“’Cuz I was watchin’ Sponge Bob Square Pants,” Bobby answered.
“What was that?” Manelli asked, certain he hadn’t heard the name correctly.
“Sponge Bob Square Pants,” Bobby repeated, slowly and more loudly.
Manelli got out his notepad and wrote it down. He’d check the TV schedule to confirm the timing. He shook his head as he wrote, “Sponge Bob Square Pants.”
“Bobby, did you recognize the man who went in the house?” Manelli asked.
“Yeah. It was the brother of the lady who lives next door, Mrs. Stiles.” Bobby started walking back to the front of the house.
“You’re sure it was her brother?”
“Yeah,” Bobby said, kicking a stone down the driveway.
“Do you know his name?”
“No. I just know he’s a creep.” Bobby turned his gaze from the stone to Manelli.
“Why do you say that?”
“Cuz one day me and my friends were playin’ Frisbee back here and the Frisbee went in their yard. He took it and wouldn’t give it back to us.”
“Yeah, he’s a creep,” Manelli confirmed. “Do you know what kind of car he drives?”
“He drives different things. Sometimes he comes in a truck. Sometimes a car. Look, can I go in now? I’m gettin’ kind a hungry and…” he broke off looking out to the street.
Manelli guessed he wanted to get back in the house and grab a snack before his mother returned.
“Okay, Bobby,” Manelli said. “Here’s my card. If you see that man again, you call me, you hear? And if you get another policeman when you call, you tell him Manelli told you to call. Okay?”
“Okay.” Bobby looked at the card. “Can I go now?”
Manelli nodded and watched the boy waddle to his front door, disappearing into the house. He walked down the driveway and got in his car. It had to be this neighbor’s brother who saw Donnelly in the backyard and took her picture. What was the connection between the Hagels and this brother? The neighbors’ leaving the morning of the murder was not a coincidence.
A cellphone chirp interrupted his thoughts. “Manelli.”
“Detective, it’s Desk Sergeant Watson. I thought this could wait until tomorrow, but a woman called earlier and said she received a threatening phone call and she was on her way down here with a piece of evidence in the Hagel case. That was about an hour ago and she didn’t show. I thought maybe you’d want to know.”
Manelli felt an adrenaline surge as he asked. “Who was she?”
“Let’s see--the name was Donnelly,” Watson replied. “Ivy Donnelly.”
“Send a squad car to 7 Park Place,” Manelli said as he turned on the ignition and pulled out into the street. As he drove up Park Place, he saw the garage door of the Donnelly house wide open and the car in the driveway. He parked, jumped out of his car and ran to Holly’s parked car. He heard Lucky barking inside the house. On the pavement beside the car, he found Ivy unconscious, her pocketbook beside her, the contents spilled on the pavement. He bent down and put his hand on her wrist, relieved to feel a healthy pulse. He pulled out his phone. “Get an ambulance to 7 Park Place ASAP.”
He slipped the phone back in his pocket. “Ms. Donnelly,” he said squeezing Ivy’s forearm. “Ms. Donnelly,” he repeated a little louder. No response. A squad car pulled up and a patrolman got out.
“Over here,” Manelli yelled.
At the sound of his voice, Ivy’s eyelids fluttered. ”Ohhh,” she moaned, her eyes still closed.
“Ms. Donnelly, it’s Detective Manelli. Talk to me.”
After a moment, Ivy opened her eyes. She tried to get up, but Manelli restrained her gently, saying, “Don’t move. An ambulance will be here in a minute. Can you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t know,” she said placing her hand on her forehead.
“You called the police station. You said you were coming down with some evidence. Do you remember that?”
Ivy tried to get up. Again, Manelli prevented her from moving. “My pocketbook. Where is it?” she asked.
“It’s right here beside you.”
“Get out the plastic bag with the matchbook in it,” Ivy said.
Manelli looked at the scattered contents and inside the bag--tissues, sunglasses, a wallet, Tic Tac’s. No plastic bag. “No matchbook.”
