Free Sacrificial Ground by Thomas H. Cook

between the ordinariness of the one and the perversity of the other.
    He was still struggling to find some line that might connect the two when Caleb walked up to his desk.
    â€œSaw Brickman downstairs,” he said, his lips fluttering around the stem of his pipe. “He said you wanted to see me.”
    â€œWe’re going to be working together on the Devereaux case.”
    â€œWell, that’s real nice, Frank, but I’m pretty damn busy already.”
    â€œYour cases will be reassigned.”
    Caleb frowned. “Who’s going to get them?”
    â€œGibbons is getting mine,” Frank told him. “I don’t know about yours.”
    Caleb shook his head resentfully. “You know what’s the matter with this department? They don’t ever let you get rooted in anything. They’re always shifting things around. Half the time, there’s no sense to it at all.”
    â€œThat’s the way it is,” Frank said dryly.
    â€œFive people get axed to death in a holdup, they’re liable to hand it over to robbery detail.”
    Frank handed him the lab report. “Read this.”
    â€œI already have,” Caleb said. “You know that.”
    â€œRead it again.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause things jump out at you,” Frank said. “Things you didn’t notice before.”
    â€œNot in this one,” Caleb insisted. “I know the answer to this case.” He dropped the file on Frank’s desk. “Here’s the way it happened. A pretty rich girl got pregnant by a pretty rich boy. Nobody wants this kid. Lots of bullshit involved, maybe even some very pissed-off parents, the kind that take away your new car, along with all those big plans for college.”
    â€œSo the father of the child killed Angelica?”
    â€œIf she was murdered,” Caleb said. “It could have been just what the lab boys said, a bungled abortion.” He blew a column of smoke past Frank’s head. “What have you got on it?”
    â€œI brought her sister down to identify the body.”
    â€œShe tell you anything?”
    â€œNot much. They lived together. A big house on West Paces Ferry.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œI didn’t try to press her,” Frank said. He took out his notebook. “She did tell me that Angelica had just come into a lot of money. Before that, it was all handled by her guardian.” He flipped another page. “Arthur Cummings. He’s with some big law firm.”
    â€œA real big firm,” Caleb said. “Didn’t he think about running for mayor a few years back?”
    Frank nodded. “Yes, I remember that.”
    â€œBut he never tossed his hat in the ring,” Caleb said. “Hell, it wouldn’t of mattered if he had. Old money. White money. They got the power, but they don’t get the office anymore, not in this town.”
    â€œI was thinking of going to see Cummings this morning,” Frank said.
    â€œWant company?”
    â€œNo. I want you to get copies of Angelica’s picture to give out on the canvass.”
    â€œYou won’t get a thing from that,” Caleb said confidently.
    â€œTry it anyway,” Frank said. “Headquarters would want that covered.”
    Caleb tugged wearily at his drooping trousers. “This shit’ll take all day, you know.”
    â€œLet me know what you find out.”
    â€œYeah,” Caleb said, as he turned heavily and trudged out the door.
    Frank pulled the telephone book from his desk and looked up the Cummings law firm. It was in one of Atlanta’s glittering midtown towers, and he quickly wrote the address and phone number in his notebook. Then he glanced at his watch: nine-thirty. If Cummings were like most ambitious, hard-driving Southern lawyers, he’d have already been in his office for two hours.
    He was on his way toward the door when Gibbons suddenly came through it.
    â€œHey,