Laura Lippman - No Good Deeds

The ninth book in the Tess Monaghan series, 2006

When I was a kid, my favorite book was Horton Hears a Who, and, like most kids, I wanted to hear it over and over and over again. My indulgent but increasingly frazzled father tried to substitute Horton Hatches the Egg and other Dr. Seuss books, but nothing else would do, although I did permit season-appropriate readings of How the Grinch Stole Christmas. See, I had figured out what Seuss only implied: Those Whos down in Who-ville, the ones who taught the Grinch what Christmas was all about? Clearly they were the same Whos who lived on Hortons flower. That realization made me giddy, a five-year-old deconstructionist, taking the text down to its bones. The word was the word, the Who was the Who. For if the Whos lived on the flower, then it followed that the Grinch and his dog, Max, did, too, which meant that the Grinch was super tiny, and that meant there was no reason to fear him. The Grinch was the size of a dust mite! How much havoc could such a tiny being wreak?

A lot, I know now. A whole lot.

My name is Edgar Crow Ransome, and I indirectly caused a young mans murder a few months back. I did some other stuff, too, with far more consciousness, but its this death that haunts me. I carry a newspaper clipping about the shooting in my wallet so Ill be reminded every day-when I pull out bills for a three-dollar latte or grab my ATM card-that my world and its villains are tiny, too, but no less lethal for it.

Tiny Town is, in fact, one of Baltimore s many nicknames-along with Charm City and Mobtown-and perhaps the most appropriate. Day in, day out, its one degree of separation here in Smalltimore, an urban Mayberry where everyone knows everyone. Then you read the newspaper and rediscover that there are really two Baltimores. Rich and poor. White and black. Ours. Theirs.

A man was found shot to death in the 2300 block of East Lombard Street late last night. Police arrived at the scene after a neighbor reported hearing a gunshot in the area. Those with information are asked to call

This appeared, as most such items appear, inside the Beacon Lights Local section, part of something called the City/County Digest. These are the little deaths, as my girlfriend, Tess Monaghan, calls them, the homicides that merit no more than one or two paragraphs. A man was found shot to death in an alley in the 700 block of Stricker Street A man was killed by shots from a passing car in the1400 block of East Madison Street A Southwest Baltimore man was found dead inside his Cadillac Escalade in the 300 block of North Mount. If they have the victims name, they give it. If there are witnesses or arrests, the fact is noted for the sheer wonder of it. Witness is the citys most dangerous occupation these days, homicides thriving secondary market, if you will. Were down on snitchin here in Baltimore and have the T-shirts and videos to prove it. Want to know how bad things have gotten? There was a hit ordered on a ten-year-old girl who had the misfortune to see her own father killed.

Heres what is not written, although everyone knows the score: Another young black man has died. He probably deserved it. Drug dealer or drug user. Or maybe just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but he should have known better than to hang around a drug corner at that time, right? If you want the courtesy of being presumed innocent in certain Baltimore neighborhoods, you better be unimpeachable, someone clearly, unambiguously cut down in the cross fire. A three-year-old getting his birthday haircut. A ten-year-old playing football. I wish these examples were hypothetical.

Im not claiming that I was different from anyone else in Baltimore, that I read those paragraphs and wondered about the lives that preceded the deaths. No, I made the same calculations that everyone else did, plotting the citys grid in my head, checking to make sure I wasnt at risk. Shot in a movie theater for telling someone to be quiet? Sure, absolutely, that could happen to me, although there arent a lot of tough guys in the local art houses. Killed for flipping someone off in traffic? Not my style, but Tess could have died a thousand times over that way. She has a problem with impulse control.

But were not to be found along East Lombard or Stricker or Mount or any other dubious street, not at 3:00 A.M. Even when I am in those neighborhoods, people leave my ride and me alone. Usually. And its not because Im visibly such a nice guy on a dogooding mission. They dont bother me because Im not worth the trouble. Im a red ball walking; kill me and all the resources of the citys homicide division will be brought to bear on the investigation. Ill get more than a paragraph, too.

In fact, I think Id get almost as much coverage as Gregory Youssef, a federal prosecutor found stabbed to death last year. Perhaps I should carry a clipping of that case, too, for it was really Youssefs death that changed my life, although I didnt know it at the time. But Im not likely to forget Youssefs death soon. Nobody is.

The hard part would be fitting me into a headline. Artist? Musician? Only for my own amusement these days. Restaurant-bar manager? Doesnt really get the flavor of what I do at the Point, which is a bar, but increasingly a very good music venue as well, thanks to the out-of-town bands Ive been recruiting. Scion of a prominent Charlottesville family? Even if I were confident I could pronounce scion correctly, Im more confident that I would never pronounce myself as such. Boyfriend of Tess Monaghan, perhaps Baltimore s best-known private investigator? Um, no thank you. I love her madly, but thats not how I wish to be defined.

I think Id prefer the simple appellation City Man, the everyday superhero of the headlines. City Man is a fixture in the local paper, too. He wins prizes, hes nominated for national posts, he sues giant corporations, he goes missing on occasion. City Man is eternal.

The everyday homicide cases, those one- or two-paragraph news stories I told you about-those guys never get to be City Man. They are allowed to represent only vague geographic areas-a Southwest Baltimore man, an East Baltimore man, a West Baltimore man. Theyre even denied their neighborhoods, which in Baltimore is like being denied a piece of your soul. They are not universal enough to be City Men, not emblematic enough to be Collington Square Man or Upper Park Heights Man or even Pig-town Man.

And yet they are. They are more representative of this city than we want to admit. A homicide occurs here, on average, every thirty-six hours. In certain neighborhoods homicide is a way of life, if youll permit the oxymoron. Yet other neighborhoods assume that its their right to remain untouched by this plague and are horrified when the covenant is broken. A few years back, when Tess was still a reporter, a Guilford couple were killed in their mansion, and the city freaked. It was one thing for those people to murder each other, quite another if they were going to start crossing the invisible boundaries, killing rich white people in their homes. Within two days an arrest was made, and Tess told me a fake headline circulated the newsroom via the computer system- A RELIEVED CITY REJOICES: THE GRANDSON DID IT.

A man was found shot to death in the 2200 block of East Lombard Street late last night. Police arrived at the scene after a neighbor reported hearing a gunshot in the area. Those with information are asked to call