“Oh, no,” she groaned, as the ambulance pulled up. Two EMTs came over and Manelli got out of their way. He walked down the driveway, and called headquarters.
”I want an unmarked car stationed in front of 14 Crescent Drive,” he said. “That’s right. The house next to the Hagel house. I want anyone who even hesitates while walking past that house brought in for questioning.”
As he finished with the call, he turned and was relieved to see that Ivy was up and walking to the ambulance with the help of the EMTs. The patrolman told him that she had suffered a severe head injury, and they were taking her to St. Francis Hospital to get checked out. They’d probably keep her there overnight. Manelli walked over to the ambulance, looked inside and said, “Tomorrow morning I’ll release your sister and bring her to the hospital.”
“Okay. Thanks,” said Ivy. “Detective, a man called and said he’d seen Holly in the Hagel yard this morning. He said he wanted what she found.”
“And that was the matchbook you were bringing me?”
“Yes,” Ivy answered.
An EMT came up alongside Manelli. “We’re ready to go, Detective.”
“Wait a minute,” Ivy said. “Lucky’s in the house alone. I need to get a neighbor to take care of her.”
“I’ll do it,” Manelli offered.
“The keys should still be in the car,” Ivy said. “Thank you.”
As the ambulance pulled away, Manelli got back in his car, which he’d left blocking the driveway. He banged on the steering wheel. How did he let this happen? He parked and went back up the driveway to Holly’s Cadillac.
Removing the keys from the ignition, he locked the car and entered the garage. He looked at the key ring. More store tags than keys. Two tries and he was in. The door opened into the laundry room where Lucky was sitting. She remained still when she saw him, putting her ears back and her head down.
“It’s okay, Lucky. Let’s go upstairs and let you out.” The dog stood up, tail wagging and headed up the stairs.
As Manelli followed her across the laundry room he noticed a refrigerator against the wall. Feeling thirsty, he wondered if there were any cold drinks inside. When he opened the door, he was greeted by three full shelves of Blue Moon and Michelob Ultra beer bottles. One bottle of wine was lying on the bottom shelf, and just a few assorted soda cans filled the door shelves. What do you know! Holly Donnelly drinks beer.
“I owe you one,” he said out loud, smiling as he grabbed a Blue Moon.
Through the laundry room he entered Holly’s office and looked around. The desk was well-organized, though the bulletin board was cluttered. He didn’t stop to read anything, feeling as if he were the trespasser this time. He continued upstairs through the hall to the kitchen. Lucky was already waiting at the back door. He flipped on the patio light switch, turned the deadbolt, opened the door and followed Lucky outside. The dog headed to the front. Manelli sat down on the patio chair he’d occupied the day Ivy served him Holly’s honey oat bread. He opened the beer and took a long draught.
This was not how this day was supposed to end. He’d arrested Holly Donnelly to protect her. He hadn’t thought Ivy was in danger. At least she’d be safe in the hospital tonight.
And what was this matchbook she mentioned? He couldn’t believe Holly found something his police crew had not. And again, she’d withheld evidence from him! At this moment, he wasn’t a bit sorry he arrested her, and he hoped she was having the most miserable night of her life. He laughed out loud thinking of her in the holding pen.
Lucky returned, went over to Manelli and sat down in front of him waiting to be petted. Manelli scratched behind her ears.
47 LOCK UP
In spite of the circumstances, Holly was slightly amused that she would no longer be able to glibly check the “no” box on forms that asked if she’d ever been arrested. Officer Rodriguez, a policewoman in her late twenties, took her through the booking process. Totally business-like and efficient, the officer was respectful, but not friendly. When the fingerprinting and paperwork were complete, Officer Rodriguez said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
Suddenly Holly’s bemused attitude deserted her. This wasn’t a game, and she was really being escorted to a jail cell. As they walked through a metal security door and down a short corridor, Holly caught her first glimpse of the jail cell bars. Inside were five women, who seemed to look up in unison as if they were part of a synchronized dance team. They appraised her silently as the officer unlocked the door to let her enter.
