Protectors

by Kris Nelscott

  I didn’t take it. I made myself sound weary instead of interested. “Let’s hear it.”

  Paper rustled as he looked through the file. “Woman dumped off a truck between 62nd and Dover, but it might’ve been 61st and Dover. You understand?”

  Off a truck? I didn’t want to focus in on that detail, not yet. I had him talking.

  “I’m taking it from your description that I should know something about the block between 61st and 62nd where it intersects with Dover,” I said.

  “You don’t got a map, San Francisco?”

  “Not in front of me, Berkeley,” I said, using his tone.

  He chuckled. “Normally, I’d tell you to learn geography on your own time, but I’m feeling generous tonight. We don’t know exactly where that body landed. If it bounced or was pushed in the wrong spot…well, let me put it to you this way. If the body was found south of 61st, it’s Oakland’s problem. If the body was found north of 62nd, it belongs to us. And since no one has done the hard work of figuring out exactly where this girl landed, then this thing remains in jurisdictional limbo. And…judging by the names on the file, they prefer limbo.”

  He had just told me that the detectives assigned to the case didn’t want it. They wanted Oakland to take it.

  “Maybe you’ll inherit this one,” he said. “Because no one wants to figure it out.”

  “Is there a reason for that?” I asked.

  “You’ve never handled jurisdictional issues, San Fran?”

  My turn to make that little chuckle. “You do realize that we have more stations than you have murders every year, right?”

  “Except this year,” he said quietly, suddenly serious. “It’s been hell here.”

  “Yeah, sorry.” I felt like I was channeling Truman. “Welcome to my world.”

  “No sympathy from the big city girl, huh?” he asked. I decided I liked him right then and there, at least from his attitude. For a minute, I thought about meeting him.

  Then I realized that he wouldn’t expect me, a little black woman from Chicago. Right on the heels of that realization came another. I had assumed he was as white as those young cops I had seen on Telegraph earlier in the day.

  “I have lots of sympathy for you,” I said. “I know exactly how it feels.”

  And oddly, I did, not because of San Francisco, which I still knew little about, but because of what Truman went through in Chicago, particularly with the South Side gangs.

  “Yeah.” Carter was quiet.

  I let the silence hang for a minute. When it became clear he wasn’t going to say any more, I asked, “So, this girl was thrown off a truck and died when she hit?”

  “Hell, no,” he said. “Body was dumped. Someone claims they saw it get pushed out of a flatbed, but someone else claims it rolled out. Doesn’t matter either way. She was dead long before she hit the pavement. She was wrapped in a loose-weave blanket, tied at the hands and feet, and gagged.”

  “Okay. That puts a different spin on this information,” I said. “She’s not some random victim who happened to fall out of a flatbed.”

  “Nope,” he said. “You don’t tie up a corpse.”

  “Or, maybe you do,” I said, “if you want her to fit in a rolled-up blanket. But you certainly don’t gag one.”

  “Yeah,” he said quietly. “This might not be first-degree, you know. If you gag someone wrong, then wrap them in a blanket, they could easily suffocate.”

  “Is that what happened?” I asked.

  “Looks that way,” he said. “Happened on July 10. Does this jibe with what your guy said?”

  July 10. Probably not Darla, then. But the tie to the incident Eagle witnessed was fascinating.

  “I have no idea on my guy’s dates,” I said. “But what he said didn’t sound like a kidnapping gone wrong.”

  “All right then,” Carter said, sounding like he was about to wrap this up.

  “However,” I said quickly, “the truck is interesting for a different reason. We’re dealing with something else that the truck might fit into. We got some homeless claiming they’ve been hiding from a one-ton, likes to clear them off the street.”

  Another lie, especially since our Ford F-350 hadn’t gone near homeless.

  “Huh,” Carter said. “You’re actually investigating that?”

  Cop attitude. Every cop I’d ever met believed that people who lived on the street got what they deserved. That warm feeling I’d had toward him a moment ago faded.

  The papers continued to rustle.

