As he continued asking questions and following them where they led, he wondered if any of these fragments might be the key that would unlock Daniel's prison.
Chapter 15
All the Big Sister/Little Sister paperwork was complete, Val had attended the training classes, and she had passed the background checks. Finally it was time for the official match meeting. She and Lyssie were unusual in that they had met each other at the Big-for-a-Day picnic. Usually matches were based on careful analysis by the case managers, and today would be the first meeting.
But even though they had already met and connected, this was still a big event. Val spent as much time choosing her outfit as she had for the previous week's date with Rob.
Refusing to allow herself to be distracted by the fact that she would be seeing him in a few hours, she studied her closet. No power suits today. She wanted to look ladylike and responsible for Lyssie's grandmother, while casual enough not to intimidate Lyssie. She settled on a long, flowing print skirt in cool blue cotton with a navy tank top and a loose chambray shirt with sleeves rolled halfway to the elbows—jacket-like but much less formal. Add navy sandals, and she was ready to go from the match meeting to the crime scene reenactment.
Match meetings were set in neutral places, in this case a spiffy McDonald's restaurant with a playground attached. Val felt a shiver of nerves as she pulled the car into the restaurant lot. Representing the interests of legal clients was a big responsibility, but making a commitment to a child was much greater. Who was she to mentor a kid who had endured what Lyssie had?
Too late to back out now. This was just nerves, like waiting to make her opening statement in court. She entered the restaurant and saw that the other three had arrived and were sitting under the hanging plants in a sun porch-like room. Lyssie's grandmother was a heavy woman of indefinable ethnicity. Though very dark- skinned, her salt-and-pepper hair was straight and her features hinted at Asian or Native American blood.
With a smile, Val joined the others. "Lyssie, Anita, it's wonderful to see you." Turning to the older woman, she offered her hand. "Mrs. Armstrong?"
The older woman gave Val a swift, comprehensive examination that seemed to look through blood and bone to the soul. Apparently approving, she took Val's hand. "So I am." She had a lovely smile, full of wry wisdom. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Covington. I knew you were a good match for Lyssie as soon as she said the two of you could talk Harry Potter together."
Val laughed. "We have that and ultra-curly hair in common." She glanced at the table. "Shall we get a bite to eat, or at least something to drink? My treat."
Over sundaes and drinks according to taste, Anita outlined the responsibilities of all parties to the match, adding that she would always be available to discuss any problems that might arise. The case manager ended by saying, "Val and Lyssie, why don't you go outside and chat while Mrs. Armstrong and I have another coffee?"
"Good idea." Val got to her feet and glanced at Lyssie, who hadn't spoken except to answer questions.
Head down, Lyssie got to her feet and accompanied Val out to the colorful playground, which was empty of other children at midafternoon. Wearing blue shorts and a T-shirt, Lyssie was all glasses and bony limbs and bushy dark hair.
As her new little sister fidgeted around the playground, Val plopped down on a large plastic hamburger. "Are you as nervous about this as I am?"
Lyssie glanced at her. "How can you be nervous? You're a rich lawyer."
"Being a lawyer mostly means that I'm good at acting because that's really handy in a courtroom, so today I'm acting as if I'm not nervous," Val explained. "Money is a really interesting, complicated topic since people are often judged on how much money they have. It's stupid, but that's how things are. I earn enough to feel sort of valuable, but I wasn't rich growing up, and I can't say that I feel rich now."
Interest caught, Lyssie asked, "What does rich feel like?"
"I think it means having enough money that you don't have to think about it. In college, I would think three times before buying a daily newspaper because even twenty-five cents was money I couldn't afford. But I never had to worry about whether I had enough money to eat, even if some weeks I lived on tuna noodle casserole. Now I can buy lots of things without having to think about it." Val grinned. "There's an old joke that says if you have to ask how much a yacht costs, you can't afford one. Maybe that's what rich means—never having to think about money. Which means anyone who doesn't worry about money can consider herself rich."