Holly stepped inside, scanning the faces focused on her. By their clothes, Holly guessed that at least four of the women were prostitutes. A tall, young woman, dressed in a hot pink, micro mini skirt, torn fish-net stockings and matching pink stilettos, was sitting alone to Holly’s left. Her face wore a scowl and anger seemed to be seeping out of her pores. No surprise she was off by herself. In the right corner of the cell three woman were sitting together. One wore silver spandex pants and silver stilettos. Clearly the shoe of choice for women of the evening.
The woman in the middle was about Holly’s size and very pretty. She had on a deep-cut, v-neck red dress that hugged every curve of her body. The smaller woman was dressed in blue jeans and a denim jacket. She had a tomboyish air about her that made Holly wonder what she was in for. Finally, a woman in her late thirties or early forties was sitting, or rather lounging on a bench by herself. She was dressed in a black dress with spaghetti straps, a perfectly good LBD, maybe just a little too short for her age. She looked quite relaxed, as if she were just waiting for someone to call her seat number so she could board a plane.
Holly tried to appear unafraid in spite of the pounding in her chest. The door closed behind her and Officer Rodriguez left. Holly headed to an empty spot on the bench occupied by the young woman in pink. The woman stretched her long legs to block Holly’s path. Great. Here we go. She stood still, uncertain what to do. Stepping over the young woman’s legs didn’t seem like a good idea. Turning around and retreating? Not an option.
“What’s the matter, girlfriend? You want to sit down?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’d like to sit down.” Holly replied. A few snickers from the other women caused Holly’s heartbeat to spike. Apparently, confrontation served as spectator-sport here.
“You can’t just come in here and sit down,” the woman continued, lifting her legs onto the bench, taking up the seat Holly had hoped to sit on.
“What you in here for, Blanca?” the woman in the red-dress asked.
“It sure ain’t for soliciting. Not in those clothes,” the woman wearing the LBD chimed in. All five of the women broke into laughter.
Holly looked down at herself and realized she was dressed in her dog-walking/gardening clothes--blue jeans with grass stains at the knees, a tee- shirt dotted with specks of mud, and the blue work shirt she wore as a jacket. She had to laugh herself at the woman’s remark.
“Hey, look, Keesha. Whitey’s got a sense of humor,” the LBD woman said, directing her remark to the woman in hot pink.
“So what?” Keesha snarled. “Claudette, you stay out of this. A sense of humor doesn’t earn you a seat here,” Keesha said, returning her focus to Holly.
Everyone got quiet again. “I asked you a question, bitch,” Keesha said, glaring at Holly. “What did you do?”
“Hurto en tiendas, probablemente,” said the tomboy as she eyed Holly.
“Sí, Sí.” nodded the woman in red.
“No, I wasn’t shoplifting,” Holly replied.
“Ayeee!” squealed the lady in red. “Habla Español.”
Keesha stood up and shouted, “Shut up.” She turned and charged at Holly backing her against the wall with her forearm up against Holly’s throat. None of the women moved or uttered a sound.
“Now, bitch, for the last time, what are you in here for?”
Holly coughed as she tried to speak. The arm in her throat prevented any words from coming out. As if it made no difference to her, Claudette said, “Maybe if you got your elbow out of her throat, she could answer you, Keesha.”
Keesha glared at Holly, and after a moment eased up on the pressure she was exerting on Holly’s larynx. Holly swallowed hard, coughed, looked directly into Keesha’s eyes, and said, “Trespassing, obstruction of justice, interfering with a police investigation--maybe tampering with evidence.”
Keesha hesitated for a moment, released her hold on Holly, and exclaimed, “What!” Then she burst out laughing. “I’ll give it to you. You really are a comedian. What do you think, Claudette? You think we got Ellen Degeneres here?” Keesha looked at Claudette, who had a relaxed smile on her face.
Holly hadn’t moved a muscle since her release from Keesha’s lock hold. She didn’t trust that Keesha was genuinely amused.
“If you were black, I’d think you was Wanda Freakin’ Sykes,” Keesha continued. A malevolent expression returned to her face, as she pinned Holly against the wall again. “You expect me to believe a white- bread bitch like you is guilty of all that shit?”
