It was light when Ellen got off the bus on her street. She had been nervous about coming home alone after Temerity’s warning, but there was a police car parked in the entrance to the alley, so she felt better. Still, she opened the door to the apartment slowly, poking her head in cautiously. Mouse got up and meowed loudly, but other than that, no living thing stirred. Ellen reached down and patted Mouse on the head twice. He twisted away and looked from side to side, then pushed his head up again, his tail raised and twitching. So Ellen patted him twice more, allowing him to stroke his cheek against her fingers. His fur felt soft and slightly greasy, but she enjoyed his vibrating purr on the pads of her fingertips. Then she put food in his bowl and went to check the now barless kitchen window.
It was undisturbed. She had left a note for the super last night, telling him that the bars had fallen off and needed to be replaced. She hoped it wouldn’t take long. Then she looked through the back door’s small window.
The place was swarming with police, though they were so quiet she’d had no indication they were there. It was as though whatever excitement had brought them here was past. They seemed to be focused on the curtain lady’s apartment, of which Ellen could see only the steps to the landing. So that was where she saw them bring the body out.
Not that she could see a body; it was just a black plastic bag, secured with three straps to a gurney. Ellen watched, silent and appalled, as it was carried down the steps, across the courtyard and loaded into a nondescript van that Ellen could now see bore the words COUNTY CORONER.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. Then watched as a white truck with vented side panels parked in the space vacated by the van’s departure. A woman in a light green uniform got out, opened one panel and removed a crate. Ellen saw now that a policeman was holding the dead woman’s miserable little poodle under one arm. He passed off the shaking creature to the animal control officer, who cooed to him and petted his head reassuringly before placing him in the crate and loading him onto the truck. Grabbing the binoculars, Ellen read what was printed on the side. ANIMAL CONTROL, EAST CITY SHELTER. Snatching up one of her notebooks, she hurriedly recorded the information.
Below her, Ellen noticed the same detective that she had seen at the hospital draw aside a man in jeans and a jacket—his partner, Ellen assumed. They stood in the shadow of her back stairs for a conference.
“Preliminary coroner report says he thinks heart attack is what actually killed her, brought on by extreme physical distress. She also had heavy bruising on her upper torso, she’d been roughed up. But the coroner doesn’t think the blows themselves were fatal. She’ll let us know after the autopsy. What do you think?”
“She may have had a heart attack, I don’t doubt it, but somebody broke into this old lady’s apartment and beat her up. If she died of heart failure, it was because she was literally scared to death.”
“And she was the only one who could have ID’d the shooter.” He sighed, and Ellen remembered the man with the pierced eyebrow, who had overheard this information at the hospital. The detective went on. “Besides our victim, Tunney, who doesn’t seem inclined to butt heads with the Germenes gang.”
“Smart guy.”
“Yeah, not smart enough to stay away from them. He didn’t take a bullet in the shoulder by steering clear of trouble.”
“So, he’s what? Dealer? Fencer?”
“Most likely, but we don’t have any product—no drugs, no stolen goods, nothing to hold over him to make him testify. Says he just wants to get out of town. Claims he never got a look at the guy.”
“He let him in the apartment!”
“I know.”
“Have we got the report back from forensics on the gun from the tipster?”
“Prints are a match to the kid we released on bail. Ballistics aren’t in. They’re backed up, big week for shootings. Should get to it tomorrow. But five will get you twenty that it’s the weapon that shot J. B. Tunney. We’ll send someone to pick him up on an illegal possession charge. If I’m right, and he hasn’t skipped bail, we’ll get him for the Tunney shooting. But Tunney was only injured, and juries can be a little lenient about shooting a drug dealer, so the shooter will get five and walk in two. But beating up a little old lady and causing her death is another ball of wax, and I’d love to tie the old lady’s death to him. But, so far, I got nothing.”
“Was she the one who called in the tip about the gun?”
“Don’t think so. The informant wouldn’t give a name. This lady couldn’t wait to have her name stamped in capital letters on the crime report last time.”
“Who found her?”
“A state health worker who comes by twice a week to give physical therapy to the guy in 1C. She saw the officer who responded to the call about the gun. She told him she was concerned about the dog whining, said that was unusual. The uniform checked it out, noticed the lock was broken and found the body.”
“What about the neighbors? Anybody see anything?”
“We haven’t talked to the girl upstairs—works nights, apparently—but everybody else says no. Not surprising.”
Ellen drew back from the window. Quickly, she collected a few things, snatched Temerity’s card from the wall above her bed and went to the door. Cracking it open, she peered out and then hurried down the stairs, merging into the sidewalk foot traffic just as one of the officers returned to the patrol car. She walked to the corner, crossed the street and booked it.
She didn’t slow down until she had put several blocks between herself and the apartment. Then she pulled out Temerity’s card and looked around. Pay phones were scarce these days, when even the guys selling fruit on the corner had mobiles, and there were none to be seen. With no other idea, Ellen kept walking. She looped back around to the main thoroughfare and picked up the bus.
When she got to Temerity’s building, she stood in the alley looking at the door for a moment. It was so solid, so metal, so intimidating that Ellen turned away, but as she stared blankly at the dumpster against the alley’s dead end, she knew that any place she went would end in a thicker brick wall than the one in front of which she stood.
