"There's no database in the world with that information. You have no way of knowing who I represent," she said, curious to see if he would contradict her.
"Whom," Sal said, looking up for the first time. He was a handsome young man, or would have been if he smiled. He had deep-set eyes and strong features, made more prominent by his short, short hair, shaved down until it was little more than peach fuzz on his scalp. "Whom you represent."
"Look, someone wants to help you pay for your college education, or take a trip to Europe, if that's what you want. What's the downside to that? Why does it matter who your benefactor is?"
Tess had spoken directly to Sal, but he had turned back to his book, indifferent to the appeal. Apparently, only the rules of grammar and his nickname preference warranted his attention.
"Sal is a straight-A student, with SAT scores above 1300. Almost any college in the country will offer him a full scholarship," Pearson said. "He doesn't need anyone's money. In particular, he does not need anyone's blood money."
"Funny, I thought one of your big issues was restitution to victims. Here's someone trying to make restitution, and you want no part of it."
"Luther Beale may have killed one child, but he came close to destroying every child who saw what he did on Butchers Hill that night. I don't want him anywhere near Sal. I don't care how much remorse he claims to feel. The tiger doesn't change his stripes."
"The leopard doesn't change his spots," Sal amended.
"Don't interrupt, Sal," Pearson said.
"Says so right here," Sal said. "That story is in this book I'm reading right now, man." He turned another page, and Tess glimpsed a vivid color plate, a crocodile's jaws clamped on an elephant's nose. Kipling's Just-So Stories, how the elephant got his trunk. Not a bad cautionary tale for Tess, with her own insatiable curiosity. But why was a high school junior at an elite school flipping through such a childish book?
"Is Sal so well fixed that there's nothing he needs? Even with scholarships, I would think he could use help with college. Perhaps he needs a car, or a new computer. My client would be glad to help him with that."
At the mention of a car, Sal looked a little pleadingly at Pearson, as if to say, What's the harm. Pearson shook his head.
"Easy for you," Sal muttered. "You have a Porsche."
"Penfield is on private property. Sal will be staying here this summer, taking extra credits in math and science to help him catch up. As a courtesy, I'm going to ask that you not return here, and that you never attempt to contact Sal again. If you don't honor my request, I can make it official and obtain a restraining order."
"A restraining order? What do you think I'm going to do? Sit on him and stuff dollar bills in his pocket?"
"Sal is my ward, I am responsible for him. You're not the first disreputable person who has tried to dredge up his past. When Beale was released from prison two months ago, we actually received calls from some tabloid television show, which wanted to stage a ‘reunion.' Disgusting. They offered us money, too. Well, I'm determined that Sal's life will not be lived under the shadow of what happened five years ago."
Tess looked at the well-furnished library, at Sal Hawkings in his navy blazer, khakis, and blue Oxford cloth shirt. She thought of Treasure, his face streaked with lemon pie, squatting in a vacant house. "Sal would seem to be the one kid from Butchers Hill who's done pretty damn well for himself. Why aren't Treasure and Destiny enrolled at Penfield? Or Eldon? How come Sal's the only one deserving of your solicitous care?"
"I'm here because I'm smart," Sal said, slapping his book shut. "The others were dumb motherfuckers, but I knew enough to want to get out, even if it meant going to a sorry-ass school like this. Now excuse me, but second period is about to begin. I don't have time for shit I don't get graded on."
He left the room, taking the Kipling with him.
"You see?" Pearson said. "Any mention of Luther Beale sets him off. Trauma like that never goes away. Now please leave and be prepared to be arrested if you come back."
As it often happened, Tess was in her car and well on her way to Annapolis before she realized what she should have said in reply. It wasn't Beale's name that upset Sal, or even Donnie Moore's. It was the mention of the other children, Treasure, Destiny, and Eldon.
The legislature was long out of session, but Annapolis was busy, swarming with tourists drawn by its over-the-top quaintness. Apparently, the Gap and Banana Republic became much more exotic when fronting on narrow, cobblestone streets. Tess pulled into the public garage off Main Street, although it always hurt her to pay for parking-hence, those two tickets-and walked up the hill to the Senate office building.
She had never covered the General Assembly as a reporter, but she knew the basic civics lesson of how a bill became law. Jeff from Adoption Rights had told her that the failed bill targeting operations such as Family Planning Alternatives was Senate Bill 319, offered by a senator from Carroll County, a once-rural area now considered part of the Baltimore metro area. Tess had found it odd someone from outside the city had sponsored the bill, especially an old pro-lifer like this senator. There must be a wounded constituent somewhere in the mix. If the committee files proved useless, she could always check with the senator's office and see what kind of material he had kept. But changing the law apparently hadn't been all that important to the senator. Over the past five years, he had never attempted to reintroduce the bill.
Tess walked into the empty Senate building and climbed the broad double staircase to the third floor. The secretary who handed Tess the file seemed almost grateful for any distraction.
"What are you trying to find, anyway?" she asked.
"Looking for some folks who testified on this bill, see if they can give me any leads on the adoption agency that inspired it all." Tess pulled out the sign-in sheet that was put out before each hearing. In order to testify, one had to sign in. The list for SB 319 had just five names: the senator himself, someone from the Department of Human Resources, the state agency that oversaw all adoptions, a couple, Mr. and Mrs. John Wilson of Baltimore, and a woman, Willa Mott. The senator and DHR had filed written versions of their testimony, but there was nothing in the file from the Wilsons or Willa Mott.
"Is this everything?" Tess asked.
"If that's all there is, that's all there is. You know, I've been in this office for ten years and I've got a good memory for most of the controversial stuff that comes through, but I don't remember this one at all. What's the big deal?"
"No big deal, but I'd like to find the people who testified. I just wish I knew what they said, or where they fit into the whole debate."
The secretary shrugged. "There's always the tapes."
"Tapes?"
"Senate records every committee hearing. If you know the date and the time-and it's right there, so you do-you can go over to Legislative Reference and listen on a pair of headsets, just like it was an old radio show. Only even more boring, if you know what I mean."
"Can I do that right now?"
"Sure. But I feel sorry for someone who can't think of something better to do on a nice June day than listen to one of our hearings. Whyn't you go down to the dock, have a meal at one of the seafood places? There's this one place that serves the best crab dip. And if you're on expense account, the Cafe Normandy does a real good rockfish."