by A. E. Howe
“Hell, he grabbed her tits and maybe a little ass, but he didn’t rape her or nothin’,” Jackson said, shaking his head.
“I’m going to tell you something that might save you some time in jail later in life. Grabbing someone’s private parts is sexual assault.”
“Since when?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised to learn this.
“Just believe me and remember it. Saturday night, you’re tending bar at your gentleman’s club and Tonya came in. Did anyone else besides Ray pay any attention to her?”
“No, I told you, the tw… girl came in and I sent her away.”
“Which reminds me. You also forgot to mention that she’d been in there before with Jarvis Monroe, whose uncle is a regular.”
Jackson’s eyes went back to the table. “So? You didn’t ask.”
“And we aren’t going to play those games this time. You tell me everything, and I mean everything, you think I might be interested in. Now, to save time, I’ll tell you right now that I have no interest in anything like drugs or prostitution if it does not relate directly to Tonya Williams. So you don’t have to worry that you’ll get in trouble with your boss. Unless,” I hit the table with my fist, wanting to make an impression, “unless you fail to tell me everything that relates to Tonya. If I find out that you left anything out or lied, I will find a way to screw you. If that means making it look like you’re cooperating with the current prosecution of the Thompsons, I’ll do that.” He looked a bit frightened by this. “I guess you can imagine what they would do to someone they thought was testifying against them.”
“Just ask your damn questions. Yes, she came in. Yes, she’d been in before with that candy-ass, so what? Saturday she was by herself. Like I told you, when she was leaving, Ray grabbed her. The place was crowded so I couldn’t see real well, but I saw him reach for her tit… breasts and maybe her butt. She screams like she hasn’t ever been touched before and hits out at ol’ Ray, who almost falls over. The old wino was already stumbling drunk. I was afraid I was going to have to roll him out the door. I’ve had to do that. Roll him out the door when we were closing. Do you believe that shit?”
“How drunk was he at the time he grabbed Tonya? Unstable drunk? Could she have fought him off if he’d persisted?”
“My five-year-old son could have knocked that old drunk over. Like I said, I was afraid he’d be a pain in my ass later, so I was watching him. That’s how I know he left about ten minutes after that girl.”
“Ten minutes. Could it have been five minutes? Or fifteen?” I pressed him.
“Not fifteen. Sooner, maybe closer to five. When I saw him leave not long after her, I thought there goes two problems out the door.”
“He didn’t come back?”
Jackson shook his head. “Funny about that, he hasn’t been back since.”
“That’s unusual?”
“You kidding? Some days he’s in there as soon as I open the door. The old fool just lives up the street.”
“Later, did anyone mention something happening outside?”
“Yeah, some guys were laughing about some fool who got hauled off for pissing at a cop. Nothing else.”
“One last chance. Did anything else odd happen that night? Think hard.”
Surprisingly, he looked like he was thinking about it. “No. Nothing.”
“What time did you close up?”
“I locked the door at two. I was home by three.”
“When you left, did you see anything or anyone outside the building?”
“Funny you say that. Now I remember there was a car there. I kinda looked in it to see if any of the girls were making money there.” He seemed to realize what he’d said and looked up at me with a chagrined expression.
“Don’t worry, I meant it when I said we weren’t interested in prostitution today. What type of car was it?”
“I don’t know. A piece of crap like most of the cars at the Sweet Spot.”
“Color?”
“I don’t know. It was late,” he whined.
“Was the car light or dark?”
“Dark. Maybe blue.”
“Was it there the next morning?”
“Nope, gone.”
I exchanged a glance with Pete. Based on the description that Shantel had given us, this certainly could have been Tonya’s car. But where was it now?
“What time did you get there on Sunday?”
“Noon. Time to clean up a bit. We can’t serve liquor on Sunday until one o’clock.”
“Anything else?” I asked Pete, who shook his head.
We had Jackson write up a witness statement and sign it. It turned out to be surprisingly articulate. As we were escorting him out the door, he turned and told me he hoped that we locked the drunk bastard up for good. When I told him that the old man was probably going to die, Jackson got an odd expression on his face and said he hoped he’d be okay. Human beings are very odd creatures.
My watch said it was quitting time. I realized I was going to have to keep track of all my hours for this since I wasn’t a full-time investigator. What a pain.
I invited Cara over for dinner. An evening in her company more than made up for the frustrations of the previous two days.
Chapter Ten
Thursday morning, they operated on Tonya to relieve pressure on her brain. Medical stuff eeks me out, so I didn’t concentrate on the details. What was important was that she came through the operation well, and the doctors had high hopes for her recovery. What they didn’t have high hopes for was her memory of the events surrounding the attack.
Pete called me that afternoon and put me on a conference call with Dr. Darzi, who’d finally had a chance to examine Tonya. “She took a very hard blow to the back of the head. The object used was rounded. A lead pipe or a baseball bat would fit the profile.”
“Could you tell how tall the man was?” Pete asked.
“If it was a man. Using a pipe or bat, this wound could have been inflicted by a woman. How tall… The victim is 5’6”. The shoes she was wearing were described to me as having very little heal. The attacker would have been taller than her, maybe 5’10” to six foot. And the blow came from behind, right to left. That indicates a right-handed attacker.”
