by TG Wolff
“It was a kitchen knife. Whaddya call them? Paring knife. They were idiots, yeah, but the bastard was never in any danger. Why are you asking these questions?”
“Do you recognize any of these men?”
He flipped through and shoved the stack back. “No.”
“You sure?
“I said no, the answer’s no.” There was steel in his voice that barely contained the rage within.
“Mr. Gentile. Have you seen anyone for help with your brother’s death?”
“Hell, yeah, I called a lawyer. One of those ones that advertises on TV. He was an asshole.”
“I meant more like a therapist.”
“God no. No. Why would I?” Insult grew to outrage. “There is nothing wrong with me that seeing that cocksucking bastard locked away for fifty years wouldn’t cure.”
Cruz took it all in stride, letting Gentile’s emotion wash over him like a wave in the lake. “How do you feel about drug dealers in general?”
“Fuck. Them. All. That guy who’s going around, doing them all…he’s my hero. I hope you never catch him.”
The interview ended, and Cruz drove back downtown knowing half the city agreed with Gentile while the other half would lynch the suspect without a trial. The Drug Head Killer was becoming a folk hero, a type of Robin Hood.
It worried him. These were dangerous times.
His cell rang. “Detective De La Cruz.” Heavy breathing. “Is someone there?”
“This is Jace,” a young voice said.
It took a minute for the name and voice to click. “Hey, buddy. Is something wrong? Do you need help?”
“Do you have a chocolate rabbit? Jimmy got a whole rabbit and Sasha just got the ears. I got nothin’ ’n I like chocolate, too.”
The kid’s Easter hadn’t been any better than his Halloween. “I’ll see what I can do. Jace, you can call me anytime. You know that, right.”
“Okay. When can I have the rabbit?”
That was focus. “Tomorrow Jace.”
“Okay. Bye.” And he was gone.
He’d swing by Malley’s Chocolate on the way back. They had to have rabbits left over. His cell rang again. Same number. “Let me guess, jellybeans.”
“Who is this?” An angry Hayley Parker shouted.
He vacillated between feeling busted and impressed with Jace. “Detective De La Cruz, Mrs. Parker.”
“Why are you talking to my son? No. No. I know what you’re up to, and it’s not going to work. I know.”
Then the line went dead. “Hell, I don’t even know what I’m up to.”
Back downtown, Cruz didn’t go up to his desk. Instead, he went to find profile number four, Ester Moorehouse. Moorehouse’s seventeen-year-old son, Thomas James ”TJ,” had been with Jimmy Gentile and also died of gunshot wounds, allegedly inflicted by D’Andre Lattimore. The thirty-nine-year-old community organizer was walking laps around the building where De La Cruz worked. The planned seven-day march was to raise awareness for victims of crime. With the relay-style organization, there was someone marching.
He stepped into her path. “Mrs. Moorehouse. I’m Detective De La Cruz.”
She moved past him, forcing him to walk if he wanted conversation. “I know who you are.” She was five-foot-ten with a solid frame. Her quick gait propelled her at a pace that would weary most quickly. The sign she carried declared “Victims Are Not Criminals.”
“Then you know what my job is.”
She raised her chin. “To stop the one person in this city who is actually stopping criminals from victimizing children.”
When people said things like this, Cruz treated it like a conversation on politics. He bit his tongue and moved on.
“Were you aware that TJ used?”
Ester narrowed her eyes. “Of course not. What kind of mother do you think I am? What kind of mother would let her seventeen-year-old son use drugs?”
“Did you find drugs in the house? After?”
She swallowed hard. “I flushed them down the toilet.”
“We have a man in custody.”
“Lattimore was in custody. He’s out on bail while he waits for a new court date. We’ll be lucky if he sees one day more behind bars. He’s getting away with murder.”
“The file said a knife was pulled.”
“The man who killed my son said a knife was pulled. I believe that as much as I believe the Easter bunny.”
