by Sean Huxter
Chapter 10 When I next saw Turley's car on Tremont I approached. He remembered me from the crime scene so he was happy enough to talk to me again. He didn't seem to have the same prejudices about the homeless that a lot of cops I've dealt with had.
“So what's going to happen to her?”
“Mrs. Frederick?”
“Aggie, yes.”
“She was arraigned, the judge agreed she presented as not fit to
stand trial and ordered a psych evaluation. Doctor came back with an official diagnosis of severe dementia due to advanced Alzheimer's. She's been taken to a care facility. She'll be fine. They're taking good care of her. Not to mention there's plenty of eyewitness testimony to support a self-defense plea if it ever became necessary. Several people say this Arthur Bones was stalking her. But it won't come to that.”
“So, what, she's getting the care she needs now when before, the insurance companies and the hospitals just chucked her?”
“Looks like.”
“For how long? I mean will they keep her in care?”
“Well, her prognosis isn't good. It's advanced Alzheimer's. She's never going to recover. She has probably less than a year to live. And she'll spend that year getting good care.”
“So that's good at least,” I said.
Turley agreed, solemnly.
Chapter 11 I was strolling down the central path on the Common towards where Old Fernie had set up again, yelling out the weather and other news. He was calling out news from Afghanistan as well as the sports scores. His ear was glued to his small radio.
“Sup, my man?” he said. “All's good, my man,” I replied. Things were getting less awkward between us.
“Any news on Aggie and Thomas?” he asked.
“Nothin' on the radio?”
“You kiddin'. What radio station's gonna report on the murder of a street bum?”
I hated to admit it, but he was probably right.
So I said, “It looks like Aggie Frederick is in care, and Thomas won't have to worry anymore.”
“That's some kind of relief anyway. He's been taking care of her since they got to the streets. Lately, though, she wasn't letting him. She pushed away his offers of food, his attempts to make sure she was safe. She completely shut him out. It's gotten worse over the last couple of weeks.
“I have no idea what I'd do if I had a sick wife to take care of, no money, and we was on the street. Hard enough to take care of yourself, know what I mean? Well, yeah, I know you do.”
I knew what Old Fernie was talking about. What would
I do if I found myself taking care of a sick wife, and had a hard enough time fending just for myself? I was having a hard enough time as it was, so much so I hadn't even changed my clothes in over a week.
Of course I'm clever. I'd probably arrange...
Oh shit.
I had to find Thomas Frederick. Now.
Chapter 12
I found Thomas Frederick at the Common Gazebo as expected. He was eager to find out what I knew. “I checked with Turley. He says she's been taken into care and will be cared for until... for as long as she lives.”
“Oh, thank god...” he said, breaking down again. He clearly loved his wife. I could see the relief in his shaking shoulders.
“Looks like your worries are over. You can relax now.”
“Thank god. Now I know she's safely in care, I think I can finally breathe again.”
“To be thus is nothing, but to be safely thus.”
“Huh?”
“Macbeth.” I said.
“Pardon?”
“Macbeth. Murdering king of Scotland. From the play by Shakespeare.”
“Yes, I know the play. Aggie and I saw it once in New York.”
“You were worried because you weren't sure your plan would work. But now that you know, you can stand down. You are not only thus, but safely thus. Your plan was flawless.”
“Plan?”
“Nice clothes.”
“Yes, I got them a few days ago at the shelter.”
“So soon after the traumatic arrest of your wife on murder charges? New clothes were a priority?”
“Well, I really needed...”
“You needed to get rid of the blood evidence.”
He stopped, his mouth open.
“Well, you would have had to have been covered in blood. Even more than Aggie, since you would have gotten the original spray from the knife wounds you inflicted.”
He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. His mouth slowly closed.
I continued. “So I get the plan. You've cared for Aggie since the first onset of this disease, and you were secure, had a home, money and insurance. And over the next few years it all fell apart. The job, the insurance, her health, the hospital, tossed to the street. How could you get her the care she needed now? You could barely care for yourself.”
He remained silent.
“But she got worse. Worse than you could imagine. You thought she would always need you to care for her, but in the last few weeks she wouldn't even let you because she didn't even recognize you. She thought you were some stranger, a stalker.
“So you formulated the perfect plan. Get her arrested for a crime that would force the system to place her in a mental health facility where you knew she would receive care, probably better care than she ever had.
“But why murder? Why murder Arthur Bones? That part was pure jealousy, wasn't it?”
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“She was taking a shine to him, and forgetting all about you. And you couldn't handle that. So you killed him. And you hugged her, probably one last time, and slipped the knife into her overcoat pocket. She probably didn't even know you were there. Hell, she probably didn't know she was there.
“But in the morning when she woke up and discovered a bloody knife in her pocket, and the blood all over herself, she did what her instinct told her to do – these things that form in the brain at such a young age that even Alzheimer's can't erase them. She went looking for a police officer, and in doing so she cemented her guilt in the eyes of the law.”