  “Don’t know what kind of truck this was,” he said. “It’s not listed here. Can’t even tell how big it is. You want me to have the detectives on the file call you? Maybe they got off their asses and actually talked to some of the witnesses themselves.”

  “I thought you had interviews from witnesses,” I said.

  “Yeah, from the patrol that showed up after the body got found.” Carter let that hang as well, but I understood it. The detectives had caught the case, but they hadn’t cared about it.

  The justice system had done its thing—a patrol unit had shown up, done the requisite interviews with witnesses, reported everything, the coroner had picked up the body, figured that the body was dumped, figured they had a murder of a young unidentified woman, someone assigned that murder to two detectives who were probably already overworked. They took one look at the jurisdictional issue, the fact they had a Jane Doe, and decided to solve this one only if they got pressure from the outside, which they probably never would.

  “So,” Carter said, “you want them to call?”

  “No,” I said. “Not my case. But I know someone who might want to see the file. You want to give me their names? I’ll hand them over to him.”

  “Sure,” Carter said. “Detectives Fleenan and Ruffner. They work days, so they should be here for morning roll.”

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll let him know what you got. Thanks, Detective.”

  “Don’t mention it,” he said, and hung up.

  I pulled the receiver from my ear and stared at it. I hadn’t expected such a fast hang-up.

  He had probably heard my tone cool. Or maybe he didn’t like the fact that I bailed on the call back. Most cops probably would not have.

  It didn’t matter what his reaction was. He couldn’t track me down. He had no idea who he really had been talking to, and he had given me a mountain of information.

  I felt like I had just had eighteen cups of coffee. My heart was pounding, and my mouth was dry.

  I hadn’t found Darla, most likely, but I found something else. Eagle had seen a woman abducted a few days ago and put into a truck. Another woman’s body was tossed off a truck not too long before that.

  I wondered what I would find if I called the other police stations in the nearby towns. More open-unsolved? More trucks?

  More dead college students?

  I took a sip from my water, my hand shaking.

  There was only one way to find out.

  28

  Pammy

  They had made a nest for the baby on the locker room bench. It was twice as wide as the baby, but Pammy still piled towels and coats on the floor around the bench in case the baby rolled off.

  The baby was quiet, but watching everything. Pammy had no idea if that kind of quiet was normal in a baby. She had no experience of babies. She was the youngest of four, and had left before her brothers had married and had children. They were all the way across the country. They sent pictures of their boys every Christmas, and Pammy felt slightly guilty whenever she saw them, thinking she should probably go home and visit before her nephews became adults.

  So far, that thought had not inspired her to leave Berkeley.

  Strawberry had taken over the baby duties. She had put the baby on a towel while Stella made the nest. Strawberry had expertly peeled the footie pajamas off the baby and inspected them to make sure the diaper hadn’t leaked, something Pammy wouldn’t have thought to do.

  Then Strawberr
y changed the diaper, placing the dirty one in the paper bag she had brought for that purpose. Somehow Strawberry had pinned the diaper together without stabbing the baby, something that completely surprised Pammy. She had no idea how Strawberry had finessed that.

  At Strawberry’s suggestion, they left the baby nude but for her diaper so that Eagle could examine her. The baby didn’t cry as Strawberry changed her, which Strawberry said was a good sign.

  Stella remained quiet. Pammy had no idea if she had children or any experience with them. Pammy was beginning to realize she knew very little about Stella, almost as little as she knew about Strawberry.

  While they waited for Eagle and Norma to arrive, Pammy cleaned up the locker room. The water had drained from the shower, but Pammy wiped it all down and put everything in the hamper she kept in a nearby closet so that she could take it all to the laundry with the industrial-sized washers just a few blocks away.

  The door opened, and Norma entered, moving slowly, as if everything hurt. Pammy realized that she hadn’t seen Norma walk before. Pammy didn’t like what she was seeing now. The woman moved like she was eighty, not in her thirties.

  Stella’s gaze met Pammy’s. Stella’s lips were thin, her expression clear. See? We needed to come here.

