The Killing Room

FORTY-FOUR

Jessica knew she would be pulling a double tour, and since she didn’t have time for even a power nap, she decided the next best thing was a workout.

By the time she gloved up she had put in thirty hard minutes on the treadmill and weights. She would be doing two rounds of sparring with her pal Valentine Rhames, who had consented to come in after her classes at Temple. Or kindergarten. Or whatever the hell it was she did during the day. As Jessica stepped into the ring she noticed that the skin of the young woman across from her was bone dry.

Oh, the arrogance of youth, Jessica thought.

The thought of youth brought Jessica’s mind to Cecilia Rollins, and everything that the little girl would never know. She would never know her first kiss. She would never know her first heartbreak.

The fact that Roland Hannah would be walking out of Graterford any minute — granted, in the custody of a county detective — made Jessica even angrier.

The sound of the bell brought her back. Jessica moved to center ring, dropped her left shoulder. The feint drew the kid in, seeing the opportunity to launch a lead right hand. Jessica was perfectly positioned. She shifted her weight and threw a monstrous left hook. When she made contact she knew. It was like when baseball players hit the ball on the sweet spot. They don’t even have to watch it go sailing over the fence. They knew.

Valentine Rhames dropped to the canvas.

Down. And. Out.

‘Jesus Christ, Jess,’ Joe Hand said, stepping into the ring. ‘It’s supposed to be a workout.’

Jessica walked to a neutral corner. A minute later Valentine’s trainer had the girl seated on the stool, headgear off. Valentine was sweating, puffing hard, but fine.

Jessica bounced across the ring, looked into the young woman’s dazed eyes, bumped gloves and said, ‘Thanks for the workout, ma’am.’

Philadelphia, Jessica thought as she pulled off the gloves and headed for the shower, don’t fuck with me tonight.

She stood at the counter at Starbucks, fixing her coffee, her mind a deadfall of thoughts about the case. It was one of the reasons she did not see the person who came up next to her. This was not good. She was distracted.

‘All the best-looking women read the Daily News.’

She turned to the voice. It was a young man, twenties, well dressed, nice looking. He was pointing at Jessica’s folded copy of the News on the counter.

‘Oh, I don’t read it,’ Jessica said. ‘I just use it to sneak my handguns onto the bus. Easier than using the Inquirer.’

The young man laughed. He put his coffee down, took off the lid, added two sugars. ‘I have a little bit of a problem. Would it be terribly rude of me to ask your advice on something?’

‘Not terribly,’ Jessica said. ‘Only somewhat.’

Another smile. ‘Okay. Well. It’s my daughter’s birthday today. I have to get her something, and I’m totally clueless.’ He took out his wallet, removed a picture. It was a photograph of a girl of about eight standing in front of Sacred Heart of Jesus school.

‘She goes to Sacred Heart?’ Jessica asked.

‘Yes. It’s the school over on — ’

‘Moyamensing. I know where it is.’

The young man looked at the photograph for a few more moments, put it away. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to get her something. Any idea what she might like? Since the divorce she’s been living with her mother and I’m a bit out of the loop.’

Jessica glanced at her watch. ‘You know, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got about ten minutes to get to Eighth and Race.’

‘I could give you a ride, if you like.’

Jessica turned to face him fully. ‘Could you now?’

He smiled, pointed to a car parked at a meter a few doors down the street. ‘I’d be happy to. My car is right there. We could talk on the way.’

Jessica put the lid back on her coffee. ‘You know, I usually don’t ride with strange men, but I think I’ll take you up on that offer.’

‘I’m really not that strange,’ he said. ‘Promise.’

‘I just need to hit the ATM next door. I’ll be right back.’

‘I’ll be right here.’

Jessica hesitated. ‘Damn.’

‘What is it?’

‘I was going to get a scone, but I forgot.’ She fished around her jeans pocket. ‘Could you get one for me?’

The young man held up a hand. ‘I would be happy to. My treat.’

‘You’re a doll.’

Jessica grabbed her coffee and her copy of the Daily News. She walked out of the Starbucks, made a right turn, skirting pedestrian traffic. By the time she reached the ATM machine she had the knife in her hand.

FORTY-FIVE

Shane Adams stood on the sidewalk, hands on his hips. His right front tire was flat. Not low, flat. Even from a few feet away he could see the neat slice in the side.

On the way to examine the tire situation a little more closely he looked at the windshield. Underneath one of the wipers was what appeared to be a business card. Shane picked it up, looked at it. The front of the card read:

DETECTIVE JESSICA BALZANO

PHILADELPHIA POLICE DEPARTMENT, HOMICIDE DIVISION

He flipped the card over. There was a message written on the back in blue ink:

Shane: Your meter’s expired. I called PPA. Don’t worry, the ticket shouldn’t be more than $40. Enjoy the scone! P.S.: She might like a subscription to Muse.

Shane Adams looked both ways, up and down Walnut Street. Jessica Balzano was, of course, gone. He was just about to walk around his car to the trunk, and his spare, when he sensed a presence to his left. He spun around. There, standing at the back of his car, was a Philadelphia Parking Authority officer.

Jessica Balzano wasn’t kidding. In addition to the flat tire, he was getting a ticket.

Fucking bitch.