There was a hint of smile before Lyssie turned away, her thin shoulder blades sharp against her yellow T-shirt. "I've always had enough to eat."
"To some people, that would seem rich." What to say next? Val had counted, wrongly, on the way they had clicked at their first meeting. But Lyssie was a guarded, wary child, and one brief meeting did not a relationship make.
Hoping honesty would help, Val said, "Lawyer or not, I feel nervous. We've signed contracts that say we're going to try to become part of each other's lives. This means more than taking you to movies or the aquarium or a mall. It means sharing thoughts and ideas and interests. It will be great if it works, but if not, it will be pretty darned uncomfortable. I think we can make this match work, but we're both entitled to be nervous. I probably look like a bossy do-gooder, while I can't help wondering if you'll prove too tough for a wimp like me. Drugs or gangs or something."
"No drugs. Ever. My father did drugs." Lyssie's voice was granite hard. "No gangs, either. I don't have friends."
Val felt a disabling wave of tenderness. Reminding herself that she was supposed to be a friend and mentor, not a parent, she said, "Then we can skip worrying about drugs and go to the fun stuff. After all, sisters are supposed to have fun together."
She drew her knees up and looped her arms around them, her long skirt falling over her ankles. "What would you like to do together? I like to cook. Would you like to try some cooking or baking? Or if you think you'd like gardening, we could take a shot at that, though it's a bit late in the season to start." When the girl just shrugged, Val said, "Your turn to make a suggestion."
Lyssie tugged a curly lock straight. "We can read together."
"Flopping down in my den to read our separate books will be fun, but there are other kinds of reading fun. A friend of mine founded a mother-daughter reading club. Each month, everyone reads the same book, and then they talk about it. She says they have some great discussions, and everyone learns from each other. Members take turns suggesting the books."
"Other girls?" Lyssie didn't look enthused.
Guessing why, Val said, "They're girls who like books, which is a good start to making friends. Shall I look into it and find out when they get together? They've done all kinds of books, including Harry Potter."
Lyssie nodded, looking mildly interested. Encouraged,
Val said, "Do you like making things? I used to love doing craft projects, but I've gotten too busy. I need an excuse to do them again."
Lyssie met Val's gaze fleetingly. "That might be okay."
"Shall we schedule a trip to a big craft store for our first outing? I'd like to do it next Saturday if that's okay with you."
Lyssie nodded, and this time there was a shy smile.
* * *
Since Anita had driven Lyssie and her grandmother to the meeting, Val volunteered to drive them home. The small but impeccably neat Armstrong row house was in a neighborhood near Sinai Hospital, about fifteen minutes from Val's house. When Val pulled up, Lyssie climbed out of the car and skipped into the house, but Mrs. Armstrong lingered. "Be patient with her," she said softly. "Life hasn't been easy for my grandbaby."
"I understand," Val replied. "Don't worry—I know this will take time. She's a very special little girl to have endured what she has so well."
"She hides in her books."
"There are worse places to hide. Books and cats have been good friends to me."
"You have cats? Lyssie will like that
. She dotes on my old tabby." Mrs. Armstrong's smile faded. "She's all I have left, Ms. Covington, and I don't know if I can be as strong as she needs. That's why I want her to have someone like you."
"I'll do my best, but I warn you, I haven't had a lot of experience with little girls since I was one myself. And please, call me Val."
"You've got a good heart, and you take her seriously, just as she is. That's what any child needs. Any person, really. I was a home health care aide for years, and the first thing anyone needs is to be taken seriously, and treated with kindness." She opened the car door. "Call me Louise, Val. I hope we'll be seeing each other regularly."
"If it's all right with you, Lyssie and I were thinking of getting together next Saturday and making a raid on a craft store."
"Oh, that's good. Let her use her imagination to make things." Louise climbed from the car, but turned back to say, "It's a good beginning. Thank you, Val."
