by Triss Stein
Zora took a deep breath. “There’s a few people who left me real vicious messages.”
He shrugged. “They jealous, most likely. Me, her, both of us.” He thought a moment. “I got an old girl friend who won’t give up, but I split from her before Savvie came along.”
StarrGurl. I didn’t even realize I said it out loud until his head snapped around to me.
“That’s her. Her made-up name. She like to say it a lot. Real name is Tammy. Anyway, she didn’t do this, she’s a little thing.” He seemed to think for a minute. “Whoever, they going to be sorry real soon. I keep thinking, if I was with her instead of in Carolina doing my stupid workouts, this couldn’t happen. You know what I’m saying? What does it matter if I can’t even protect my own girl?” He emphasized his anger with a punch to the back of a chair.
Pretty articulate, I thought. And nice manners too. I was starting to see the attraction for Savvie. Beyond the obvious, of course.
“Ms. Lafayette, what do you want us to do here? Can’t hold him, really.”
“You couldn’t hold me anyway.” His voice rose. “You think? You think I am standing still and letting you? You think you could?”
Zora shook her head. “You all go away. I am so tired. I just want some time with my child. You.” She pointed to him. “You stupid kid. The police will want to talk to you. You got to do that if they are ever going to find out who did this and lock them up.”
“Not what I am planning to do.” He stood even taller and his expression was scary. “I have some plans of my own about dealing with this. I’ll be tearing up the neighborhood, sending a real clear message. Not dealing with cops. And no one can make me.”
“No one? NO one? You ever want to see Savanna again, MY Savanna, you get yourself on the phone with the detectives. I know, I know. They are sometimes bad themselves, but these particular ones do mean business. I have a card somewhere.” She scrabbled around in her purse, still sniffling, but I had one too, and handed it over.
She stood. “You all go away and give me time here alone. You too, Erica, go home to your own girl but come by some other time to see how Savvie is doing. It’s too damn much right now.”
As they left, the two guards accompanying, or perhaps escorting, young Tyler, were asking him about an upcoming boxing match, whose chances were better, when was his own next event and how had training gone. Men, bonding. Unbelievable.
Wasn’t anyone else putting two and two together? A professional boxer, a man who knows how to throw punches, plus a girl who was beaten? That adds up to—what?
Chapter Seventeen
Home at last, mind whirling, I explained my lateness to Chris.
“It’s okay. I made us both some dinner.”
“You did what?”
“Geez, Mom, you don’t need to sound so surprised! I know where the food is. I can work a microwave.”
I took a deep breath. “Very true. And what is on the menu tonight, monsieur?”
She smiled, insult forgotten. Or at least forgiven. “Elegant tuna salad with olives and chopped red onion in it. Broccoli from the freezer, microwaved by moi. Garlic bread, also made by moi with the leftover Italian bread. Lots of butter, lots of garlic. Chocolate pudding. From a box, but I added the milk and cooked it.”
“What are we waiting for?”
Over dinner, I told her about my recent adventure and she hung on every word. I had her from the moment the mystery boyfriend appeared.
“I knew it. I totally knew it. There had to be a boyfriend in the mix.” She thought a minute. “But Mom, he sounds so nice! Could you really, really believe he was the one? The attacker?” She shuddered. “He loves her.”
“No idea. Honestly, he did seem like a sweet boy. But—and it’s a big but—sometimes they are the very people who beat up loved ones.”
“Yeah, I know.” She sighed. “I’ve seen photos. YouTube clips too. The ones of, like, famous singers, all beaten black and blue.” She was suddenly very sober. “I don’t get it. I would never, never, never. Not ever.”
“Glad to hear it. Now let’s get to work. You made dinner, I’ll clean up and you can go back to homework.”
She sat there, not moving, lost in thought. “I have an idea. What if I send out a question about this to all my contacts, everybody out there in the cloud. Not an accidental connection, but on purpose. Let everybody pass it along and it will spread all over.” She added, helpfully, “They call it going viral.” She looked at me, uncertain if I would go for it. “I did a lot of homework before you got home.”
“What can you do that the police department can’t? They told me they have officers on this.”
“Well, Mom, think about it. Teens like to gossip? You must remember that, even if you were young in the dark ages of talking on an actual phone.”
And I did.
“Can you fix it so no one knows it’s you? I don’t want you involved. Seriously.”
“Seriously? Of course I can.”
So I had to say okay.
I was barely finished with kitchen cleanup when I got the call I had been half expecting.
“Ms. Donato? It’s Sergeant Asher.”
“I had a hunch.”
“We had a very interesting call from Ms. Lafayette tonight. She said you were there and we thought it would be useful to have another report on what happened. Can you do that? And do we have permission to record it?”
So I told her what I had observed, as accurately as I could. She was not interested in my impressions, only in what I could report as fact. Mostly, it was who said what.
When we were done, and she stopped the recording, she sighed.
“I hope this was helpful.”
“Oh, everything is helpful. But nothing gets us there.” She stopped suddenly and then went on, “I didn’t say that and you didn’t hear it.”
