by Alicia Scott
“That’s getting into dicey ground—”
“Who cares! We need to find this kid. We pop the lockers, we search for weapons. Chances are, that narrows our list from several dozen to one. We bring them here, we set them up in interrogation rooms, and I’m telling you, in less than two hours, we can hand you Vee. Bing, bang, boom, and for a fraction of the cost of a twenty-four-hour command center. How do you like that?”
“Koontz, we go into a school and pull out a dozen African-American children after an invasive locker search. Then we drag them to the police station without benefit of their parents or legal council? It looks aggressive, it looks insensitive, and at least half of our population is going to scream bloody murder because it’s illegal.”
“Oh, my God!” Koontz rolled his eyes. “Do you ever listen to yourself speak? What kind of cop do you think you are?”
“I’m not a cop, Rusty. I’m the chief of police, and it is my job to think beyond this department. In fact, I’m paid to manage the mayor’s, and the city council’s, and the public’s perception of us. You may not like PR, but you don’t have to. You’re a detective. I’m the chief, however, and I don’t have that luxury. This is a politically sensitive case at a time when this department is on very shaky ground with the African-American community. We act inappropriately, and the public outcry will bury us alive.”
“Yeah? Then don’t act at all. Wait till this kid blows away some hardworking officer—better yet, a twenty-something, freckle-faced poster boy with a new wife and baby on the way, and then you see who the public buries alive.”
Sandra exhaled sharply. She glanced at Mike again. He remained leaning against the doorjamb, still not saying a word. She shook her head, this time his silence hurting a little more.
“Fine,” she said after a moment. “Let’s do this—Lieutenant Hopkins, you man the command center. Rusty, Mike, you take the picture to the junior high. Draw up your list of possible boys. See if you can tie any of the names more closely to Vee. Do they have a sister who was shot? Did they have an older brother? Maybe someone heard them mouthing off about shooting cops. Anything concrete. In the meantime, I’ll talk to the D.A. about legal grounds for a locker search. But I honestly don’t want to go there if we don’t have to. Bringing a dozen kids to the station is too much and going to get us backlash. Let’s hope, through standard procedure, we can limit ourselves to three or four boys with good cause. That’ll look better all the way around. Make sense?”
Koontz shrugged, probably the closest to agreeing with her he’d ever come. Lieutenant Hopkins nodded. Mike smiled sardonically and said, with meaning, “Fine.”
Sandra figured she deserved that.
“One thing,” Koontz spoke up again. “I don’t think it’s necessary for both Mike and me to go downtown.”
Sandra frowned, not understanding this. Mike was shifting uncomfortably in the doorway now. For the first time, she picked up on the tension between the two men. “What do you propose?” she asked Rusty carefully.
“I can handle it.”
“You can handle it?”
“Yeah. Why waste two detectives flashing around a portrait? I’ll go to the junior high.” He glanced at Mike and said almost belligerently, “I don’t have a problem with that.”
Sandra didn’t like this. She shook her head. “Rusty, talking to the principal, teachers, and all the students is a lot of work. Two detectives are perfectly appropriate.”
“I don’t mind.”
“It’s not safe. You two go together or not at all. Anything else?”
Koontz thinned his lips stubbornly. There was definitely something going on between the partners; Sandra could see that now. Was that what was eating away at Mike? He and Koontz went way back. Sandra had never personally liked Rusty, but she understood that he was Mike’s partner.
“Great,” she said briskly. “Meeting adjourned.”
She picked up a pen to signal she was done with them. Just as Mike opened the door, however, she said in her most casual voice, “Detective Rawlins. One moment, please.”
He stalled, Rusty snickered. A moment later, Sandra and Mike were alone in the room. She waited until he closed the door again. Then she set down her pen.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For last night.”
He regarded her balefully.
“I…I know I agreed to trust you more, to respect your feelings when you don’t feel like talking. I’m sorry I pushed so hard. I just…” She realized she was about to launch into a speech about her own needs again, and quickly caught herself. “If, when, you’d like to talk about what’s bothering you, I would like to listen. Just so you know.”
