Fall Guy by Carol Lea Benjamin Page A

had. There was some of everything, but none of the bottles had much in them and some were drained and wrung out, not a drop left to drink, but put back anyway. Which one of them had been that thirsty? Or was this something they did together? I thought about all the empties that had been in the kitchen when Brody first brought me in here, the bottles he himself had bagged and thrown away. Mostly beer, but some booze as well. That mess was most likely left over from Parker’s last party. But that didn’t tell me whether or not Tim and Parker had enabled each other, talking about AA between drinks.
    I thought about where the bullet had destroyed the tiles, the place too high on the wall for the shooter to have been seated, the place that had been repaired. Perhaps all the empties were O’Fallon’s doing; maybe drinking with or without company was something he did in an attempt to numb his feelings, to wash away his sadness,finding that, over time, the drinking only made things worse or that it took more and more of it to do the job.
    I needed some fresh air, even if the fresh air was bound to be as thick as soup. I took Dashiell around a couple of blocks, stopping to pick up an iced tea at Florent, heading back to O’Fallon’s thinking I’d get more of the cleanup done before I called it quits. But when we got back and opened the doors, when I found myself in that depressing hallway, I kept going straight. No harm sitting in the garden while I sipped my cold drink. No harm postponing the kind of job no one liked to do.
    As I passed the first door on the other side of the hall, I heard a baby crying. I headed for the garden, finding the door unlocked even with no one there. I sat at the round table and watched Dashiell explore the garden, seeing with his nose in a way I couldn’t even imagine. I wondered often if he saw the scents in color or if he pictured waves of gray, wishing that, for just a moment, I could live in his skin and know the world as a dog.
    The door we’d just come out of opened and there was the squalling baby in the arms of her nanny, a Caucasian child, a nut-brown caretaker, cooing to the unhappy little girl as she walked outside.
    â€œShe’s teething,” she said, rocking the baby in her arms, a short, squat woman with a round, flat face and black hair that caught the light. The baby, who was blond and fair-skinned and looked as if the world were about to end, had her fist in her mouth.
    â€œI’m taking care of Detective O’Fallon’s affairs,” I volunteered, apropos of nothing, I suspected. This woman did not seem the least bit concerned about who I was or why I was there.
    â€œI know,” she said. Then, “Shh, Emma, it’ll be okay.”
    â€œJin Mei mentioned me?”
    She nodded, looking suspiciously at Dashiell, her shoulder toward him, shielding Emma as if Dash were about to leap at her and end her teething problems forever.
    â€œDo you have a moment to talk?” I asked.
    â€œAbout?”
    â€œDetective O’Fallon.”
    â€œI didn’t really know him. Anyway, I already spoke to the police. I told them, I don’t know anything.” Looking frightened.
    No green card, I thought.
    â€œIt’s sort of personal,” I told her, “just for me.”
    â€œI still don’t know anything, no matter who it’s for.” A bit too loud. Who was she playing to? I wondered.
    â€œI have to change her,” she said, again too loud. “You can follow me if you want to.”
    I did, up to the kitchen door of the apartment across the hall from O’Fallon’s.
    â€œYou have to leave him in there,” she whispered, indicating Dashiell, then the door to O’Fallon’s kitchen. I had more important things on my mind than showing her that Dashiell meant no harm, that it wasn’t his fault his breed had a history of dogfighting or that it was the breed of the moment, still, for