Sacred Sins

Leery, their teenaged daughter. Robbery is thought to be the motive. We'll switch to Bob Burroughs on the scene for more details.”
    A husky, athletic-looking reporter appeared on the screen, holding a microphone and gesturing at the brick building behind him. Tess turned and saw Ben just outside the kitchen doorway. She knew immediately that he'd seen the inside of the building himself.

    “Oh, Ben, it must have been dreadful.”
    “They'd been dead ten, maybe twelve hours. The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen.” The memory of it had the acid burning in his stomach. “They'd carved her up like a piece of meat.”
    “I'm sorry.” She set everything aside and went to him. “Let's sit down.”
    “You get to a point,” he said, still watching the screen, “you get to a point where it's almost, almost routine. Then you walk into something like that apartment today. You walk in and your stomach turns over. You think, God, it's not real. It can't be real because people can't do that kind of thing to each other. But you know, deep down, you know they can.”
    “Sit down, Ben,” she murmured, easing them both onto the couch. “Do you want me to turn it off?”
    “No.” But he rested his head in his hands for a minute, then dragged them through his hair before he straightened. The on-the-scene reporter was talking to a weeping neighbor.
    “Paulette used to baby-sit my little boy. She was a sweet girl. I can't believe this. I just can't believe it.”
    “Those bastards'll go down,” Ben said half to himself. “There was a coin collection. A fucking coin collection worth eight hundred, maybe a thousand. Fenced, it might bring half that. They butchered those people for a bunch of old coins.”
    She glanced back at the lock, now firmly in her door, and understood why he'd brought it to her tonight. She drew him close, and in the way women have of offering comfort, rested his head against her breast.
    “They'll pawn the coins, then you'll trace them.”
    “We've got a couple other leads. We'll have them tomorrow, the day after at the latest. But those people, Tess … sweet Christ, as long as I've been in this, I still can't believe anything human could do that.”

    “I can't tell you not to think about it, but I can tell you I'm here for you.”
    Knowing it, knowing it was just that simple, dulled the horror of the day. She was there for him, and for tonight, for a few hours, he could make that all that mattered.
    “I need you.” He shifted, bringing her over into his lap so that he could nuzzle at her throat. “It scares the hell out of me.”
    “I know.”

Chapter 15

    “T ESS , I DON ' T know. I'm not at my best with senators.” Ben sent Lowenstein a snarl as she grinned over at him, then turned his back, cradling the phone between shoulder and jaw.
    “He's my grandfather, Ben, and really rather sweet.”
    “I've never heard anyone call Senator Jonathan Writemore a sweetheart.”
    Pilomento called him from across the room, so Ben nodded and gestured with a finger to hold him off.
    “That's because I'm not doing his P.R. In any case, it's Thanksgiving, and I don't want to disappoint him. And you did tell me your parents live in Florida.”
    “They're over sixty-five. Parents are supposed to move to Florida when they hit sixty-five.”
    “So you don't have any family to have Thanksgiving dinner with. I'm sure Grandpa would like to meet you.”
    “Yeah.” He tugged at the neck of his sweater. “Look, I've always had this policy about going to meet family.”
    “Which is?”
    “I don't do it.”
    “Oh? Why is that?”

    “Questions,” he muttered under his breath. “When I was younger my mother always wanted me to bring the girl I was seeing home. Then my mother and the girl would get ideas.”
    “I see.” He could hear the smile in her voice.
    “Anyway, I made a policy—I don't take women to see my mother, and I don't go to see theirs. That way nobody gets the idea to start picking out silver patterns.”
    “I'm sure you have a point. I can promise that neither my grandfather nor I will discuss silver patterns if you join us for dinner. Miss Bette makes a terrific pumpkin pie.”
    “Fresh?”
    “Absolutely.” A smart woman knew when to back off. “You've got some time to think about it. I wouldn't have bothered you with it now, but with everything that's been going on, I'd forgotten the whole thing myself until Grandpa called a few minutes ago.”
    “Yeah, I'll give