His stance finally relented a fraction. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hated the way things ended last night.”
“I know.”
She smiled ruefully. “Guess we never forgot how to touch each other, or how to fight.”
His gaze fell. He looked truly tired now. “No, I guess we didn’t forget how to fight.”
“Funny, it’s never the way I want things to go.”
“It’s not what I want, either. Sandy…” He sighed. She could see lines around his eyes now, bruises beneath his eyes. Whatever had happened between him and Rusty, it had been a doozy. Mike looked like he’d been put through an emotional wringer.
“I know I shouldn’t have stormed out like that,” he said abruptly.
“That…hurt.”
“I didn’t mean half of what I said….”
“Sure you did, Mike.” She held up her hand to silence his next protest. “It’s okay. Most of what you said was right.”
“I still shouldn’t attack you like that. I don’t mean to. You just keep pressing and then…”
“You blow.”
“I blow,” he agreed.
“Mike,” she said hesitantly, “has it ever occurred to you that if you spoke sooner, maybe it wouldn’t build to the point of blowing? You know me, I spout off at the drop of a hat. I’m not saying that’s right, either, but you are the other end of the spectrum. Easygoing Rawlins. You shrug everything off, except I don’t think it really rolls off as easy as you pretend. Instead it gets stored inside of you. Where it grows, layer upon layer, until…boom,” she concluded softly.
“Boom,” Mike echoed dryly. He rubbed the back of his neck. “There might be something to that.”
“I still shouldn’t have pushed you,” she added hastily.
“You had your reasons.”
“I really did like our evening. Up until that point.”
Slowly he nodded. “I liked our evening, too. Even when I’m not ready to talk… I needed to see you last night, Sandy,” he said. “I needed to be with you. And then to see that teddy you wore. Peach. Just for me. I loved that.”
Her insides warmed. Some of the tension finally left her. “Maybe we could try again tonight?”
“You’d be willing to do that?”
“Yeah, I’d be willing to do that.”
“Ma chère,” he murmured. “Sometimes you take my breath away.”
“I learned it all from you.”
The door was still shut. Her office had no windows. He moved in close. Just when she thought he was going to simply brush her cheek, he kissed her instead. It was slow and sweet, what they both needed.
She settled deeper into his embrace and for a long time they simply stood together and let the moment feel right.
Then without another word, they separated and returned to work.
Vee still waited somewhere in the city streets, and though they had not discussed it, they were both nervous.
Chapter 10
Mike and Rusty journeyed to the east side in silence. Koontz was driving, his hands gripping the steering wheel abnormally tight. In the tiny space of the automobile, yesterday’s argument loomed as a large gulf between them. Mike didn’t know how to bridge that gap, or if he was supposed to even try.
They turned into the parking
lot of the junior high. Though it was eleven in the morning, over a dozen kids loitered outside the building, several of them smoking. They regarded the police sedan with flat stares as Koontz pulled into a front parking space. Mike watched a fresh sheen of sweat dot his partner’s upper lip.
“Damn kids,” Koontz muttered.
They opened their doors and headed out.
Nobody approached them. The students didn’t appear any older than fifteen, and they seemed content to hold their ground. But Mike was feeling his partner’s nerves now as well. There was something about the way the kids watched them, frank and shameless, as if they knew something Mike and Koontz didn’t. As if they’d already sized up the two older, larger detectives and found them wanting.
By the time they reached the front school doors—once glass, but now boarded up to hide the bullet holes—Koontz was shaking out his silk suit jacket over and over again. Mike didn’t blame him.
Alexandria’s junior high was twenty years old and looked forty. Like many buildings built on city budgets, it featured cheap linoleum floors and low drop ceilings. Over the years, bored students had tossed enough pencils up into the corkboard panels to have permanently imbedded yellow pieces of wood. The walls also featured student-supplied decorations in the form of bright graffiti and fist-sized holes. To complete the inner-city theme, two metal detectors guarded the front doors and a security officer stood beside them—not that either kept the school weapon-free.