  Pammy understood that, but at the same time, she wasn’t equipped for this. She didn’t want to be equipped for this.

  Eagle entered right behind Norma, and Pammy realized that Eagle was flanking her in case she fell. Eagle set her bag down. Pammy got one of the two chairs in the locker room and slid it beside the bench. The baby waved her pudgy arms at Norma, as if greeting her.

  Eagle didn’t look at the baby. Instead, she guided Norma into the chair. Then Eagle knelt beside the baby and smiled at her.

  “Aren’t you pretty?” Eagle said in a voice Pammy had never heard her use before. It was warm and high-pitched, the kind of voice most people who were familiar with babies used whenever they spoke. “Her name’s Raquel?”

  Strawberry started to answer, but Stella glared at her.

  “Yes,” Norma said.

  “Such a pretty name for a pretty girl.” Eagle kept talking to the baby as if she were a wary puppy about to bite. So far, Eagle hadn’t touched her, but seemed to be leaning closer.

  Strawberry stayed beside her.

  Eagle looked up, and Pammy braced herself. She didn’t want another fight with Strawberry.

  “Let me examine the baby,” Eagle said in that same sing-song voice. The baby was watching her as if she were intriguing.

  Strawberry stiffened. “I’m not—”

  Stella touched her arm, stopping her, as Pammy said, “I think Eagle would like some privacy. Let’s go into the main room. I have a few things to discuss with you anyway.”

  Eagle gave her a grateful look, then bent over the baby, gingerly rubbing the baby’s stomach.

  Strawberry picked up the bag with the dirty diaper in it. Stella opened the door. Pammy led the way out.

  The main room was at least twenty degrees cooler. Pammy hadn’t realized she was sweating until the cooler air hit the dampness on her skin.

  “I’ll toss this outside,” Strawberry said, and headed into the kitchen.

  Stella watched until the kitchen door opened and closed. “What’s her story?”

  “I was just wondering the same thing,” Pammy said.

  Stella went to the light switches, but Pammy stopped her.

  “If we leave only a few lights on, it’s a spotlight on what we’re doing. If we leave all the lights on, no one notices.”

  She’d learned that the hard way.

  Stella nodded. She tugged on her belt as if it were uncomfortable.

  “I’m sorry I had to bring her here,” Stella said quietly. “I know it puts you in an awkward position.”

  Pammy didn’t deny it. Truth be told, she wanted Stella to be uncomfortable with bringing women in trouble here. Pammy wanted her to stop doing it, without actually having to say so.

  Stella inclined her head just a little. “She came to my house this morning, after Roy left. He’s going to some meeting in Sacramento, something to do with the governor. He’ll be back on Wednesday.”

  Then why hadn’t she kept Norma at her house? Pammy almost asked, but didn’t. She wasn’t sure she could ask that question without all of her irritation bleeding through.

  “At first,” Stella said, “I thought we could just stay at my place while I figured things out, but then Norma told me a few things, and I realized that I’m one of her only acquaintances in the Bay Area. Her husband will be at my house in a New York minute once he realizes she’s gone.”

  Great, Pammy almost said, but caught the word in time. Instead she asked, “He hasn’t realized it yet, huh?”

  “Not as of this evening,” Stella said.

  Pammy made herself take a deep breath before asking the question she’d wanted to ask all along. “So what exactly happened to her?”

  “Who, you mean,” Stella said.

  “I thought you knew who,” Pammy said.

  “I do.” Stella shrugged. “I don’t know the details. I just know it’s not the first time. She’s canceled dinner plans before, and not shown up to some galas where the wives were expected, and her husband sang. So he’s got a history, and I think it’s a long one.”

  “Great.” This time the word slipped out. “Has he hurt the baby before?”

  “I don’t know,” Stella said. “Judging by her reaction, no, he hasn’t. But I don’t know for sure.”

  “What did she tell you?” Pammy asked.

  “Only that she can’t take it anymore. It’s gotten too bad,” Stella said.