“I didn’t hear you say anything at all.”
“Thanks for your time. We may get back to you for clarification, okay?”
“Wait! Wait. I want to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.” Her tone was cautious.
“Are you also working on the murder of Deandra Willis?”
“Not exactly. We are keeping in touch, though.”
“Are they getting anywhere? I just, I don’t know, I just wondered. Savanna has so many people speaking for her. Deandra doesn’t seem to…”
“Not so much. That’s true. But that does not mean the officers are not doing their job, you know. It’s a murder and…you have kids?”
“One. A fifteen year old daughter.”
“Then you know. All victims matter, but one like this, just a kid…” She went on briskly, “Anyway, they’re good ones, the team on that. They will do their job.” She stopped. “No matter what people think of us, if it can be solved, it will be. What’s your interest here, anyway?”
“I found her.” My voice started shaking. “In that trash can. And I had met her, Deandra, just a few days before.”
“Oh! Then I apologize. I did not make that connection from the crime scene.”
“We talked a little, that day. She was very young and very nervous.”
“Do you know anything that could be useful?”
“Doubt it, but she did talk about Savanna.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
So I did, that tiny moment, and asked if it was of any use.
“Well, we know about the boyfriend now anyway, but I’ll pass this on to the guys on Deandra, too. They’re taking everything they can find right now.”
“I had one more question.”
“Oh? I do have other…”
“I’ll make it as quick as I can. Something strange happened to me, there in Brownsville, not about this, and I wondered if you could tell me if I should tell anyone. I know you all have more pressing things, so I did
n’t do anything then.”
“Let me hear it.” She sounded resigned.
So I told her about my encounter, still questioning myself. What was there to report? No harm, no foul, as my dad often says.
She was silent for what seemed like a long time. Then she said, “You are sure, testimony in court sure, they were the same boys who were pestering the victim, and you identified in a lineup?”
“Definitely.”
“Okay. In the scale of what we deal with everyday here, that is very small potatoes, hardly worth the time to process a complaint.”
“Is there a but coming?”
“In this case, yes. Because they have been in trouble before. Because we have a gang unit that, among other things, tries to keep on top of troublemakers. Because—unofficially—they are not clear of being Savanna’s attackers. You know?”
“I thought they had alibis.”
She snorted. “Pure rubbish, those alibis. Knucklehead friends swore they were all at a party that night. Every single one was lying, and we all know it, but we just can’t prove it. Yet. So your story goes into the mix. I’ll pass it on.”
“Okay.”
“And thanks.”
I’d cleaned up the kitchen as we talked. Now I could get back to work. I had just enough functioning mind left to take a look at the Municipal Archives files. Put the different pieces in the right places so I could find them again.
I kept going back to the random candid shots that had popped up in the files from time to time. “Alleged mobsters, unworried, clowning on the courthouse steps.” “Alleged members of the notorious Murder Inc, on a big night out with their wives.” Silly, unimportant, but I was still trying to grasp who the hell these guys were. Was the night out photo from before or after they took a close friend for a ride in a stolen car and strangled him?
The poor photo quality was annoying but I remembered I had one of Leary’s magnifying glasses. It had accidentally come home with me, dropped into my backpack along with some files.
Aha! That helped a lot. I went back over all of them, and saw more details. Fun and games in some. A twinkle in the eye as someone tilted a new hat or brandished a cigar.
At that point I told myself to go to bed. I was way past being productive. I just wanted to look at one more, the lone photo that included Lil’s brother. There he was, young and handsome, only a few years older than Chris. He had the smiling, open face of a nice kid.
And as I had just pointed out to Chris, that did not mean he couldn’t also be a violent criminal.
I barely saw the tiny letters under the photo, as I was putting it away. K. Schwartz, Espy’s long-abandoned real name. Did he know Lil’s brother? Did he know all these guys, Brownsville’s worst?
I was starting to feel like he was popping up everywhere and I needed to pay attention to that. The only question was whether he was a true guide or a false one.
Oh, really. When I start thinking in fairy tale language about mystic guides it is definitely time for bed. I am a historian, not a Brother Grimm.
Next morning I would have to make another trip to the wilds of Riverdale to talk to Lillian and probably Ruby too. I would have the photos right there, handy, on my old laptop, and I could blow them up to a size they could see easily. There was something I was missing, just out of reach. Maybe they could help.
Chris and I chatted over breakfast. Her classes started late today, so it was not the usual mad rush. She had nothing she was ready to share from her all points question last night, but she had something to say—of course—about my plans.
“Mom, is that work? Or just fooling around?”
“What did you say?”
She seemed to hear her own words a moment too late. Or maybe it was my expression. “Uhh, sorry? But that’s what you would say to me! If it’s a distraction from work, don’t do it. And you have homework too.” She smiled.
“Go to school.”
She giggled and began collecting her gear.
Of course she was right. I was just madly curious.
A smart child is a mixed blessing. Did my parents ever feel that way? I certainly didn’t plan to ask my dad.
