I knew what she meant even if the black woman didn't. Baby-rapers have a way of smirking when the jury refuses to believe their victims-as if the jury said it was okay, what they did. A good prosecutor looks them in the eye, memorizing their faces.
"What did you do when the foreman read the verdict?" Wolfe asked the question another way.
"I went over to the defendant-I told him I'd see him again," the black woman said.
"You stood up," Wolfe told her. "Round one, remember?"
"I remember," the black woman said. "He'll be back. And I'll be ready for him."
Wolfe smiled-I could feel the heat coming off the black woman standing behind me. She knew what the smile meant.
"Want to take tomorrow off?" Wolfe asked.
"I'll take a day off when Jefferson goes down," the black woman snapped.
"We all will," Wolfe said. It was a dismissal.
I lit another cigarette. Wolfe hadn't hung around just for a meeting with me. Time to get to it.
"I'm playing it straight down the line on this. Did Lily talk to you?"
"Lily did. McGowan called me too."
"And?"
"And I still don't know what you want, Mr. Burke."
"I want…" I started to say. A guy about five and a half feet tall and four feet wide walked in, stepping between me and Wolfe. His hair was cropped close to his scalp-he had a round face but cop's eyes. He was wearing a black knit shirt over some gray slacks. The shirt didn't have an alligator on the front, but it did feature a shoulder holster. The.38 was only a small dot on his broad chest. He looked like a retired wrestler or a bouncer in a waterfront bar.
"How's it going?" he asked Wolfe, never taking his eyes from me.
" Jefferson was acquitted," she said.
" Jefferson is a miserable fucking piece of slime," the big guy said, chewing on each word like it was raw meat.
Wolfe smiled at him. "This isn't Jefferson 's lawyer," she said.
The big guy shrugged. It was like watching an earthquake. "You want the mutt?" he asked.
"Sure, bring him over," Wolfe told him.
The big guy walked out, light on his feet. Maybe he'd been a boxer instead of a wrestler.
Wolfe lit another smoke for herself and held up her hand, telling me to wait.
The big guy was back in a minute, holding Wolfe's Rottweiler on a short leather leash.
"Hi, Bruise!" Wolfe said. The beast walked right past me, put his paws on the desk, and tried to lick her face. She slapped him away good-naturedly. "Bruiser, go to place!" she said.
The big guy unsnapped the leash. The Rottweiler walked to a corner of the room and flopped down on the carpet. He watched me like a junkie watching a mailbox on welfare-check day.
"I'll be around," the big guy said. I got the message-as if the Rottweiler wasn't enough.
"I'm listening," Wolfe said.
"I'm looking for a picture. Of a kid. A picture of a kid having sex with a man. I talked to a lot of people, went a lot of places. I think I know where the picture is. I think you know the people who have the picture. All I want is for you to give me a name and address."
"You said you had something for me?" she asked. One look at Wolfe and you knew she wasn't talking about money-even in Queens County.
I tossed the little leather address book I took from the pimp on her desk. She didn't make a move to touch it.
"It's from a guy who sells little boys. In Times Square. First names. Initials. Phone numbers. And some kind of code."
"How did you come by this?"
"I was taking up a collection-he donated it."
Wolfe took a drag of her cigarette, put it in the overflowing ashtray, picked up the book. She turned the pages slowly, nodding to herself.
"Did he get hurt making this donation?"
"Not badly," I told her. "If you want to ask him yourself, his name's Rodney. He works out of that fast-food chicken joint on Forty-sixth off Eighth."
Wolfe nodded. "And you want to trade this book for the information?"
I took a gamble. "It's yours," I told her. "No matter what you decide."
"You have a copy?"
"No," I lied.
Wolfe tapped her nails on the desk. It wasn't a nervous gesture-something she did when she was thinking. A phone rang someplace down the hall. It rang twice, then stopped.
A tiny little woman burst into the office, her face flushed, waving a bunch of papers in her hand. "We got the printout!" she yelled, the words sticking in her throat when she saw Wolfe had a visitor. The Rottweiler snarled at the intrusion. The woman had her hair all piled on top of her head; a giant diamond sparkled on her finger. She put her hands on her hips. "Bruiser, please!" she said.
The big dog subsided. Wolfe laughed. "I'll look at it later, okay?"
"Okay!" the other woman shouted, running out of the office as if she was going to a fire sale.
"Are all your people so worked up?" I asked her.
"We don't have draftees in this unit," she said, her eyes watching me closely.
"Not even the dog?"
"Not even him." She fingered her string of pearls. "What do you need?"
"I know the woman I'm looking for is named Bonnie. I know she lives on Cheshire Drive in Little Neck. Maybe with a fat guy.
"That's it?"
"That's it. She's running a kiddie-porn ring-I figure you have your eye on her."
Wolfe said nothing, waiting for me.
"And if you don't," I told her, "then I just gave you some more information, right?"
Wolfe took a breath. "What is it you really want, Mr. Burke? You obviously already know how to find this person.
I lit a cigarette for myself-it was time to tell her.
"I have to go in there-I have to get that picture. If I can buy it, I will."
"And if you can't…?"
I shrugged.
Wolfe reached behind her and pulled a bunch of papers onto her desk. Some of the sheets were long and yellow-I knew what they were.
"Mr. Burke, Lily did call me, as I said. But I did a little checking on my own before I agreed to this meeting."
"So?"
"So you are not exactly unknown to law enforcement, are you?" She ran her finger down one of the yellow sheets, reading aloud, lifting her eyes to my face every once in a while. "Armed robbery, assault one, armed robbery and assault. Attempted murder, two counts. Possession of illegal weaponsShould I go on?"
"If you want to," I told her. "I was a lot younger then."
Wolfe smiled. "You're rehabilitated?"
"I'm a coward," I told her.
"We have twenty-seven arrests, two felony convictions, three placements in juvenile facilities, one youthful-offender adjudication."
"Sounds about right to me," I told her.
"How did you beat the attempted-murder case? It says you were acquitted at trial."
"It was a gunfight," I told her. "The cops arrested the winner. The other guys testified it was somebody else who shot them."
"I see."
"Anything on that sheet tell you I don't keep my word?" I asked her.
Wolfe smiled again. "Rap sheets don't tell you much, Mr. Burke. Take this one-it doesn't even give your first name."
"Sure it does," I told her.
"Mr. Burke, this shows a different first name for every single time you were arrested. Maxwell Burke, John Burke, Samuel Burke, Leonard Burke, Juan Burke…" She stopped, smiling again. "Juan?"
"Dónde está el dinero?" I said.
This time she laughed. It was a sweet chuckle, the kind only a grown woman can do. It made my heart hurt for Flood.
"Do you have a true first name, Mr. Burke?"
"No."
Wolfe's smile was ironic. "What does it say on your birth certificate?"
"Baby Boy Burke," I told her, my voice flat.
"Oh," Wolfe said. She'd seen enough birth certificates to know I'd never have to worry about buying a present on Mother's Day. I shrugged again, showing her it didn't mean anything to me. Now.