Edge

bye.” Lugging her pillow, backpack and bear purse, Amanda ran to Carter’s SUV.
    Again the former cop hugged Joanne and then gripped Ryan’s hand with both of his. “I’ll take really good care of her. Don’t worry. God bless.”
    Then he was gone.
    Ryan returned to the den and came out with his briefcase and another backpack. It was heavy and I assumed it contained ammunition and possibly another weapon.
    Freddy called his men outside on the radio. We heard one of them respond, “Carter’s gone. Nobody following. The girl wasn’t visible.”
    Then I heard footsteps on the stairs, and a woman, quite attractive, appeared in the kitchen doorway. She was blinking, as if she’d just awakened, though she was dressed in a nice outfit and her face was made up. She bore a faint resemblance to Joanne and was six, eight years younger. She was taller but willowy, not as solid.
    “This is Maree,” Joanne said.
    “Well, lookit this,” she said. It seemed that she hadn’t quite believed what her sister had been telling her. Sure enough: “I thought you were kidding,Jo. I mean,” looking at Freddy and Garcia, “didn’t I see you in The Sopranos ?” She poured some orange juice and added an herbal powdered concoction to it. She drank it down and made a face.
    The agents regarded her blankly.
    Maree had longer and straighter hair than her sister’s and it was mostly but not completely, or authentically, blond. She wore a full suede skirt and a gossamer floral blouse of yellow and green. Silver jewelry. No wedding ring. I always look, not for availability, of course, but because marital status gives me information about a lifter’s options in getting an edge on the principal.
    A fancy camera dangled over her shoulder, and I could see in the foyer her luggage. She had a large wheelie, a heavy backpack and a laptop case, as if she were going away for two weeks. Maree picked up a stack of mail on a table near the kitchen door. The pieces had been sent to her but the printed address—in the North West quadrant of the District—had been crossed out and the Kesslers’ penned in, forwarded here. Maybe she’d lost her job and been forced to move in with her sister and brother-in-law.
    As she flipped through the mail, I noted the woman give a slight wince; she moved her left arm more gingerly than her right. I thought I saw a bandage near the elbow, beneath the thin cloth. She took a jacket from a coat rack, tugged it on and turned to her sister. “This looks like it’s shaping up to be a great party but I’m out of here. I’m going to stay in the District tonight.”
    “What?” Joanne asked. “You’re coming with us.”
    “I don’t see a lot of fun in that option. I’m choosing door number three.”
    “Mar, please . . . You’ve got to come. Where would you go?”
    “I called Andrew. I’m going to stay with him.”
    “Called him?” I was concerned she had another mobile. “From the house phone?”
    “Yeah.”
    This didn’t trouble me; while monitoring and tracing mobiles was a piece of cake, tapping into a landline was very difficult, and even if an associate of Loving had done so, Maree couldn’t have given away anything crucial to the job.
    She was looking around. “I couldn’t find my cell. You know where it is?”
    “I’ve got it.” I explained about the risks of tracing.
    “Well, I need it.”
    She wasn’t happy when I told her that she was incommunicado. I didn’t have any more cold phones to hand out.
    “Well . . . I’m still going downtown.”
    Joanne said, “No, you don’t want to do that.”
    “I—”
    I said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay with your sister and brother-in-law. And I want to leave now. We’ve waited too long as it is. I mean, right now.”
    Maree waved a hand whose fingernails ended in glittery white crescents, French tipped, I thought they were called, though I could have been wrong. She said to me, nodding at her sister, “I don’t want to stay with her. My God, she’s no fun.” Then laughed. “I’m kidding. . . . But really, I’ll be fine.”
    “No,” I said firmly. “You’re coming with us and—”
    “You guys go on. Let me borrow the Honda, you don’t mind.” She looked at me. “My car’s in theshop. Do you know what they want for a new fuel pump? . . . Hey, what’re you doing?”
    Garcia was taking the luggage out to the Armada. He returned to the kitchen and nodded at me, meaning the yard was clear.
    To