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She nodded, still scrubbing her hands beneath an invisible tap “I heard her talking to this man outside He came by to visit in the afternoon Soreen car”

Little D, I thought “When was that? Do you kno long he stayed?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you I just re It was ’round four She walked him to his car”

“You’re sure it was four?”

“Yeah I re off”

“Did you see Shanae at all after that?”

“Not alive I was the one whofound her” Her lips pursed and her eyes et “God rest her soul,” she said, her voice cracking “Poor wo” She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand “I know they didn’t always get along, but Tina was a shy, quiet child They had words, that’s all”

I thought about Shanae’s history of angeralcohol fueled her mother’s abusive behavior It reminded me of the interviews you see on the news, after a hbors say “He was so quiet So nice”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I knocked on a fewI considered what Duvall had said about the barriers to finding inforiven me Little D’s number I could probably afford to use hireed to pay me a healthy retainer plus expenses to defend his niece Even so, I wasn’t going to fork over e on my own—at least, not yet And, bad as this area was, how much worse could it be than Bed-Stuy in the ’70s?

Rochelle Watson lived on the other side of Iverson Mall, in a cross-hatched network of streets near Marlow Heights Park Another inside-the-Beltway enclave of old brick houses with big trees The area wasn’t hborhoods in other parts of the county Apart frohway, the prevalence of rust-bucket cars and the worn-around-the-edges look of some residences, you’d never know you were in the ’hood

As Iof eyes focused on me Eyes behindshades and curtains Two elderly women in porch rockers had stared as my car cruised by I peered down the street, to see if they were still watching one inside to talk aboutridiculous

The woman who answered my knock looked like she’d just rolled out of bed And it was almost three o’clock She could have worked—or possibly, played—nights She had short, blunt-cut, black hair around a thin face with a sallow co that she was Tanya Watson, Rochelle’s mother, I introduced myself and asked for Rochelle She took my card and blinked at it

“Rochelle ain’t here,” she said, sounding listless

“Tina Jackson says she was here with your daughter the night Shanae died Can you verify that?”