“Do you know what it's like to see your wife just fade out like this and not be able to take care of her anymore?”
I nodded real understanding. “But you committed a murder, Thomas. An innocent man died. Someone really does have to go down for that.”
“Ok, so what are you going to do? Turn me in?”
“I have to.”
“You know what'll happen then? They'll release Aggie. She'd be proven innocent. They'd put her right back out here, and know what the difference will be? She wouldn't have me to care for her anymore. She'd be helpless. Probably be dead in a week.
“You look like a decent guy. You don't want that on your conscience. Besides, the murder is solved now. And Aggie's not even likely to know why she is where she is, but she'll have three square meals a day and all the medication she needs and a soft, comfortable bed. And in a year or so she'll be gone. What good can come of turning me in except to doom an innocent woman to … this hell?” Dammit.
He had hit all the right buttons. He was right. In all but one thing. “Once a murderer...” I said.
“You won't have to worry about that,” he said. “I did what I set out to do. You won't ever have to worry about me committing another crime again.” He sounded final on the matter. And curse me but I believed him.
“So what are you going to do?
Her life is in your hands.”
“I'll tell you what I'm going to do,” I said, and got up and walked away. I shouted over my shoulder, “As soon as I know.”
Chapter 13 “Patriots take San Diego 29-26 right here at home!” Fernie yelled in a deep voice, loud enough for people to hear for almost as far around as you could see.
Some days had passed, and it was Sunday again and I sat with Fernie on the low wall along the walkway of the Common. Fernie never sits on the benches. He leaves them for the couples walking by. Fe
rnie would call out the current temperature and forecast for the afternoon weather. People were amused by Fernie's news and fed his cup aplenty, walking away smiling.
“So, my man, what happens next?” he asked as I recounted what had happened since we'd last spoken. “I don't know what happens next,” I said. “I know Aggie's in care and if I ever let the police know what really happened she'd be out on her ass again, doomed to wither and die on the cold winter streets of Boston.”
“Man, ain't that some story,” he said, shaking his head. At this point a well-dressed man in a lengthy duffel coat and white gloves sauntered by saying “Loose Change” to any tourist he encountered. He sold several of the small, folded newspapers just as he went past us.
“Concierge!” Fernie said.
“Fernie!” the man said. He looked like a hotel concierge. An elderly black man, not terribly tall, would not have been out of place hailing cabs outside the Ritz.
“That the latest issue?” Fernie asked.
“Hot off the presses, my man.”
“I'll take one,” Fernie said, proffering a buck from his cup.
“Free for you, my man,” the Concierge said. “You know that. Free for my good friends.”
“I thank you, my man,” Fernie said.
The Concierge smiled and walked happily along, shouting, “Loose Change!”
I had a glance at the cover and something caught my eye. I snatched the paper rudely from Fernie's hand and read one of the column headlines.
Homeless Man Found Dead
At first I thought it was just a newspaper being slow about reporting the death of Arthur Bones, but I read more. The man was found in the gazebo on the Common in the very early hours of Saturday
– yesterday - dead by his own hand. He was found clutching a photograph of a young couple on their wedding day. The photograph was rolled up in a tube and clutched tightly in his fist. He had apparently overdosed on pain killers. Probably ones he had left over from treating his wife's pain, I thought.
I sat there, stunned. Poor Thomas...
Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it...
3115 days sober
Chapter 1 I walked into the Stanley Day Center that Tuesday in March to chaos. Someone was shouting “Call 911!” At least two people were kneeling over a blood-covered body. Others were holding down a young man who was screaming and flailing like he was a crazy man. There was so much blood everywhere I froze in mid-stride, just staring.
Blood. Wine. It looks the same when it's fresh.
The sound of screaming began to recede to a white hissing noise as I just slumped down to the floor in order to make way for the uniformed Boston PD officers who rushed in past me from behind, guns drawn. I barely saw them take charge of the youth who until now was being frantically restrained by two male volunteers. The officers rolled him on his chest and cuffed him, one shouting into the mic strapped to his shoulder.
Seconds later paramedics rushed past me from behind and began working on the girl on the floor.
Purple sweater, gray jeans, thin, short dark hair, young. Dammit. Marnie.
That was it for me.
Chapter 2
Embarrassing to have to be revived by paramedics when they had more important things to do. The one called Halloran I knew around. He was checking me over, but now I was alert and he could see I wasn't going to need his help today. The coroner must have already removed the body. All that was left was an uneven carpet of blood on the floor and the thick smell of rusted iron in the rain.
Marnie's blood.
“You ok?” Halloran said.
I blinked, looked around. The crime unit team were scouring the
place, photographing everything, the blood smeared on the floor, the splatters all over the walls and ceiling, the knife embedded into one wall.
“Marnie!” I shouted.
“Sorry...” Halloran said. “Was she a friend of yours?” I looked in his eyes, understanding slowly.
“Multiple stab wounds. There wasn't anything we could do,” he
said, sympathetically. “Looks like you just suffered a shock. You'll be ok. Did you witness the attack?”