He started to sweat, the pace she set wasn’t meant for a shirt and tie. “You must be in good shape to move like this for hours.”
“I run marathons. This is an easy day.”
“What do you do for a living, Mrs. Moorehouse?”
“You know I’m a nurse practitioner. I work in an urgent care clinic.”
“Stop for a moment, please.” He pulled the photos from the file he carried. “Do you recognize any of these men?”
She rolled her eyes at him before standing still. She flipped disinterestedly through the pictures. “No.”
“Look again. Really look.”
She repeated the process, giving each image fractionally more attention. “No. I don’t know any of them.”
“When did you become active in community organization?”
The look in her eyes said at that moment, she hated him. “After TJ died. That’s when I learned first-hand there is nobody standing up for the victims. The job of the police is to find the guilty, not protect victims.”
“How do you feel about drug dealers in general?”
“A plague upon our city, like Ebola or small pox. No one could do anything about it. Until now.”
“You think the Drug Head Killer is a hero?”
For a moment, she looked tired. Not physically, but somewhere deep in her eyes. “Heroes and villains are for fairy tales, Detective. Real life just isn’t that simple.”
Sunday, April 8
“I’m getting better,” Aurora said. “I almost understood every word your mother said. I think she likes me.”
Cruz snorted as he backed out of his sister’s driveway. “Likes you? She’d ask you to marry me if she could. My entire family is in love with you.”
“Except Rhianna.”
His younger niece had a serious case of the jealousies. Aurora could do nothing right. Mari and Tony tried, but there was no explaining it to the wall that was Rhia’s denial.
“She’ll get there. I stayed home with Rhia when I lived with Mari. It saved them the cost of daycare.” He shrugged it off, but Rhianna was every bit his kid as his sister’s. With her indomitable personality, the little girl forced Cruz to figure out how to be a man again. One confident enough for tea parties, painted nails, and swings. “My girl will get there.”
The drive back to his house was filled with the frivolous chatter of a couple finding their stride. Two months felt like a day, felt like forever. Like she belonged with him. He went to his door, but she headed to her car. “You’re not staying?”
“I’m going to my parents, remember? My mom wants to redecorate her office. I told her I’d help with colors.”
“Right. You did say that.” He didn’t go in, suddenly losing interest. “Come back to my house after? We can watch a movie or…do something.”
She giggled. “I know what your idea of doing something is.”
“Does that mean yes?”
“Yes.” She went to him, pressed her lips to his chin. “I’ll be back around eight.”
He dipped his head and kissed her lips. “Hurry back to me.”
He stood in the driveway until she pulled away. Alone, he still didn’t want to go in the house. He had something else he could do to fill the time.
The interview of Felix Sidowski, profile number five, didn’t get done during the week thanks to the messy end of a gang meeting. Sunday afternoon put Cruz in a tucked away neighborhood between Detroit Avenue and the West Shoreway—a short stretch of high-speed road connecting Cleveland to the neighboring suburb of Lakewood, separating the residents from
Lake Erie. He sat in his car, reviewing the file. Felix Sidowski, thirty-three, made his living as a butcher. His four-year-old son died three days after sustaining injuries when two drug dealers decided to settle a dispute Old West-style. The man who shot the boy was dead. He ran onto the Shoreway was hit by a car. The surviving drug dealer pleaded to lesser charges after witnesses and ballistics confirmed his gun had not been fired.
He walked up the steps and rang the doorbell, holding up his badge. “Felix Sidowski? I’m Detective Jesus De La Cruz, Cleveland PD. I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”
The man at the door fit the label average. He was two inches under six feet with a lanky build. His short-cut sandy blond hair and cloudy blue eyes wouldn’t stand out in a crowd.
“Detective? Okay. What’s this about?” Sidowski pushed the screen door open to invite Cruz into his home. The living room was neat and cozy. A large armchair with an oversized ottoman looked to be Sidowski’s preferred seat. Next to the television were framed photos of a smiling boy with dark brown eyes and matching hair.