As Val drove off, she realized that more was being asked than in a typical Big/Little match. Anita had said that Louise's health was poor. Diabetes, maybe? Perhaps she had put Lyssie into the Big Sister/Little Sister program in hopes of providing stability if something happened to her.
Hoping Louise's health improved, Val turned the car and headed toward the Kensington neighborhood. Time to think about murder.
* * *
Kendra was feeling a mite bit twitchy when she met Rob and Val in the Crabtown shopping center so they could do their crime scene reenactment. Her nerves were temporarily forgotten when she saw Rob. "Man, did you run into a buzz saw? You sure look different without the beard."
"So everyone says," he said dryly. "Val still hasn't forgiven me."
"I've always loved teddy bears and beards." Val grinned at her paramour. "But I'm adjusting."
It shouldn't be hard to adjust to a guy as good-looking as Rob. Not liking beards herself, Kendra had thought him merely pleasant when he was shaggy. Clean-shaven, he was definitely hot. Not that she noticed except intellectually, of course.
She glanced around the shopping center parking lot, noting cracked asphalt and a couple of empty storefronts. She hadn't been here since Daniel was convicted—she had moved out of that cursed apartment as soon as she could. The neighborhood was in pretty good shape, but returning depressed her. "You're in charge of this party, Rob. What do you want us to do?"
"Let's start at your old apartment. I'd like to get a sense of the layout. You tell us everything you did that night. Then I want to go to the murder scene and walk through what happened. Maybe it will give us some new ideas. Maybe not. But it's worth a try."
Kendra nodded, and they walked the two blocks to her former home. The building had started as a pair of semidetached houses. Later each had been divided into two small apartments. She and Daniel had lived in the upper apartment of the right-hand house. There was a nice-sized yard with a magnolia tree and impatiens blooming in the shade, but she shivered when she looked up at the curtained windows of her old home.
"This must be upsetting," Val said quietly.
"An understatement." Kendra wrapped her arms around herself, though the late afternoon air was warm. "Yet it was a happy place when we lived here—quiet, hardwood floors, a nice yard. My baby took his first steps in the kitchen. Daniel was getting his act together, and we sure had some good times, right up until..." She bit her lip, remembering the pounding on the door when the police came to take her man away. Val touched her arm sympathetically.
Rob said, "When I talked to Detective Barkley, he said you were bathing the baby so Monroe could have left and returned without you noticing. Is that possible?"
"In theory." Kendra pointed upward. "That little window on the side of the house is the bathroom where I washed Jason. The entrance to the apartment was at the back of the house—that sidewalk leads around to it. Daniel could have gone down without me seeing, but that evening we were talking on and off. He was all excited because his boss wanted to promote him, so we were both in a good mood."
She forced herself to recall events she had tried to forget. "About halfway through bathing Jason, Daniel came into the bathroom and gave me a glass of beer. He was making a suggestive comment when the baby splashed water over both of us. We laughed about it and Daniel went to change his shirt. There weren't more than a couple of minutes at a time when I didn't know right where he was." She hadn't known that it was the last time they would be together as a family.
"Barkley didn't mention any of that. He seemed to think you were busy with the baby and not noticing anything else."
Kendra's mouth twisted. "He had decided I was lying, so anything that didn't fit his theory he ignored. After Jason was washed and dried, I put him to bed. His crib was in the comer of the living room. We were thinking about getting a larger place soon, when... when we got married. After I put the baby down, Daniel and I—well, we went to bed, too, but not to sleep. We had just gotten up and put on some clothes, and I was going to rustle up a snack when the cops came."
"What time was that?"
"A little before nine o'clock. A TV show we liked came on then, and I was trying to think what I had in the kitchen that would fix up fast so we could watch the show while we ate."
"The murder took place just before eight, so the police moved fast," Rob observed. "Onward to the crime scene. Kendra, what do you think would be the most logical route for Daniel between here and the site of the shooting? I want to see how long it takes to cover the distance."
"Will you question along the route to see if anyone saw a running man that evening?" Kendra asked. "I'm sure that the police never questioned anyone."
