Lousiana Hotshot

prob’ly.”
    There it was. The three adults looked at each other. Eddie said quietly, “Where does Pammie go to school?”
    The girl raised her head, and her face, though tear-streaked, was profoundly relieved. “She go to Ben Franklin.”
    “And she’s the one who called Toes.”
    “He a friend of Pammie sister. Rhonda.”
    “Rhonda was there too?”
    “No. Rhonda wasn’t there.”
    Mrs. Terrell cut in curtly. “Pammie who, Shaneel?”
    But the girl merely sat there, tears welling and overflowing. She’d tell, Talba thought, she’d certainly tell. She just had to believe she hadn’t
really
told.
    “How do you girls know each other?” she asked.
    “Choir. We all in choir— and all our mamas work. We all we got. We go to a different person’s house every day after school. If Cassandra and Pammie cut me off, I ain’ got nobody.”
    Eddie patted her. “Where’s that choir you sing in?”
    Shaneel was silent, but Mrs. Terrell said, “Gethsemane Baptist Church. That’s right, isn’t it, Shaneel?”
    The girl nodded.
    Mrs. Terrell got up. “I’ll call the church. Shaneel, you can go back to class.”
    Eddie said, “Baby, ya did just fine. Nobody’s gonna be mad at ya.” To Talba’s surprise, he got a smile out of her.
    The Pammie in the choir was Pamela Bergeron.
    ***
    Once in the car, Talba called Ben Franklin and was told Pamela wasn’t in school right then. Something seemed funny about that, she thought. Why not? “She’s not in school
today
?”
    She asked for the girl’s address.
    “I’m sorry,” the receptionist purred. “We don’t usually give out addresses.”
    “It’s really very important— it
is
a police case and…”
    To her surprise, she didn’t even get to finish her sentence. “Of course. We’re all terribly sorry about what happened. But it is our policy not to give out addresses over the phone.”
    Talba had no idea what was going on, but she wasn’t above exploiting it. “Ma’am, we’re really wasting time. Isn’t there some way…”
    The woman’s voice softened. “Well, under the circumstances, I think there might be. Her dad owns that little card store over at The Rink— why don’t you check with them?”
    “Thanks.” To Eddie, she said, “Got a phone book?”
    “Backseat.”
    In five minutes, she had lied her way into the address and given it to Eddie, unable to keep the triumph off her face. “How’m I doing?”
    “Ya doin’ okay.”
    “That’s all you can say?”
    “Ya got a lot of mouth on ya.”
    Oh, well ,
she thought.
I should have known better.
    He wasn’t done. “Ya know it’s a crime to impersonate a police officer?”
    “I didn’t impersonate anyone. I just mentioned it was a police case.”
    “Which it isn’t. Watch ya mouth, missy. Just watch ya mouth.”
    An odd thing, though. When they arrived at the girl’s house, a police car was parked in front. Other cars were there as well, and people milling.
    “Something’s going on here,” she said, but Eddie ignored her.
    He hollered at a cop who was walking back to the district car. “Billeee.”
    The cop smiled. He was white and middle-aged. “Eddie Valentino. How you been doin’?”
    “We’re just here on a routine case. What’s goin’ on?”
    The cop shook his head, and Talba thought she saw real sadness in his face. She wouldn’t have expected it. “Oh, man. This is a heartbreaker. Hit-and-run. Young girl killed— just like that.” He snapped his fingers, perhaps, Talba thought, thinking how easy it would be to lose his own kid.
    Eddie’s face went gray. “Jesus God. Rhonda or Pamela?”
    “Rhonda. Ya know her? Ya know the Bergeron girls? Damn shame, Eddie. It’s a damn shame.”
    * * *
    They rode back to the office in silence, Talba trying all the way to get Eddie in a conversation, Eddie not, as he mentioned to her, in the fuckin’ mood. The minute he said it he was sorry, too. He hated the word. He thought it showed a great lack of imagination, not to mention class, and yet, at the moment he was so completely not in the fuckin’ mood it popped out of his mouth.
    He rubbed his head, then realized he was doing it. Damn! One of his headaches.
No way,
he thought.
I can’t get a headache now. Can’t. The damn computer causes them, and now I have a computer jockey. No reason in hell I should get a headache.
    He willed it away.
    This thing had him all messed up. It involved a whole lot more women than he was used to dealing with in the course of a