He didn’t know how people did it, lived with their dead so close. “I understand last August two men had an altercation resulting in the death of your son.”
“Yes, Detective. It was just down the street. Jason and I were at a picnic one of the neighbors had. We had just started home when shots were fired.”
Cruz watched Sidowski. His body language was quiet, resigned. He retold the story not in a disconnected manner but with acceptance. It was a palpable difference from the depression of Roger McCormick, the rage of Tony Gentile, the hostility of Dee Dee Reynolds, and the crusade of Ester Moorehouse.
He seemed to be a man who had come out the other side of grief with acceptance.
“He loved parties, my Jason loved parties. He ate so much I thought he’d explode. He pouted when I told him it was time to go home. He wanted to stay, but it was getting late.”
Cruz waited for him to say he regretted not staying. Who wouldn’t. But Sidowski didn’t. He just sat, waiting for Cruz.
“Did you recognize the men?”
“You can’t drive through the neighborhood and not see men like them. They weren’t people I knew by name.”
Cruz opened his file, took out the pictures of the victims and handed them to Sidowski. “Do you know any of these men?”
Sidowski flipped through the pictures, shuffling them like cards. “These are the drug dealers, right? The ones left as warning signs.”
He put the pictures back, feeling the media had gotten ahead of him. “What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a butcher. I have a small shop on Detroit but most of my business comes from custom order for restaurants and private chefs.”
“None of these men are customers?”
“No, Detective. I know my customers. They’ve been mine and my father’s before me for years. Decades some of them. Why are you asking me about Jason and these men?”
“Just part of a follow-up investigation. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sidowski.”
Sidowski walked him to the porch, stood on the edge to look over his neighborhood. Cruz continued down the stairs, seeing the good as he looked around. Children running, shouting with glee. Folks mowing and picking weeds. There was a peacefulness to it. Cruz glanced over his shoulder to where the man stood tall, comfortable with his place. “Mr. Sidowski, can I ask you a question? Off the record?”
Sidowski looked down from his lofty height and nodded. “Sure, Detective.”
Cruz walked back to the stairs. “I’ve interviewed others who have lost loved ones. Some were angry, depressed, enraged, crusade-like. You’re the first person I’ve met who seems, well, accepting. How did you get here?”
The tranquil expression waned, a glimpse of pain apparent for a moment. “I was depressed. I was suicidal to be honest with you. How did I get here? By coming to terms with the fact that I am not in control of the world. There’s a reason the expression is ‘fight for control.’ You don’t fight for acceptance; you let go.” He scratched his head. “Sorry, that was a little deep, but it’s the truth of it.”
“Easier said than done.” Cruz murmured the thought, remembering those weeks before he accepted his narcotics career was over, he wasn’t going back on the streets.
“Yes, Detective, much easier said than done.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sidowski. Best of luck to you.” Cruz wandered through the city. With his windows down, the pulse of the people was a vibrant, living thing. Music. Noise. Hammers. Lawn mowers. Laughter.
His thoughts weighed heavily as he drove through the neighborhoods that were part of his case file. Too many loose ends. Not enough tied off. He couldn’t build a picture of the suspect and it bothered him. Four men dead. Stopped at a red light, he looked at his empty hands. He had to dig deep, go back further in the files.
No man is an island. Somewhere, someone knew something.
May 9
The plan worked. I harvested five of the demons while they slept, then took them to the prep room. While I was freeing the souls, one of them woke up. He thrashed around, swearing he was a cop, then he hit his head and knocked himself out.
I haven’t been around cops very much. After the murder, there were so many but I can’t remember a single face. Then Jesus De La Cruz came to talk to me. He kept asking questions. I think he was worried I couldn’t do my job. I saw his dedication and showed him mine.