“Why would I lie?” Holly replied.
“Maybe you’re just stupid. Is that it? Are you stupid, White Bread?”
“Yeah, I’m stupid,” Holly answered, feeling for the second time today like a mouse in the paws of a cat. She knew it never ended well for the mouse.
The sound of the metal security door opening outside the cell caused Keesha to release Holly. She returned to the bench she’d marked as her territory. As the door opened, Holly saw Officer Rodriguez entering with a young woman. She gasped when she saw it was Elena Gomez.
Officer Rodriguez said something quietly to Elena, who nodded her understanding. The officer stood by the door and Elena approached the cell, looking mournfully at Holly who came forward to meet her. “Ms. Donnelly, I am so, so sorry this has happened to you,” she said starting to cry.
“Elena, what are you doing here?” Holly whispered.
“I called your house. Your sister told me what happened. My neighbor is a cousin of Officer Rodriguez. She asked her to get me in to see you. I want to know what I can do to help you.”
“Elena, there’s nothing you can do. I’ll probably be released tomorrow. You should just go home.”
“Chica, que paso? Que hizo esta mujer?” the tomboy asked Elena from where she was sitting.
“Ella ayuda a mi madre,” Elena replied.
“Quien es su madre?”
“Leonelle Gomez,” Elena answered.
Holly shook her head. “Elena, go home and don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.” Elena looked bereft, unwilling to leave. Holly looked at Officer Rodriguez. The policewoman came over and said, “Okay. Time’s up.”
Elena squeezed Holly’s hand through the bars. “Don’t you do anything that could get you in trouble, okay?” Holly cautioned.
Elena just nodded, lowering her head as tears streamed down her face. The officer put an arm around her as she led her back through the security door.
Holly turned around to see all eyes on her. She bit the inside of her lip, unsure whether or not to move. The woman in red said, “Venga aqui, Señora y siente.” The woman moved to make space for her on the bench.”
“Wait a minute,” sputtered Keesha. “I’m not finished with her.”
“Oh, yes you are,” said the tomboy, jumping u
p and putting herself between Keesha and Holly. Keesha was a full head taller than this girl, but that didn’t seem to matter to her.
“Listen, you little runt, who do you think you are?” Keesha demanded.
“I’m the little runt who’s gonna cut you up when I get out of here and get my knife back. When I’m finished with you, only blind viejos will buy what you’re selling.”
For the first time since she entered the cell, Holly saw Keesha’s face register fear. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Fear could make her more dangerous. While Holly was grateful to no longer be the focus of Keesha’s anger, she certainly did not want to see her young defender get hurt. If Keesha didn’t back down, this could turn ugly very quickly.
After a moment Keesha stretched her neck and lifted her chin with a regal air. “All right, punk. This piece of trash isn’t worth my time anyway. You just keep her over there.” With that, Keesha returned to her bench, stretching her form to fill the full length of it.
“Gracias,” Holly said, as the tomboy returned to her seat with a bit of swagger in her step and a satisfied smile on her face.
“Hey, de nada. They call me Peppy. Juan Alvarez is my cousin. I know what you did for him. If I knew you were the one who helped him, I would have shut that puta up long ago.”
Holly laughed quietly. She felt much safer now, but she certainly didn’t want to do anything that might antagonize Keesha.
“Me llamo Maria. Mucho gusto, Señora,” said the woman in red, smiling graciously.
“Me llamo Holly,” said Holly. “Hablo Español solo un poco. Podemos hablar in Ingles?”
“Sí. I mean yes. I speak English,” Maria replied.
“I’m Barbara,” said the woman in silver. ”So, you’re in jail because you’re trying to help Leonelle Gomez?”
“Yes,” sighed Holly. “I found some evidence in the backyard of the woman who was killed, but someone saw me there and the family called the police to say I was trespassing. They charged me with obstruction of justice and all the rest because I crossed the police tape and entered the scene of the crime.”
Second Bloom Page 19