  Pammy had heard that a dozen times in the past year, often from women who came to learn self-defense. Most of them managed three classes before disappearing again.

  And sometimes women came into the gym seeking more information, claiming to be at the end of their ropes as well. They took the mimeographed sheet of classes but usually never returned.

  Stella said, “I’m pretty convinced this might be our only opportunity to help her. She’ll go back to him if she thinks she has no resources. She’ll protect that baby as best she can, but my God…what gives someone the right to do that to anyone?”

  “The law,” Pammy said. “He’s her husband. It’s private. It’s not something the police really can help with, unless he does kill one of them.”

  Her voice broke when she said that last. Because of Linda. Pammy had tried to get her out more than once, and she had always gone back. The bastard could sweet-talk her.

  “I have money,” Stella said, “but I don’t know where Norma can go. She can’t be by herself. And she can’t go to see her family. She did that before. Her own mother told her that she made her bed, now she gets to lie in it.”

  “Jesus,” Pammy said.

  “Maybe I can help.” Strawberry stood in the hallway.

  “What could you do?” Stella asked. Somehow she made that question soft, so it didn’t sound quite as rude as it was. But the undertone was there. What could you do, girl?

  “I can’t tell you,” Strawberry said to Stella. Strawberry didn’t put the emphasis on the word you, but it was implied, nonetheless.

  Then Strawberry met Pammy’s gaze, as if expecting Pammy to understand.

  Pammy didn’t understand. She swallowed hard. What a tangle.

  The locker room door opened. Eagle came out, with the baby cradled in her arms. The baby softened her, made her seem almost pretty. Pammy had never thought of Eagle as pretty before.

  “Can I get someone to hold the baby for a few minutes?” Eagle asked.

  To Pammy’s surprise, Eagle was looking at Strawberry, not Pammy or Stella.

  “Sure,” Strawberry said, and hurried over.

  The baby had her footie pajamas on again. Her face was shiny and red, as if Eagle had washed it off. Maybe she had.

  Eagle handed the baby over to Strawberry, who took her gently.

&nbs
p; “She’s okay,” Eagle said to Strawberry, as if the baby were Strawberry’s daughter, not Norma’s. “Just the one bruise. It’s a bad one, and if she were older, I’d want to x-ray the shoulder, just to make sure there’s no fracture. But baby bones are soft and flexible, and something that would damage an adult probably won’t hurt an infant. I told Norma that she’ll have to watch to see if the baby favors the shoulder or still winces when the bruise disappears. Then she’ll need to take the baby to a doctor.”

  Pammy let out a small breath of relief. Had the baby been injured badly enough to go to an emergency room, it would have caused all kinds of problems, especially with the famous father.

  “Are you sure he didn’t hurt any other part of her?” Strawberry asked, juggling her arms slightly to move the baby into the proper position.

  “Yes.” Eagle’s tone was serious. “And I looked at everything.”

  The words hung between all of them. Stella bowed her head. Pammy tried to shake the image of a man deliberately twisting tiny limbs just to make someone else angry.

  Eagle didn’t seem to notice. She asked, “Where’d you get the diaper experience?”

  Strawberry’s smile was perfunctory. “Oldest of seven. And I started babysitting for neighbors when I was twelve.”

  “You’re good,” Eagle said, then pivoted and went back into the locker room.

  All three women looked at each other. Then they looked at the door, together. None of them had seen that side of Eagle before.

  “I thought she hated me,” Strawberry said.

  “You impressed her,” Pammy said. “That’s hard to do.”

  “No kidding,” Stella said softly. “One problem down, though.”

  She meant the baby. The baby wasn’t really a problem, but her injury could have been.

  Strawberry cupped a hand around the baby’s tiny face. “You’re okay now,” she whispered.

  If only that were true. Pammy glanced at the locker room door. Another problem was continuing. Who knew what Eagle’s examination of Norma would turn up.

  “I’m going to take her into the kitchen,” Strawberry said, cradling the baby in one arm and brushing the wisp of hair off her forehead with the other hand. “Looks like she’s having trouble staying awake.”