Lou didn't get up from his chair, even though it was

his chance to slip out of the place. He felt tired suddenly. He didn't know when kids had changed, but they had, in his lifetime. They got to be empty inside; they didn't care about anything. They listened to one-hit wonders, watched movies that weren't funny, and didn't read enough books. They didn't play ball in the street; they collected guns and shot each other. Lou didn't understand how it had happened, but it had, and it happened to Paige Newlin, too. There was something missing at her heart, and Lou worried that there was nothing in the world that could set it right.

It took Lou a few minutes before he could get up from the chair, but get up he did.

28

Kovich studied the criminalistics report, resting it against the steering wheel of the car, which idled at the curb. Temple students going to class flowed in front of the car but Kovich didn't notice. 'The earring back is from a man?'

'That's what it says.' Brinkley leaned over and pointed on the report with a cold finger. The heat still hadn't warmed up in the beat-up Chrysler and the tall buildings on Broad Street blocked the sun. 'Contained sloughed-off skin cells from a male.'

'Okay, so?' Kovich looked over, and Brinkley edged back into his seat.

'I don't know. Let me think. It's a surprise.'

'Only because you figured it was the daughter's, which it ain't.'

Brinkley collected his thoughts. Take it step by step. We find an earring back next to the body, which suggests it came off after a struggle with the doer.'

'The location suggests a possibility it came off during the struggle with the doer. It coulda come off anytime at all. Fallen off a rug cleaner who wears an earring. A gay decorator who wears an earring. Every guy in Philly wears an earring nowadays, maybe two. My brother wears one, for fuck's sake. Coulda been anybody, anytime.'

'Okay, but it's possible that it came off in the death struggle.'

'It's possible.'

'Good. At least it's possible.' Brinkley looked out the windshield of the car at the Temple students. Boys and girls flooded into the buildings in parkas, lugging backpacks like tanks. A couple of the boys had their arms around the

girls, but the backpacks got in the way. Brinkley watched them idly. 'I thought it could have been the daughter's because I'm working on the theory that she's the doer, and the father is taking the fall, right?'

'Also you are dumber than you look, in contrast to me. But yes. Right.'

Brinkley was thinking too hard to ask Kovich what he was talking about. 'If the location suggests the earring back came off during a struggle with the killer, then the killer was a male. So if you combine my theory with this physical evidence, it suggests that a man was at the scene with the daughter.'

Kovich nodded. 'Unless Newlin wears an earring, and he don't.'

'Also, remember that there was dirt on the coffee table, put there by someone's shoe, and it had to be someone who put it there Monday after the maid cleaned. It's consistent with a male, since lots of women don't put their feet up on coffee tables.'

'Mostly but okay. So what we got?'

'We got a man at the scene, brought there by the girl. Because I don't believe Newlin is the doer and there's no male in the picture he would protect, except a man he didn't know was there. A male his daughter brought in.' Brinkley's heart quickened and he kept staring out the window. Two of the Temple students kissed. Young love, he could barely remember it. And then suddenly he could. 'The daughter has a boyfriend.'

'How do you know?'

'You saw her. She's a knockout. She's gotta have a boyfriend.' Brinkley gestured out the window to the kids eating face. 'Girl like that*, she's gotta have a ton of boyfriends.'

Kovich grew quiet, but Brinkley didn't notice.

'So let's say she goes over to dinner with the boyfriend and they kill the mother together. Or the daughter does it and the boyfriend helps, one way or the other. We got the

wrong guy, Stan. We have to talk to the daughter again and find out if she has a boyfriend.'

'No.'

'What?'

'We're not bothering that kid again.' Kovich shoved the report at him, and Brinkley knew he was in trouble.

'Why not?'

'Because she's a kid, Mick.'

'So what? We question lots of kids. This kid's not from the projects, so we don't question her?'

'Don't go there, Mick. You know me too well for that.' Kovich raised his voice a notch. The girl lost her mother and now her father. You wanna find out if she has a boyfriend, find another way.'

Brinkley thought about it. 'Okay, let's go. Turn around.'

Kovich leaned over and released the emergency brake. 'Fine,' he said, and Brinkley heard the winter wind in Kovich's voice.

It was never fine when Kovich said it was fine.

Brinkley scanned the lobby of Colonial Towers. Black marble, cushy tan chairs, and a classy security desk with a young white kid sitting behind it. His hat had slid back on his forehead and his neck sprouted like a stem out of his collar. Brinkley introduced himself and Kovich to the kid, who sat up straight when he saw the badges. 'Homicide detectives? Sure, sure. How can I help you?'

'I wanna ask you a few questions about one of your tenants here. Paige Newlin.' The guard's face changed immediately from fear to familiarity.

'You know who I mean.'

'Sure, the model.' The guard frowned. 'I read her dad killed her mom. That's heinous.'

Brinkley didn't comment. 'We're investigating that murder, and I need background information about her comings and goings.'

'She comes and goes, nothing regular, for her job. But

you notice her, you know.' The guard smiled shyly. 'She's totally hot.'

'You ever see her with guys? You know, like boyfriends.'

'Uhm, yes. She sees some guy, a prep, since she moved here.' Bingo. 'She's dating him?'

'Looks that way.'

'He stay over?'

'I'm the night shift, not the morning. But I think so.'

'What's he look like?'

'We call him Abercrombie Boy. He's like, right out of the catalog, you know.'

Brinkley had no idea. 'No, I don't.'

Tall, a jock. Good-looking. A rich boy.'

'He got an earring?'

'I don't know. Mostly I look at her.'

'You got a sign-in log?'

'Yeah, sure.' The guard went behind the desk, pulled out a large black notebook, and opened it up.

Turn back to the page for Monday,' Brinkley asked, and the kid found the page and turned the book toward the detectives. It was a standard ledges, with signatures in a list and the time they signed in. Brinkley ran his finger down the page, stopped at the name of Paige Newlin, then jumped to the signature next to hers. Trent Reznor. Trent Reznor, that's his name,' Brinkley said, satisfied.

'Huh? That can't be his name.' The guard came around and peered at the logbook. Trent Reznor's with Nine Inch Nails.'

'What?' Brinkley read over the guard's shoulder, then thumbed back in time and checked every name written next to Paige Newlin's. 'Ben Folds, Thurston Moore, Gavin Rosdale,' he read aloud, and the guard took off his hat.

'Wait a minute. Ben Folds is with Ben Folds Five, Thurston Moore is with Sonic Youth. They're all bands. None of those are real names.'

Brinkley went further backward in time, reading the log

entries. 'Dave Matthews, Eddie Vedder. Also rock stars, aren't they?'

'Yeah, older ones.'

Brinkley tore through the book, checking each time he saw Paige Newlin's name on a line. The entries went back to December of last year and each name next to hers was different, as was each line of handwriting. Some slanted forward and some back, but he never wrote in the same hand twice. Shit! 'Don't you read what these people write down?' Brinkley demanded.