it inside her coat pocket like a pack of gum.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now we're even." Reheema snorted. "You attacked me at the conference."

"Oh, that. Shall I go?" Now that the threat was over, Vicki had lost her sense of humor. It seemed as if it should be the other way around, but she was too angry to puzzle it out now. "I'm finished with the condolences. You blew the mood."

"Not yet." Reheema yanked the cap off her head and shook her hair out. It had been mashed flat under the cap but she didn't seem to care; she was still strikingly beautiful, for a stone bitch. Her cheekbones curved almost delicately, and her mouth was soft and full, however nasty her expression. "Why do you think I was involved with what happened to your partner and Jackson?"

"Because you're the one who benefited from Jackson's murder. The timing's too coincidental, and Jackson dimed on you. She told my office that you two were best friends. She testified before the grand jury to that effect and she was ready to go to trial to convict you."

"I told you, I don't know the girl. She lied."

"She was under oath."

"Oooh. Nobody lies under oath." Reheema grinned crookedly, and Vicki reddened.

"You sure you don't know her?"

"Never met the girl."

"Jackson also said she knew who you sold the guns to. She was my confidential informant in the case."

"That's a lie, too. I didn't sell the guns to anybody."

"What did you do with them?"

"None of your business."

"It would help if you told me."

"Tough."

I should have strangled you when I had the chance. "If it's true that you didn't know her, then it would mean that Jackson, a complete stranger to you, framed you for a straw purchase charge. At risk of perjury, by the way. Why would she do that to you? How would she even get your name?"

"I don't know and I don't care." Reheema's gaze didn't waver. "I care about getting this house cleaned up. You're leaving."

"Not so fast. What did you do with the guns?" "I said, it's none a your business." "How about I tell you? You gave them to your mother, who sold them or traded them for drugs. Or you sold them yourself and gave her the money or the drugs." "I would never give my mother drugs." "But you bought the guns for her, didn't you? One for you and one for her? Then somehow she traded them both. That's why you wouldn't take the deal I offered you. You wouldn't give her up."

Reheema blinked, and Vicki knew she had scored. "Just tell me. If you tell me, I'll go." "You'll go anyway." "No, I won't. I can be a real pain in the ass." "I know," Reheema answered, unsmiling. "Fine. Whatever.

She said she wanted a gun for protection. I left mine here when I moved to my apartment, and she took it." "She sold them for drugs?" "She'd sell me for drugs. She sold everything I owned." Reheema's tone was beyond bitter; it was utterly without affect, but Vicki still felt strange speaking ill of a woman who had been murdered in this very room.

"I know where your mother bought drugs last night." "You proud of yourself?" Well, yeah, Vicki thought, though the question may have been rhetorical.

"You think I don't know that?" Reheema arched an eyebrow. "You think I didn't find that out five minutes after I found her?"

"It's on Cater Street."

"I know, the vacant lot. They opened a store there." A store? "Did you go there?" "That's none a your business." "I was there, last night. I followed your mom, after she took my wallet." "You?" Reheema laughed, less like gunfire this time. "A white girl?" "In a white car." Vicki smiled. Yay! We're bonding! "Why?" "First I wanted to get my wallet back, then I wanted to see where she bought her drugs." "Why?" "Curiosity." Vicki felt tougher by the minute, just talking to someone so tough. In fact, she was sure she'd never experience another emotion again. "You wanted to know, too. You went over there, to see who killed your mother."

"Wrong. I know who killed my mother. My mother killed my mother. Whatever junkie finished her off did her a favor." Vicki couldn't speak for a minute, the thought was so cruel. "Time for you to go, lawyer. I got a U-Haul out front and I got to get to the dump before this snow gets too deep." "Just one thing. Do you really not know Jamal Browning?" "Don't know him," Reheema answered, her response quick, direct, and believable. "I think he was Shayla Jackson's boyfriend." "Whatever." "How about Jay-Boy and Teeg?" "I told you, no." "They're drug dealers, or work for one." Vicki didn't tell her about the fish-scale coke. It wasn't prudent to reveal police business to a gun-toting ex-con. "Time to go." Reheema gestured to the door, but Vicki stayed put. "Jay-Boy and Teeg were the shooters. They killed my partner and Shayla Jackson, who was pregnant. I saw them."

"Life in the city. Now, get out."

"Your mother, she was very beautiful, when she was younger," Vicki heard herself say, then wondered why. If she was trying to make some connection, it was futile. Reheema's face remained impassive, and she had already started picking up Hefty bags, two in each hand, and lugging them to the door, which she opened with difficulty.