“No, I got here just after, I guess. They'd already grabbed the kid.”
“Ok, look, I gotta move, but the officers need to take witness statements. Sit here for a few minutes until you're steady. They'll come to you.”
I sat there, not sure any of this was real.
I looked towards the several uniformed officers who had shown up during my brief absence. No one I recognized.
One approached me when he saw the EMT stand, give him a thumbs-up and leave.
“Sir, can you tell me your name?”
Numbly, I gave it.
“I'm Officer Kendall. Sir, I need to ask you some questions about what you saw. Can we do that?”
“Sure,” I said unsteadily.
He helped me to my feet and indicated a side room which had some chairs and a table. A group therapy room I'd been in more than once. I was supposed to have an AA meeting in here tonight.
We sat. He took out a notepad and mechanical pencil, clicking the top twice.
“Did you witness the attack?”
I shook my head slowly. Words lagged behind the action. “Nope. I came in and it was... it was... my god... Marnie.”
He raised his head sharply.
“You knew the victim?” he asked.
“Marnie Steward. She's a volunteer from BU. Grad student. Doing a psych degree, wants to help the homeless.” I said.
“And how well did you know Ms. Steward,” he asked.
“She's an assistant case worker. She helped with the patients and the admin. As a student she was always supervised by a superior. She wasn't directly involved with me, but we were friendly.”
“Friendly?”
“Marnie was that. Friendly. She was young, idealistic. Still had that fresh-out-of-school smell,” I said.
It just struck me that Marnie was younger than my Lisa would have been...
“Was she as friendly to everyone?” he asked.
“Yeah, equal opportunity optimist,” I said. “The kind of kid who cares. You mattered to her, and that mattered to me.
“First day she met me I was sitting at the Pine Tree Inn having a meal at one of the tables. She sat directly opposite me and introduced herself. Late last year some time. I knew she wasn't one of those fly-byThanksgiving helpers who show up that one day thinking they did their part, cause it was at least a week later.
“She saw that I had eczema on my hand and took it in both of hers without as much as asking and turned it over. Said she had something for it that I could try. She said that she had it too when she was younger, and this stuff cleared it right up mostly. Kept a tube on her and she gave it to me.
“That's how she is. No pretense. Just a caring person. The stuff worked too.”
Kendall wrote.
“She's dead?” I asked, just to be sure.
“I'm sorry.”
We sat in silence for a moment or two.
“Did you know the attacker?”
I wasn't sure who he meant at first. I just remembered seeing flailing limbs. But then recognition set in.
“I see him around when I come in for AA meetings. Creepy kid. Young. Younger than Marnie. Teen, I think. I see him sometimes with Miko and his skateboarders up at the Frog Pond. But I haven't seen him here this early. He shouldn't have been here yet. He usually comes in at seven when evening therapy sessions start. Marnie had nothing to do with him.
“Marnie shouldn't have been here either. She's usually gone before six. From the days I come anyway... things may have changed. I only come in once a month or so. Me, I avoid that kid. He has these eyes. Like when he looks at you he sees you as already dead.”
The officer wrote more.
“What can you tell me about him?”
“Nothing. Just know him around. Enough to stay away if I can. What the hell was Marnie doi
ng here?”
“We're trying to determine that, sir.”
After answering a few more questions it was clear to Kendall that I had told him all I knew, so he left me sitting at the table with dried tears on my face.
Chapter 3
I didn't stay around the Day Center long after the police left. I walked back along Huntington Avenue and back into Boston's historic section. I couldn't help think about Marnie and how her life had been all in front of her just hours ago, and now it was all behind her.
Cause of some kid who shouldn't have been out on the street, not by what I saw of him. Homeless kid. Hung around Tremont and Downtown Crossing. Didn't venture into the Common much, so I didn't see him often which was ok by me.
Mentally unstable, I guessed. But I didn't think he was
this mentally unstable. Like so many homeless, the system doesn't work and he is failed at every level. I knew he was seeing Doctor Parmal though. Someone was trying.
Not hard enough.
Why was he early? Why was she late? Their paths weren't supposed to cross.
Chapter 4
“Officer Turley,” I said into the window of a Boston PD cruiser parked outside the Common the next morning.
“How goes?” he responded, jovially. Turley was a serious police officer, but he always had time for the homeless. “Need anything? I got water bottles.” He sometimes just handed out water bottles, filled fresh from his own tap. Especially on warm days. Dehydration was a serious issue with the homeless. As a show he wasn't lying he got out of his cruiser, opened the trunk and fetched one of the bottles, cracked the cap and drank deep, offering me one. I opened it and drank as well. Hot day.
“I was there yesterday. At the Day Center,” I said.
He did a spit take, closing the bottle off with the screw cap.
“Really? What the hell happened?”
“Got there just after it happened. Like by a minute.”
“Shit. You ok?”
“Yeah, I'll be ok. But the victim was a friend.”
“Marnie Steward.”