Random searches of student bags and lockers continued to turn up enough firearms to convince the school board that they had a problem without ever actually making a dent against it.
Mike and Rusty met first with the principal. Marty Rodriguez was a small man, sharply dressed and firm with his handshake. He smiled easily and seemed genuinely enthusiastic about his school, if not realistic about the lives and opportunities his students faced. He also didn’t care for the composite drawing.
“Yes, I saw the sketch in the Citizen’s Post. But I’ll be honest—that picture fits half the boys here.”
“Focus on one aspect,” Koontz said. “Not everyone has the same features.”
“The cheeks are round. This is junior high. Most of the boys are still carrying some baby fat. The eyes are dark and evenly spaced. Again, nothing unique. Seeing the hair might help—some kids are sporting their initials shaved into their scalps these days—but you show him with a baseball cap turned backward. That doesn’t limit my options.”
“What about height?” Mike spoke up. “He’s a smaller kid, maybe four-ten, four-eleven. About a hundred pounds.”
Principal Rodriguez considered it for a moment. “That helps. What about dress?”
“Baggy jeans, oversize blue sweatshirt with a hood and front hand pouch.”
“Gang colors?”
“Didn’t see any, but we were chasing him at the time, so it wasn’t a detailed viewing.”
“Still, the bandannas are fairly obvious. If you didn’t see it, then he probably wasn’t wearing colors. So now we’re talking about a thirteen-year-old, a bit on the small side, not in a gang. That limits my choices.”
“Enough to generate a list?” Koontz pressed.
The principal hesitated. “I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that.”
“Hey, the kid has opened fire on cops. He’s pledged to kill one sooner or later. This is serious business.”
“So is giving out a list of student names, Detective. We work hard to make the students feel safe here. If word gets out that we’re letting police officers roam our halls, it’s going to look like we’re siding with the enemy. I’m being realistic.”
Mike leaned forward, putting on his most charming smile. “Then we promise to be on our best behavior. You give us names, access to a few teachers for questioning, and we’ll be all done. Otherwise, we may have to inter view all the students. We may have to hang out here for quite some time. Wouldn’t you say, Koontz?”
“Days,” Koontz agreed. “Maybe weeks.”
Principal Rodriguez scowled. He knew he was being pressured, but like any good school principal, he also understood that some fights weren’t worth the effort. “I can only provide a general list,” he warned. “Vee may not even be one of our students.”
“We’ll keep that in mind.”
“How many teachers do you want to talk to?”
“How about Mrs. Kennedy, the English teacher?”
“Fine. I’ll arrange it in the teacher’s lounge. That would be best.”
“We can hardly wait.”
Mike thought Mrs. Kennedy looked wary when Principal Rodriguez ushered her into the faded teacher’s lounge. She was wearing a pastel flowered skirt with a matching blue sweater-blouse, tiny silver earrings dangling beneath her upswept hair. Very pretty, very classy. Mike imagined half of the boys in her English class had a towering crush on her. Looked like Principal Rodriguez might have a small one himself.
Since Koontz was back to being uncomfortable, Mike took the lead. Yes, Mrs. Kennedy had read Vee’s second letter in the paper, as well as Chief Aikens’s reply. She’d also examined the picture run this morning. Really, it could be any thirteen-year-old boy. Why did they keep coming back to her?
Mike thought he detected hesitation in her voice now. He glanced at Koontz and saw that his partner had noticed it, too. Mrs. Kennedy was holding back.
Mike brought out the principal’s preliminary list of thirty seventh-and eighth-grade boys. “Last time, we left a copy of Vee’s letter with you, correct?”
Mrs. Kennedy nodded slowly.
“I imagine you’ve had to read some more homework assignments since then. Kids turning in essays, reports…”
She nodded again.
“Anything jump out at you this time? Maybe a sentence here or there that suddenly reminded you of the letter? Look at this list of names again. Think about the letter. Help us out here.”
