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little girls, brutally. But the homeless man hadn’t seen little six-year-old girls with blond pigtails and toothless grins. He’d seen demons with bloody fangs coming to devour him. She’d been skeptical at first, but after hours of observation and consultations with the free clinic doctors who’d treated Harold Green’s acute schizophrenia over so many years, she believed him. He was quite truly insane. And so being, according to the law was not responsible for his actions. So she’d testified, barely managing to keep her eyes cool, her voice level, despite the dozens of faces who stared at her with contempt.
    They thought she was cold, all the cops who’d packed the courtroom that day. They thought she was easily duped by a killer. They thought she’d sat unmoved while the mothers of those little girls wept so pitiful y.
    They’d been so very wrong.
    That Detective Aidan Reagan had been among them explained a great deal. Across the road, Reagan still stood, still stared with a disdain he didn’t try to hide. Tess was the first to break eye contact, returning her gaze to Murphy’s worried face. “I see.”
    “No, you don’t. Not entirely. He found the third girl.”
    She gripped the steering wheel tighter. She’d been the one with Green that day, the one to extricate the location of the third little girl. He’d said the child was alive. But when the police had arrived, they found she was not. She hadn’t known who found the child. She hadn’t really wanted to know. That she had been too late for that little girl had been a bitter pill to swallow. How much more so for the man who’d found that baby’s lifeless little body? “Then that really does explain a great deal. He’s entitled to his anger.”
    “He’s a good man, Tess. A good cop.”
    She nodded. “It’s al right, Todd. I real y do understand.” And she did. More than anyone realized. “Can you get my keys? They fell under the car.”
    Murphy sighed. “Okay. I’l call you tomorrow. I’m going to need access to Cynthia Adams’s file.” He felt the pavement under her car and came up with her key ring. Tess nodded, feeling some small measure of relief when her engine reliably roared to life. She started to close the door, then stopped. “Tell your partner…” Whatever she might say would make no difference. “Never mind. Thank you, Todd. As usual.”
    Her hands trembled as she pul ed from the curb. She gave herself three blocks, then pul ed into a side alley, let her forehead drop to the wheel and let the tears come. Dammit, Cynthia. Why didn’t you call me? Why did you do this to yourself?
    But she knew why. Just as she knew there was nothing she could have done to stop the woman. She helped the clients that wanted to be helped. The others would do what they would do. She knew this. But the knowing never stopped the grieving. Cynthia Adams had led a life of pain and twisted guilt for events over which she’d had no control. But she’d control ed her own death. There was irony in that. Drained and exhausted, Tess pul ed away from the alley and pointed her car toward her apartment. There would be no rest tonight. Cynthia’s file was inches thick. It would take more than a few hours to pul out the relevant facts for Todd Murphy and his angry partner. It was the least she could do, for Aidan Reagan and for Cynthia Adams.

    14
    Karen Rose

    [Suspense 5]

    You Can't Hide
    And maybe for herself.
    Sunday, March 12, 1:15 A.M.
    Aidan had watched Murphy stare after Ciccotelli’s car for a long moment before he’d turned back to the job at hand, professional once more. Murphy had dealt with the ME and the Crime Scene Unit while Aidan had interviewed the teenagers.
    The kids said nothing new, just that Adams had glided up to the railing, stood for a minute then turned backward, both arms out, and fell. He’d sent the kids home with their parents, knowing they would never be the same after witnessing such a sight. Now he and Murphy stood