or Mona? Neither of whom I give a crap about. There is no law against the police investigating crimes. And if we get lucky and nail the bastards, you get your record expunged and also receive an official apology and reinstatement to the force.”
“An apology from who, Mona?”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“Okay, we were talking options?”
“You can’t do anything that would require a security clearance, which in this town cuts out a lot of possibilities, and the overall job market sucks right now.”
“If you’re trying to pep up my spirits, please stop before I stab myself in the heart with a fork since I can no longer own a gun to use to kill myself.”
“You wanted options. I’m giving them to you.”
“I haven’t heard an option. All I’ve heard is what I can’t do.”
Beth slid a paper across to her. “Well, here’s maybe something you can do.”
Mace looked down at what was written on the sheet.
“Dr. Abraham Altman? I remember him.”
“And he remembers you. Not many college professors run afoul of one of the worst drug crews in Ward Nine.”
“That’s right. Nice guy, just doing some research into urban issues. The HF-12 crew didn’t see it that way and came over to G-town to give him grief.”
“And you stepped in and saved his ass.”
“You’ve kept up with him?”
“I was a guest lecturer in criminal justice over at Georgetown when you were in West Virginia. He and I reconnected.”
“So what does that mean for me?”
“He’s looking for a research assistant.”
Mace gaped at her sister. “Beth, I didn’t even finish college. My ‘graduate work’ was sixteen weeks at the police academy, so I’m not exactly the poster girl for research assistants.”
“He’s doing urban research, specifically into impoverished and crime-ridden areas of D.C. I don’t think there’s anyone out there more qualified to help on that issue than you. And Altman’s got a big federal research grant and can pay you well. He’ll be home tonight. Around seven, if you can make it.”
“So you arranged all this?”
“All I really did was make a suggestion to Altman. He was already your second biggest fan.”
It took a moment for Mace to interpret this remark. “Meaning you’re my biggest?”
Beth rose. “I’ve got to run. I’ve got testimony on the—”
Her cell phone buzzed. She answered, listened, and clicked off. “Change of plan.”
“What is it?”
“Just got word that some big-shot lady lawyer dropped out of a fridge at her law firm. Board’s been called,” she added, referring to the ambulance. “Bandit apparently long gone.”
Mace looked at her sister expectantly.
“What?” Beth asked.
“I don’t have anything to do.”
“So relax, go sleep on a real bed. There’s some Rocky Road in the freezer. Go put some weight on those bones.”
“I’m not tired. And I’m not hungry. For food, anyway.”
“What, you want to go to the crime scene?”
“Thanks, Beth. I’ll follow you on the bike.”
“Hold on, I didn’t say you could go.”
“I just assumed.”
“Never assume, Mace. If Dad taught us one thing, it’s that.”
“I won’t get in the way. I swear. I… I just… miss it, Beth.”
“Mace, I’m sorry. I don’t think it would be a good idea—” Mace cut her off. “Fine, forget it. You’re right. I’ll just go eat some Rocky Road and take a nap. And try not to die from excitement.”
She started to walk off, her head down, her shoulders slumped.
“All right, you can come,” Beth said grudgingly. “But keep your mouth shut. You’re invisible. Okay?”
Mace didn’t answer; she was sprinting to her bike.
“And stop whining,” Beth called after her.
CHAPTER 9
ROY KINGMAN had hit thirty-one shots in a row on his behind-the-door basketball hoop. The police had swarmed the place minutes after he’d phoned 911. It still didn’t seem possible that he’d gone to make coffee, opened the fridge, and caught Diane Tolliver’s dead body before it hit the floor. He’d been asked lots of questions by lots of people, some in uniform and some not. As the other lawyers had arrived at work, word had quickly spread as to what had happened. Several partners and a few associates had stopped by to see him, offering supportive words and also expressions of sympathy, puzzlement, and fear. One fellow lawyer had even seemed a bit suspicious of him.
The cops wouldn’t tell him anything. He didn’t know how long Diane had been dead. He didn’t even know what had killed the woman. There was no blood or wounds that he could see. Although he’d defended accused murderers when he’d been a CJA and had seen his share of autopsy photos, he