She absently fingered the list of names, and Mike could tell she didn’t really need to see them.
“Mrs. Kennedy?” he probed quietly.
She said, “I noticed something.”
Mike sat up straighter. Koontz promptly whipped out his notepad. Mrs. Kennedy was speaking in a rush.
“It’s funny. To read the letter, I was thinking of someone hard-core. A real tough boy, probably one of my students who doesn’t even do his homework assignments. I know what a straight shooter is. I understand I have a few in my class. Sometimes I think I can pick them out just by looking. That boy there has killed someone, this boy here. It’s uncomfortable, to be looking out at a class of thirty-five students, wondering how many of them are already murderers. It’s just not right.”
“You’re scared? You think you need protection? We can take care of that.”
“But that’s just it.” Her gaze finally rose to meet Mike’s. “When I looked at this picture this morning, I didn’t see a hard-core gang member. My first thought was a different child completely. He sits in the back of my third-period English class, never says a word. Just shuffles in at the start of the period, then shuffles back out at the end. I’ve never seen him hang out with any other students. My impression is that he keeps to himself and, for whatever reason, the other students let him be.”
“Maybe ’cause his brother was somebody important,” Koontz murmured.
She shrugged. “I don’t know, Detective. But I can tell you I honestly never pictured him as the violent type. He’s small, quiet, unobtrusive. More the kind of student doomed to fall through the cracks of the education system.
“I went back this morning to see if I had any samples of his writing. He’s turned in quite a few assignments, I discovered. He’s actually quite bright. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it more before. There’s a certain poetry to his writing, a need to be heard. I…” Her voice broke off awkwardly. She looked genuinely regretful. “I’m sorry. I have a feeling I was supposed to have heard. But one hundred and twenty students. So many papers to grade… I didn’t get his me
ssage, his need to be noticed, and so he took it to a larger audience.”
“The kid who wrote the papers also wrote the letters? You’re sure.”
“Pretty sure. I am really so sorry.”
Koontz and Mike leaned forward. “Give us his name.”
The kid who called himself Vee was trudging back to school. Lunch break. Students weren’t supposed to leave the school grounds, but most of them did. Cafeteria food sucked at Alexandria Junior High. Kids all went to the local minimart and loaded up on Nutter Butters and Cupa-Noodle soup instead. Best lunch you could get for a buck fifty-five.
Vee didn’t get to eat today, though. He didn’t have money, spent his last dollar two days ago and now his stomach hurt. One bowl of mac and cheese a day just didn’t sit right. He’d have to get a job, he thought. His sister definitely wasn’t gonna work and they couldn’t live on what the government paid her. Landlord took most of the welfare check for rent. Heat and electricity gobbled up the rest. God knows the last time the cupboards had food.
Vee would get a job. Not much out there for thirteen-year-olds, though. Unless he wanted to be a lookout. That’s how Big S Sammy had started. Low in the gang ranks, moving on up from there. Yeah, he’d gotten the ultimate promotion in the end, right on up to the big house in the sky.
Lord, Vee’s stomach hurt. He cut across the school parking lot and some big kid came out of nowhere and grabbed him around the shoulders.
“Shuddup, little bro.” The big kid quickly dragged him behind some big old car. Four other big kids were there, geared up and looking mean. Vee gazed from one pair of flat, black eyes to the next. He thought he knew what would happen next.
They’d pound him. Pound him hard. Crack ribs, swell his eyes shut. Beat him till he stopped whimpering. Then it be done. He’d belong to their hood. He’d be a gangbanger and his broken-down mama would cry.
Damn. For a moment, Vee was so hungry he didn’t care. If he be a gangbanger, he could go to some homey’s house. He could eat his food.
“You be Vee?”
The kid who called himself Vee nodded, trying to look tough. He’d thought this might happen. Picture in the paper wasn’t that good, but maybe good enough for other brothers, particularly ones who knew Mac-Two.
