Point Blank

professional life. She was immensely grateful to Dillon for bringing her into the Criminal Apprehension Unit eighteen months earlier. He was an intuitive, natural leader, tough as a rock, honorable to the core. Sherlock was funny and insightful, sharp and focused, and you could count on her no matter what. She had only one speed—full steam ahead. Ruth had never seen them like this before.
    Then the light dawned. She said slowly, “I don’t believe this, you guys have had a major argument, haven
    ’t you. Even if I told everyone in the unit, they’d demand I take a lie detector test, which no one would believe because they know I can cheat lie detectors in my sleep.” She looked at the ceiling. “I’m ready to pass over, Lord, since I’ve now seen it all.” She wagged a finger at Sherlock. “What did you do, Sherlock, drive the sacred Porsche?”
    “Very funny, Ruth,” Sherlock said. “You know, every time I’ve driven that car I’ve gotten a speeding ticket.”
    “Nothing’s wrong,” Savich said, his voice too loud. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got some serious stuff to talk about.”
    Sherlock nodded. “Here’s the deal. We have to take off early tomorrow for Quantico because—”
    “Before we go there,” Savich interrupted her, “we need to tell you what MAX found out about Moses Grace and Claudia. Her last name is Smollett, emphasis on the last syllable.”
    Ruth sat forward, serious as could be now. “That’s an English name, isn’t it?”
    Savich nodded. “Of all things, her mom was English. Her name was Pauline Smollett. She came to the United States when she was twenty-two. She was a high-school math teacher in Cleveland, and never married, at least in this country. From the police reports, she had a pretty colorful personal life, but she managed to keep it separate from her job. She raised a child, Claudia, out of wedlock by herself.”
    “What happened to her?” Ruth asked.
    “She was raped and murdered by a gang.”
    Dix leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Police reports? How did you find the connection, Savich?”
    “When I called, I told you we had more work to do,” Savich said matter-of-factly, then added, his voice dropping ten degrees, “and that meant following up some information Claudia gave Sherlock.”
    Dix said, “Don’t you mean—You actually spoke to Claudia, Sherlock?”
    Sherlock’s chin went right up, a fire burned in her eyes. “Yes, for quite a while. She called on Dillon’s cell while he was in the shower.” She looked at her husband, eyes narrowed, as if daring him to comment.
    “She did indeed,” Savich said smoothly. “After her mother’s death, Claudia ran away from home. We had enough details for MAX to pull up a half dozen open cases with a similar profile, and that’s how we found Pauline Smollett. It all fit.
    “Claudia has a juvenile record of her own, and we matched her ID photo with the picture of Annie Bender her mother Elsa gave us. Claudia looks just like her.”
    Sherlock continued. “Claudia Smollett was nine years old when she started shoplifting cigarettes and booze from the local 24/7. She got thrown out of school twice, once when she burned a boy with a cigarette, and again when she broke another kid’s arm. Then there was the usual juvenile rage, throwing a textbook at a teacher, cursing out another, threatening her mother. She was a wild kid who probably wouldn’t have made it even if her mother had lived.
    “She ran into Moses Grace moments after he murdered a homeless man. They got drunk on bourbon in a motel, and the rest is history. Claudia said the word ‘bourbon’ with a Southern accent, and it seemed to me she ran into him somewhere in the South.” She paused. “And Claudia isn’t eighteen. She turned sixteen three weeks ago.”
    Dix pushed his fingers through his hair. “She’s about Rob’s age.”
    Savich, fiddling with one of the sofa pillows, nodded. “She’s a child, a crazy, unrestrained child. It turns out my wife was right about the murdered homeless man. We found a report of a man beaten to death in an alley about eight months ago in Birmingham, Alabama. The police never found the assailant, but another homeless man said he saw an old buzzard in bloodied army fatigues, so my bucks are on Moses.
    ”
    “Claudia told me Moses wears army fatigues and old black army boots, so it fits,” Sherlock said. “We notified the Birmingham police, gave them what we’ve got.