I wondered how tall Ray was. Shorter than 5’10”, I thought, but maybe that was just because I’d only seen him drunk and stooped over.
“Was it only one blow?” I asked.
“Yes. One.”
We thanked him and he hung up. “What do you think?” Pete asked me.
“I don’t know. I doubt our drunk would have been able to deliver one solid blow. I would expect hesitation. The man’s not known for being violent.”
“And he’d have to stand up straight to come close to 5’10”. So are we looking for another assailant?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. We’ll need to find out who else was in that parking lot. And how did she end up at Ray’s? Did she stumble there after being clubbed?”
“Who the hell knows? Hey, guess who your dad interviewed for your old job?”
“I saw her when she came in for the interview.”
“Did she pull her gun on you?”
“Ha, ha. Everyone loves you for your sense of humor.”
“I know. Why don’t you follow up at the Sweet Spot and see if you can get a few names of patrons that might have been hanging out in the parking lot.”
“I’ve got one already. The pisser that Julio picked up.”
“Hey, that’s right. Follow up on that.” Pete was enjoying his role as the lead investigator.
“Thanks.”
“Since you quit, I’m juggling about ten cases from assault and battery to murder and you have one. I don’t want to hear your whining.”
We bantered back and forth for a few more minutes before I called Julio and arranged to meet him at the Sweet Spot. He regularly patrolled the area so he could give me info on all the regulars.
Julio and I drove by every w
annabe crack house in the Sweetgum neighborhood, looking for the Sweet Spot regulars. Actually, most of those folks never even entered the bar, they just conducted business in the parking lot. It left me feeling like I should gather up the honest people stuck in the neighborhood and take them someplace safe.
The neighborhood had a few older people who had bought their homes when it was one of the only subdivisions that people of color could move into. Younger people were moving in now, because it was the only area they could afford, and they were striving to make it better. These two groups had been petitioning the county commission for years to condemn the Sweet Spot and to enforce county codes covering yards and homes. But the Thompsons, who not only owned the Sweet Spot but also a dozen homes in the area, had attorneys that knew all the tricks. That, combined with the efforts of a few other slum lords, ensured that anyone trying to change things would find it a Sisyphean task.
Predictably, no one we talked to had seen anything. The only one who admitted seeing Tonya was Julio’s pisser, Tyrone Lamont, who claimed that’s why he was turned toward the street. He said he saw her and turned away out of embarrassment.
“You aren’t just telling us this because you think it might excuse your public urination, are you?” I questioned him.
Tyrone’s soft, intelligent eyes seemed to be at odds with the behavior he was accused of.
“No. Look, I’d just got paid for a big job I did. My AC company did the install for a new building in an industrial park in Tallahassee. I was just cutting the fool.”
“And you couldn’t find a better place to do it at?” I was incredulous.
“No, man, don’t do me like that. I was with an old buddy of mine. He’s been down on his luck. I thought we could go out and celebrate my good luck. Guy’s a mess. I made the mistake of taking him on to work with me for a while, but he couldn’t handle it.”
“But you definitely saw her?” I showed him Tonya’s picture again.
“I’m pretty sure. It was dark, I was drunk. But, yeah, she was wearing a sparkly silver dress. Something like that.” This jived with what we knew. Tonya had been wearing a silver dress with sequins running from the waist down.
“What was she doing when you saw her?”
“Walking away from the bar. I think toward the parking lot.”
The only other help Tyrone could offer was to contact his friend. He had to be very persuasive to get his buddy to talk to us. In turn, we agreed to take care of the public urination charge.
We met Rog, as he preferred to be called, at the Express Burgers where we bought him a bargain meal with the promise of a milkshake if he cooperated.
“Yeah, I saw her. I was too busy getting… You don’t care about nothing else but the girl?”
“Pinkie swear,” I told him.
“Tyrone says I can talk to you. Okay, I was starting to get pretty high by the time I saw her. Wasn’t looking for skirt. ’Sides, she was too skinny for me. She looked upset and was headed for the cars. That’s all.”
“You were near the door of the bar?”
“Buying… Uh, yeah. There were a couple of us. Don’t even ask for their names, man, they’d beat the crap out of me. They’re some mean bastards, but you got to go where the flow is.”
“Did you see an old man come out of the bar?”
“Old man? What do I care about an old man?”
“He was pretty drunk.”
“Oh, yeah, Xmax slugged him pretty good.” Rog made boxing motions with his hands and then quickly went back to eating his fries.
“Xmax?”
“No, no. I didn’t say no names. No. That old dude come out and he stumbled into… someone. The, uhh, someone punched the old man in the shoulder.”
“What’d the old man do?”
Rog laughed and shook his head. “What do you think he did? He fell down.”
“All the way to the ground?”
“No, just down to his knees. Didn’t even look at… the guy who hit him. Just crawled a couple feet on his hands and knees then got up, walked off. Funny as shit.”
Even the offer of the milkshake couldn’t pry any more useful information from Rog.
