CHAPTER 1.

Washington, D.C.

April 1994I WAS on the sun porch of our house on Fifth Street when it all began.

It was “pouring down rain” as my little girl Janelle likes to say, and the porch was a fineplace to be. My grandmother had once taught me a prayer that I never forgot: “Thank you foreverything just the way it is.” It seemed right that day almost.

Stuck up on the porch wall was a Gary Larson Far Side cartoon. It showed the“Butlers of the World” annual banquet. One of the butlers had been murdered. A knife was inhis chest right up to the hilt. A detective on the scene said, “God, Collings, I hate to starta Monday with a case like this.” The cartoon was there to remind me there was more to lifethan my job as a homicide detective in D.C. A two-year-old drawing of Damon's tacked up nextto the cartoon was inscribed: “For the best Daddy ever.” That was another reminder.

I played Sarah Vaughan, Billie Holiday, and Bessie Smith tunes on our aging piano. The blueswas having its sneaky-sad way with me lately.

I'd been thinking about Jezzie Flanagan. I could see her beautiful, haunting face sometimes,when I stared off into the distance. I tried not to stare off into the distance too much.

My two kids, Damon and Janelle, were sitting on the trusty, if slightly rickety, piano benchbeside me. Janelle had her small arm wrapped across my back as far as it would stretch, whichwas about one-third of the way.

She had a bag of Gummi Bears in her free hand. As always, she shared with her friends. I wasslow-sucking a red Gummi.

She and Damon were whistling along with my piano playing, though for Jannie, whistling is morelike spitting to a certain preestablished rhythm. A battered copy of Green Eggs and Ham sat ontop of the piano, vibrating to the beat.