I’ve never seen an undercover cop except on TV.
He needs a doctor. I keep checking on him and he isn’t waking up. I have to get him back without blowing his cover. He’ll need someone to watch over him. Someone kind and gentle.
I know who he needs. She’s perfect.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, May 13
Today was huge in the world of relationships. Cruz and Aurora were hosting Mother’s Day at his house—for both families. She’d met his and he met hers, but theirs hadn’t met. The families were as different as fish and bicycles. His family was loud and moved at a hundred miles an hour. Her family was polished and used two forks when they set the table.
But it would be good. He was making his famous stuffed burgers and a mac-and-cheese so creamy it mooed.
“Do you think we have enough side dishes?” His cyclone of a girlfriend spun through the kitchen, leaving havoc in her path. “Maybe we should go to the grocery and get a tub of coleslaw? Should we have corn? I forgot to buy lemonade.”
“Honey, it’s under control.” He stepped into her path and captured her racing body. “Relax. This will be fun.”
“You promise?” The lines between her brows were carved deeper than the Grand Canyon.
“I promise.” He kissed her forehead. “Why don’t you bring up the empty cooler from the basement? We can put the pop on ice.”
“Okay. I can do that.” She nodded like she was selling it to herself. “Empty cooler. Ice. Pop.”
He watched his nervous girlfriend walk out of the room, admiring the view. The cell phone on the counter buzzed. He looked at the screen, then snatched it and ran into his office, closing the door for privacy. “Commander.”
“Detective, you’re needed ASAP at Metro Health. One of our undercover narcotics officers was found in an abandoned building this morning. I leave it to you to determine if Officer Kroc is part of our case. Keep me updated.”
“Yes, sir. On my way.”
“No.” Aurora stood in the now opened doorway, abject fear on her face. “No, no, no. You can’t leave.”
“I have to, baby. You know I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”
“Zeus, we have twenty people coming in two hours expecting a Mother’s Day dinner. I can’t do it without you.” Her voice trembled as it climbed. “I can’t cook! I turned frozen pizza to ash. How am I going to feed twenty people?”
He reached for her, but she stepped back, looking as though she might bolt out the side door. “Most of it is ready or is cooking. I’ll call Mariana. She’ll help fin
ish the dishes and grill the burgers. With a little luck, I’ll be back before the families arrive.”
“It’s not fair. She’s a mom, she shouldn’t have to help. We can cancel, postpone the families meeting until you can be here.”
This time when Cruz reached for Aurora, he didn’t let her pull away. “We have all the food. Mariana will be happy to help, and everyone will have a great time.” He rubbed his thumb over her frown. “There’s nothing to worry about. My family loves you. Your family adores me. This is a party, not a test.” She nodded but didn’t say anything. He rested his forehead against hers. “You know this is part of my life. I have to go when I’m called, but my heart is always here with you.”
She sighed heavily. “You say that mushy stuff just to get around me. It’s not always going to work, you know.”
Silently praying she was wrong, he pulled her close. “I better get going. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
“Zeus, call Mariana? I don’t want to ruin everyone’s Mother’s Day.”
Cruz called his sister as he pulled out of his driveway. Mari was much less understanding, coming to the defense of the woman she was courting as a sister-in-law. “Can’t this wait, Tito? Today is really important to Aurora.”
“Do you think I don’t know that? She’s been a bundle of nerves for a week. There’s been a major development in a case I’m working, and I don’t have the luxury of telling it to wait until my family has eaten dinner.”
“Is this about those heads?”
“Mariana, I’m not talking about it. Will you help Aurora?”
His sister huffed, and Cruz knew the face with it. “Of course, I’ll help Aurora. Let me put my makeup on and I’ll go over.”
“How about you go over now and take your makeup with you?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll watch the girls next weekend, so you and Tony can have a date night.”
“Friday. Seven o’clock, but it’s not me you’ll have to make it up to.”