I called it a day and headed home to feed Ivy before joining Cara at her place for dinner. As I was leaving I got a text from Dad: How are you coming on Tonya’s case?
I texted back: Getting there, being intentionally vague. I was carefully avoiding seeing Dad in person. Having to keep Shantel’s secret about the file she saw, I didn’t want to be face-to-face with Dad right now. Part of the reason I’d felt so bad about the events of last month, and why I had quit, was because I had kept him in the dark for so long. This time, if I said anything I would be betraying a friend. But by not talking I was betraying my father. How do I get myself into these situations? I wondered.
Cara was waiting with a pizza when I got to her place. Alvin was all about the pizza and the only way we could get some peace from the wrinkle-faced Pug was to give him a Kong filled with peanut butter.
“He can’t have pizza. The little guy’s digestion isn’t good on the best of days,” Cara told me.
“I’m laughing over the Kong. Dad has one about the size of Alvin for Mauser.”
Mauser was probably the most spoiled Great Dane in the world and, from some pictures I’ve seen on Facebook, that’s saying something. Dad had become even more indulgent with him since last month’s parade. Dad insisted that Mauser was facing down Mark Edwards while the corrupt deputy held a gun on him. I’ve pointed out that anytime Dad lay on the floor, Mauser seemed to have an uncontrollable urge to come and sit on him. But my arguments were ignored. Even though I was the one who rode a horse straight at the killer, it was Mauser who got all the credit. And, yes, I was jealous of my long-tailed brother.
Chapter Eleven
I’d planned to spend most of Friday researching careers that I might be qualified for. Law enforcement can open up some interesting doors, but for some opportunities I would need more education. I’d always enjoyed school, but the thought of it now seemed a bit like going backward.
My plans didn’t matter. I got a call from Pete at ten o’clock. Ray was regaining consciousness, but the doctors didn’t know how long it would be before he lapsed back into a coma or suffered any number of possible catastrophic medical events.
When I got to the hospital, Pete was sitting outside on a bench waiting for me. “I really hate hospitals,” he told me, finishing a text and putting his phone away.
“All sane people hate hospitals,” I said as we walked inside.
Upstairs we had to once again hunt for someone who could advise us on Ray’s condition. Eventually we found the doctor in charge.
“Mr. Emery’s condition is not good. He’s awake now, but I’ve seen this before. His body is rallying, but I’m afraid the battle has already been decided.”
“Have you all been able to locate any relatives?” I asked.
“I had one of our interns work on it all day yesterday. I even sent her to his house. We’re pretty sure that he doesn’t have any family. He apparently lived in Atlanta for a while before moving here to be with his wife’s family, but they split up decades ago and what’s left of his wife’s family doesn’t want anything to do with him. And none of them ever heard him talk about any relatives.”
“Can we talk to him?” Pete asked the million-dollar question.
“I could not let you in, in which case this man will have no one with a connection to his outside life to talk to during what will probably be his last lucid moments. Or I could let you talk with him, and take the chance that you might upset him and possibly worsen his condition.” The doctor paused. “I’m a live-life-to-the-fullest kind of guy. If I was him, I’d want to talk with you no matter what news you brought. But I caution you. Don’t over-excite him or your interview will be over. Do you understand?”
“Of course,” Pete answered.
The doctor introduced us to a burly male nurse who looked more like a bounc
er. The mountain led us into the ICU and to Ray’s bed.
It was difficult to look at him. Entwined in tubes, he lay there shrunken and alone.
“Water,” he croaked. The nurse stepped forward and offered him water through a straw, drawing it back before the old man was finished.
“Can’t overdo it now, Mr. Emery.”
Ray growled at him, “I’m dying and I’m sober. What the hell?”
“Ray, I’m Deputy Pete Henley from the sheriff’s office.”
“You attacked me! Where’s the girl?” His eyes darted about as though he expected to see Tonya standing in the corner of the room.
“That’s why we’re here, Mr. Emery. Why did you assault the girl?” I asked.
Ray’s eyes went wide and he looked crazed. “I didn’t do nothing to her. It was him.”
“Who?”
“A man I don’t know…” He started to wheeze and couldn’t catch his breath. I was afraid the nurse was going to call a halt to the session, but he waited and Ray’s coughing subsided. He started again, “In the dark, by her car. He hit her.”
“So you’re claiming that another man hit her.”
“I ain’t claiming. You bastards. I knew you’d think I did it. I helped her. But I knew you’d come for me.” He sounded bitter and resigned.
“Mr. Emery, we know that you assaulted Tonya inside the bar,” I said.
He stared at me. “I did no such thing. Liar!” he sputtered.
“We have a witness who says you put your hand on her breasts and buttocks.”
“Hell, yeah, I did that, but I didn’t assault her. Just having fun.”
“That is assault. It’s sexual assault to touch someone’s body without permission.”
Ray snorted. “I never forced myself on no woman. A little touchy-feely, ain’t no harm in it. The world’s gone crazy.”
“You will have to take my word for it. What you did was a criminal act.”
“The joke’s on you. You bastards have killed me. You won’t be putting me in prison,” he said defiantly. He had us there. Then his eyes grew soft. “How’s the girl?”