Ellen turned back to the door and pressed the buzzer.
“Hello?” Temerity sounded surprised to have an early visitor, but Ellen was relieved that she didn’t sound like she’d been sleeping.
“It’s me,” Ellen said. “He killed the old lady.”
There was an audible gasp, and then the door buzzer sounded. Ellen pushed it open and went up the stairs, taking them far more easily than she had the first time she’d been there.
The door at the top of the landing was standing open and Temerity had come out to the railing.
“What happened?” she asked when Ellen was still on the flight below.
Breaking the words up to allow for the mandatory sucking in of air, Ellen said, “They think she . . . had a heart attack, because . . . he, or . . . somebody broke in and attacked her.”
“How horrible,” Temerity said. Her face was grim and set. “It had to be him. Of course it was. I hope they get him soon. Did they find the gun?”
“Yeah, they found it, but . . . they are waiting for some kind of test results.”
“Ballistics,” Temerity said. “You know, like in a detective story. They can tell if a bullet was shot from a particular gun. And they’ll have to get the fingerprints.”
Ellen knew from her reading what “ballistics” meant, but it was strange to use the word in her life. “Yeah that, but they do have the fingerprint results. I heard the detective say that they match.”
“Well, one mission accomplished, I suppose,” said Temerity with a sigh. “I’m only sorry we didn’t get fifteen seconds to feel good about it.”
“I know,” Ellen said. “And they took the dog.”
As though the word “dog” had produced the real thing, Runt bounded onto the lan
ding and jumped up, placing both paws on Ellen’s chest. She braced herself against him and felt an odd cheering sensation at seeing the funny, shaggy head so close to hers. “Hello, Runt,” she said.
“I was just going to take him out,” Temerity said. “Want to come?”
Ellen looked back down the three flights of stairs, thought about going down and then up them again, and was surprised to hear her voice say, “Sure.”
Temerity grabbed a leash from near the door and made the dog sit while she clipped it to his collar. “I don’t usually do this,” she said, “it being a little unpleasant for me to locate his public offerings by sense of smell, but Justice had to leave early. I was going to just take him in the alley, but now that you’re here, we can take him to the dog park.”
After a short walk, frequently interrupted by Runt lifting his leg on no less than a dozen streetlamps, they closed the gate to the dog park behind them. Trying to sound conversational, Ellen asked Temerity, “Do you know anything about Russians?”
Temerity unclipped the collar and Runt bounded off to join a thorough mutual sniff from a handful of fellow canines. “You mean Irena?” she asked.
“Sort of.”
“Well, I’m no expert on the Slavic peoples, but what did you want to know?”
Ellen considered how best to phrase her question. She settled on, “Is the name ‘Georgi’ common?”
Temerity made a puh sound. “Common? I think it is. In fact, the translation is ‘dirt.’”
“What?”
Temerity smiled. “Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘common as dirt’?” When Ellen didn’t answer, she said, “It’s a joke. Never mind. I don’t know for sure, but judging from the number of Georgis in the considerable Russian population of this city, I’d guess that it’s a very common name. My butcher is named Georgi, so is Justice’s mechanic, come to think of it, and they’re both Russian. There was a famous conductor in Minnesota named Georgi, a defector from way back when. So it can’t be that unusual.”
“Oh,” said Ellen. “I thought it might be.”
“What does that have to do with Irena? Is that the baby’s name?”
“Don’t know,” Ellen said. “But it’s the baby’s dad’s name.”
“Father of the Year.” Temerity turned her face up to the weak sun and breathed in the smell of the trees and the air around her.
Ellen watched Runt creep up to a small dog, who snapped at him. Runt tucked his tail and bolted for the far side of the dog run. “So,” Temerity said, “maybe we should go by the store on the way back. I’m guessing you’ll need a few things.”
“What for?”
“Well, you are not going to that apartment alone until we’re sure the guy is not coming back, so that means you’ll stay with us.”
“What?” The word was sucked from her in a gasp.
“It’s okay, we’ve got a room. It’s not very big, but it’s private, has its own bathroom and you won’t have to hang out with us unless you want to.”
Ellen remembered something she wanted to ask Temerity. “Is Justice, uh, okay?”
“Sure,” Temerity said, a little too quickly, and Ellen saw her mouth purse slightly.
“He wasn’t mad or anything, was he?”
“Well, let’s say he wasn’t brimming with enthusiasm about our physical altercation on your roof. Check that, he wasn’t enthused that either of us was on the roof to start with. I told him he has no sense of adventure.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said people die all the time having adventures.”
“And what did you say?”
Temerity’s face cracked into a huge grin. “I said people die all the time not having adventures. Alone in their apartments.” She sighed again. “As witnessed by this morning’s sad happenings. I told him, ‘You’re always after me to get out more. So I did. At least we’re living life.’”
Ellen was glad that Temerity couldn’t see her grimace. Though she admired Temerity’s gusto, she wasn’t sure that what had happened yesterday fell under the category of “living life.” She would have put it more under the heading of “dancing with death,” and the merest wisp of the memory set her core shivering.