Yes, it turned out Ruby had some free time in the late morning, a good time for Lillian also. I would have to hustle. I had enough time, but barely, and only if I did not get lost on the way.
Riverdale confuses me. I navigated Brooklyn by dead reckoning. A collection of once-separate towns, it makes no sense really. Second Street, North Second Street and East Second Street have no relationship to each other and are in completely different neighborhoods. But I know this, I know the major avenues, I can find my way from any place to any other. Plus my dad, the cab driver, had expected me to master all of this when I began driving.
And on Manhattan’s grid system it is impossible to get lost, walking or driving.
But put me in other parts of the city, where there are winding roads, cul-de-sacs, and unfamiliar parkways, and getting lost is always a possibility. Or even likely. I had the directions in my GPS, I threw on some semi-respectable clothing, checked to make sure all the info was easy to find on my laptop and I was off.
As instructed, I met Ruby in the usual spot. As usual, she looked stylish and alert, nicely made up, dressed in a smart wool dress and pearls, suitable for a daytime meeting. Except for the orthopedic oxfords.
Her face lit up when she saw me and hurried over to give me a two-handed shake.
“My dear! How good it is to see a young face. Really, I look around at all these old people and think I must be old myself.” She smiled. “I thought you might like to see my little home, so Lil’s aide will bring her over there.”
She led the way to another building, carrying her cane and not using it, walking briskly, and talking non-stop as she pointed out the various buildings. She ushered me into a bright apartment filled with modern furniture. I don’t know what I expected but it was not that.
She waved her hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “New décor, bright and sunny for a bright and sunny apartment. Just look out there.”
It was worth a look, a large window framing the Hudson, a view so spectacular it had inspired a whole school of painters.
“I never get tired of it. Never.” She moved a huge shabby leather chair to allow us to get closer. “This chair came from the old place, of course. My husband’s, the one thing I could not part with.” She sighed, then brightened. “I even junked the Rosenthal china, all those silly rosebuds, and bought a new modern set.”
She pointed at the small table, already laid out with, yes, plain white china with a geometric border in pale green. “So come, sit down. I set up a little tea party. And yes, this is my old silver. One other thing I could not give away. I was so very proud when I got it.”
Her voice dropped. “We socialists weren’t supposed to want nice things. It distracted us from the struggle and it was immoral when others had nothing. But you know? I kind of did.”
Her hand shook a little as she poured the tea, but before I could offer to do it, she had her other hand on the pot to steady it. Crisis averted by her own coping. And there was the doorbell.
Lil came in with a walker and an aide. Ruby arranged for the aide to return in an hour. Hmm. So she had the agenda of this interview all set up?
Lil looked worse than the last time, pale almost gray skin, darker circles under her eyes, thinner. It was a beautiful spring day but she wore a long, misshapen sweater over her orange velour running suit.
“What is on your feet, Lil dear? Bedroom slippers? I mean, we are all past high heels, but slippers?”
She shrugged. “Who cares? My feet hurt a lot these days, and they are easy to put on.” She smiled and turned to me. “In my apartment, I have all my smart shoes, heels and evening shoes and spectator pumps. Bet you don’t know what those are?”
“Bet I do
. I’ve seen them in old magazines. White with another color on heel and toe and little perforations.
“Good for you! A plus. So I take them out and display them sometimes. My shoe museum. You should come and see.”
“Why, Lil, I didn’t know about this. You never invited me to come see them.” Lil shrugged, unconcerned by the hurt tone in Ruby’s voice. “It was thrilling to you too, when we could finally have nice things, wasn’t it? What did you love most?”
“Those shoes, of course. And real silk negligees. And travel. Who would have thought, when we were girls, that one day we’d travel on the Queen Elizabeth? Just like the movie stars?”
“Yes, indeed. Unimaginable for little Brownsville girls. My husband gave lectures in Hawaii and Barcelona and I went along. Of course,” she quickly assured both Lil and me, “Barcelona was after Franco. We certainly would not have gone while those Fascists were in power.”
“I gave a talk at a conference at Oxford. Oxford! I had to wear my academic robe.”
Ruby laughed. “I bet you wore nice shoes with it.”
“I certainly did. Belgian pumps, ivory linen and oxblood leather. Matching bag, too. From Saks, no less!”
“Well, of course. I mean, it was Oxford!”
She and Ruby laughed when she added, “Of course I can’t remember what I had for breakfast!”
They were laughing but I was ready to snap. How could I get them to focus? We had a small amount of time, and they were all over the place this morning.
Lil deftly pulled the tray of mini-Danishes closer and picked out several. Ruby lightly smacked her hand and said, “What are you doing, dear? Your diabetes…”
Lil sat back, still holding the tray.
“Ruby, don’t be ridiculous. One, you are not my nurse. Or my doctor or my mother, heaven forbid. Two, they cover it with extra insulin now. And three, who the hell cares? The best part of stage 4 cancer, let me tell you, is I do what I want now.”
Ruby responded by making her spine a little straighter. “I am only trying to watch out for your health.”