Rob shook his head. "Maybe if I had the time and manpower, but it wouldn't help our case. The time for questions was then. Everyone for blocks around the murder should have been questioned because the murderer ran somewhere, though not necessarily in this direction. Not much point in doing it now."
"Now what would the best route be?" Kendra oriented herself before setting off at a brisk walk down the block. She turned left, then crossed the street and cut into the alley that ran down the middle of the next block between narrow fenced backyards and a few small garages. "We used this alley a lot," she explained to her companions. "It would have been the most natural way for Daniel."
As she led the way, she admitted to herself that this was probably an exercise in futility, but physical activity gave her the feeling that she was doing something useful.
Five minutes of walking brought them to the scene of the crime. It was a quiet street of brick row houses with cars parked in a solid line on both sides, leaving a narrow driving lane in between. Each house had a small roofed porch several steps above street level, most adorned with hanging plants and kids' toys.
Rob had visited before, but his skin still crawled. This street seemed too quiet, too safe, for murder. "It took us five minutes to walk, so a fit young man could have run the distance in a couple of minutes. I suppose that supported Barkley's theory." He stopped under a sycamore in the middle of the block. "It happened right here."
"There ought to be a black mark on the sidewalk or a cross. Something else to say that a man died here." Kendra turned slowly, scanning the quiet street. "I never came here after the shooting. Couldn't stand the thought. You have the police files, Rob. Exactly what happened?"
"That's what we're going to walk through. Val, will you play the part of Brenda Harris? She was heading east on this side of the street. She had gotten off work and taken a bus home, and she was tired. Not paying a lot of attention to her surroundings because she was almost home and felt safe."
Rob scanned the street. "Even now there aren't a lot of lights on the block. The assailant was lurking in this cross alley. It was pretty dark and a bit chilly. Dusk on a cloudy day. A lot of people would have been eating supper, so the street was almost empty.
"Kendra, would you cross the street to the second house from the end? That's where Malloy was when Brenda Harris was attacked. He had been patrolling aroun
d the Crabtown center and decided to visit the residential streets nearby so he wouldn't be too predictable. He was conscientious. When I pull Val back into the alley, you come running as if you've heard her scream."
Kendra trotted across the street while Rob withdrew into the alley and waited for Val. Getting into her part, Val trudged along the sidewalk with her head down, a tired woman at the end of a long day.
Rob tried to put himself in the mind of the assailant. Maybe he was hopped up with some kind of drug, itchy inside his skin, looking for trouble. Here comes a woman, youngish, not bad-looking, not watching what was going on. An easy mark.
He darted from the alley. A half dozen steps to grab her.
She stiffened in his grip. "Should I fight?"
He looked down at her small face, felt her petite body between his clamped hands. How could any man wish to injure an innocent woman? God, how would he feel if someone attacked Val? Brenda Harris had a husband and two children. How had they been affected by the incident? "If you like, but not too hard. No one gets hurt tonight."
She began to wriggle and flail, but he easily overpowered her and forced her back into the alley. He imagined himself as the kind of man who was aroused by resistance. He was excited by what he was doing, not thinking about consequences. "Brenda wasn't as small as you, but she wasn't huge, either. The attacker clamped his hand over her mouth, but she managed to turn her head and call for help just as he was getting her out of sight of the street."
He signaled to Kendra, who raced toward them with the grace of a natural athlete. As she joined them, she snapped, "Halt in the name of the law!"
"The bad guy swears and slams Brenda down so hard she's stunned." He set Val aside and whipped around to face Kendra, imagining rage at the sheer bad luck that put a cop on the scene.
"You try to pull me away, but you've gotten too close.
I'm bigger than you and a lot meaner, so I slug you in the jaw. You reel back and before you can go for your weapon, I pull out my fancy European handgun." Rob whipped out a purple plastic water pistol from the small of his back, where it had been concealed by his jacket. "I blast you in the head at point-blank range, and you fall to the ground."
An Imperfect Process Page 15
