Read Butchers Hill for Free Online Page A

program, for kids taking the SATs. I already know what
most of the words mean, this way I get to hear how they should
sound." Dorie glared at Tess, in case she was mocking her.
But Tess had learned early in their relationship never to aggravate the Beacon-Light 's
systems manager. From her cubicle at the newspaper, Dorie ran a
vigorous trade in black-market information, tapping into the
newspaper's on-line resources and, more valuable still, the
business side's computers, something even the reporters
couldn't do. Forget the hand that rocks the cradle.
It's the fingers that can access your credit rating that
truly rule the world.
    "It's not only your
vocabulary. Your voice sounds different, too. Fuller."
    "I've been listening to
Derek Jacobi read the Iliad on tape. It's like, I don't know, twenty hours
altogether, and if I keep my headphones on too long, I start sounding
as if I'm from a whole different kind of Essex."
    "Indeed," Tess said.
Dorie had mispronounced the English actor's name, but
she'd never hear about it from Tess. "Well,
duchess, let me tell you what I need."
    Dorie listened intently, taking it all in.
Tess would have gladly given her copies of her files, but Dorie was
paper-averse. She maintained that her "organic hard
disk" was the safest way to store information. No power
surges, no system crashes, and not even the world's best
hackers could get to it.
    "Jeez, Tess," she said
after hearing the details of the two cases, shaking her head.
"I mean, normally, no problem, but it happens I've
got a few people with rush jobs. People who pay me considerably more
money than you do."
    "Hey, I qualified for my lifetime
discount by suggesting you set up this little sideline,
remember?"
    "Sure, and I'll take you
for a ride in my new Ford Explorer someday to show you how grateful I
am. In the meantime, the Beacon-Light ,
my employer of record, has a few things they expect of me as well.
Tyrannical despots. Can the Susan King search wait a couple
days?"
    "Sure." In fact, it was
probably better that way. A too-swift result might prompt the demanding
Mary Browne to wonder if she had been charged too much. "What
about the Beale case? Can you help me on that at all?"
    Dorie ran her fingers through her shortish
hair, whose tendency toward cowlicks gave her the look of an exotic
bird, the faintly cross-eyed ones with the comical little crests.
"You gotta be kidding. First names only, and the geezer
isn't even sure of those? Minors, no less, probably in state
custody at some level, whether it's foster care or the
juvenile justice system."
    "The state has
computers," Tess wheedled. "Department of Juvenile
Services, Department of Human Resources—all their stuff must
be on a mainframe somewhere."
    "Look, I'm not saying I
can't hack my way into the state system, but once you get
there, it's a mess. None of the agencies' files are
compatible, and there's no cross-referencing. And even within
the state bureaucracy, Tess, you gotta have more than a first name. I
could get you the clips on Beale's trial pretty fast, though.
Maybe the kids are named in there."
    "I already thought of that. But as
minors in foster care, their identities wouldn't have been
publicly disclosed."
    "Then try the old-fashioned shoe
leather approach in the neighborhood. Maybe someone knows where they
all went, or can hook you up with the foster parents. Use those long
legs for something besides rowing that stupid little boat of
yours."
    "Okay." It was the
answer Tess had expected, although she had half-heartedly hoped Dorie
might know some secret, omnipotent database.
    Dorie started to leave. Tess knew the drill,
knew she would have to wait five minutes before she departed. She may
have chosen the site, but everything else about their meeting had been
dictated by Dorie.
    "So what are you doing
later?" Dorie asked as she unlocked the door and checked the
corridor. "Want to grab a beer somewhere?"
    "Sure. Oh—no, I
can't. I'm having coffee with Martin Tull when