On the other hand, she didn’t remember ever feeling quite so alert before. She gazed around at the brighter colors, trying to put a name to the phenomenon. It was, she decided, as though she had been asleep, curious and interested but watching through lazy eyes while dozing her way through life. The events of the last few days—and, to be honest, Temerity’s continued presence—had affected her nervous system like downing a triple shot of espresso. She was aware of things now, things she would have dismissed as remote before. The problem was, she wasn’t sure if this new alertness, this waking up, was worth the shocking sensation of being doused by a bucket of cold water and the slap on the face that accompanied it. On the other hand, she didn’t feel exhausted all the time, which was bizarre really, if she considered how much more she was doing. Weird, she thought.
After a few more minutes, Temerity called Runt back and fastened his leash again. “Let’s go home,” she said. “I’m depressed, and you know what I want when I’m depressed?”
“Breakfast?” Ellen asked, hoping she could read minds.
“And lots of it!”
Runt barked to show that he too was psychic.
After visualizing a meal of sweet buns and bacon the whole way back to the loft, Ellen was surprised when Temerity started pulling vegetables out of the fridge. She set Ellen to work washing and slicing tomatoes, green and red peppers, and onions, and then had her whisk four eggs in a bowl while she heated a pan. Ellen stood savoring the smell of the sweet onions with her mouth watering as Temerity sautéed the veggies into a kind of sauce, then added in the eggs and some shredded cheddar cheese and folded it all together. The result, Temerity announced as she slid it from the pan onto a plate, was a Spanish frittata. She cut it into triangular slices like pie and they ate it with their fingers, using dish towels as napkins.
Vegetables, Ellen was discovering, were not just the pile of green pond scum slopped onto a plate in her group home or school cafeteria. Those overcooked frozen vegetables hadn’t been something that could be readily carried off to closets to eat while reading. Snack foods wrapped in cellophane had been much easier to secrete away for later, thereby avoiding mealtimes. It came as a surprise to her that vegetables could be tasty and portable, but a good surprise. By the time the last bite had been wiped from their fingers, Ellen’s eyelids were drooping. She yawned.
“Sleepy?” Temerity asked.
“Yeah, I haven’t slept since yesterday.”
So Temerity took her to what she called the choir loft. The door off the main living area opened onto a short hallway. Next to a double door, which Temerity opened to show Ellen her own bedroom, was a narrower single door, not much bigger than a linen closet. It opened to reveal a flight of steps. They went up, single file, to a small, long room with a round window at the end. There was a desk, a shelf with lots of books, a lamp, a closet, a bathroom, a queen-size bed, which seemed huge next to Ellen’s single mattress, and a pile of pillows that seemed to wink at Ellen, as though they were saying, Come on, you know you wanna.
Waiting only long enough to make sure that Ellen had everything she wanted, Temerity said she had to go and practice, and left her alone.
Cautiously, Ellen sat on the corner of the bed. It gave, but supported her firmly. She bounced it a bit, and it bounced her back. She kicked off her shoes, climbed up into the piles of white comforter and cushions, wrapped herself in a nest of them both and passed out.
When she woke, her eyes focused on the charming wall clock. Ellen smiled, feeling no confusion about where she was or why she was here. How nice, she thought, to have something just because it was charming. It was two thirty. She’d been asleep for only si
x hours, but she felt refreshed. She decided that this must be because the room had been so quiet and, for the first time she could remember, she had not woken, not even once. A normal day’s sleep for her was interrupted more than a dozen times.
She washed her face and brushed her hair, keeping her eyes away from the mirror. She was amazed to find that there was not only everything she needed in the small bathroom’s cabinet, but everything she could have wanted. She looked with longing at the actual bathtub, big enough for even her bulk to lie back in, but she knew that Temerity wanted to go visit J.B. before the day was over, so she cautiously promised herself that treat later.
As she made her way down the single flight, she remembered Temerity telling Cindy that maybe her luck had changed, though she hadn’t used those words exactly, and Ellen thought, Me too. She’d spent her life living day-to-day, hoping for nothing more than to get through each one unnoticed and unscathed. But she’d cooked breakfast with Temerity, had a wonderful sleep and would treat herself to a warm, maybe even hot, bath tonight.
She smiled. It was so much easier to expect nothing and be all right than to expect something and be disappointed. Still . . .
Temerity was sitting in the huge open room in a square of sunshine streaming in through one of the windows. Just sitting. Her face was turned up to the warmth and her palms rested, turned up, on her thighs. She heard Ellen approaching and turned her head slightly, speaking in a lazy, relaxed manner. “Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you,” Ellen told her. “Did you, uh, practice?”
“Yes, I’m glad it didn’t disturb you.”
“Oh, I forgot to ask, how was your concert the other night?”
Temerity smiled and got up. “Fun. We play the same program again next weekend. Some guy’s cell phone went off in the middle of the second movement. Antoine was pissed.”
Having no idea who Antoine was, Ellen made no comment.
“I made you a sandwich. Why don’t you have it while I find my shoes and get my stuff, then we’ll head out. Okay?”
Invisible Ellen Page 21
