Joe didn’t have an answer and Mimi didn’t expect one; she didn’t have one, either. Normally, a group of tight-knit women would lean on each other, but each of them had endured such emotional devastation, none of them had the strength to help shoulder another’s burden. She’d just have to hope that Alfreda Tompkins was close enough to the breaking point that Mimi’s offer of help would be received, even if not with open arms. Alfreda had left home that morning at 7:15 and Joe and Mimi assumed that she was going to work, so at lunchtime, while Joe was on the phone harassing officials of the Pennsylvania Turnpike Authority, that’s where Mimi went looking for her.
Alfreda Tompkins was, and had been for ten years, the administrative assistant to the admissions dean at Washington University—no run-of-the-mill secretarial job given the rigorous admissions requirements, coupled with the number of applications received every year. Mimi guessed that the job kept Alfreda busy enough all day so there wasn’t time to worry about her home life. Perhaps not even time for a lunch break . . . but Mimi was stationed outside the admissions office at noon anyway. She’d already asked a harried-looking student if Alfreda was in and received a harried-sounding affirmative response. Since Mimi knew what the woman looked like, she could only wait and hope, and at 1:15 she was rewarded. Partially. Alfreda Tompkins and another woman exited the admissions office together, but they parted company at the end of the hall, and Mimi followed Alfreda when she turned right, walked down a flight of stairs, turned right again, and walked down another hallway that led to—oh hell! The faculty and staff dining room. Mimi broke into a sprint and caught up with Alfreda before she entered the room where everyone else entering and leaving, Mimi finally noticed, wore an ID badge.
“Ms. Tompkins!”
Alfreda stopped and turned, a pleasantly expectant look on her face. Of course everyone knew who she was, even a stranger. The pleasant part of her expression evaporated, and she backed up a step when Mimi introduced herself. “Why are you here? What do you want? No one here has done anything wrong!” Mimi’s reputation as an investigative reporter was well known, as was the fact that frequently the subjects of her investigations suffered the consequences of their often illegal actions.
“I’m not here about your job, Ms. Tompkins. I want to ask you about your sons,” Mimi said, and immediately regretted her words.
Shock, then horror, then fear. “What . . . are they . . .” She couldn’t complete a thought or a sentence.
“Nothing has happened as far as I know.” Mimi took the woman’s arm and pointed toward the dining room. “Can I get in there with you? Good,” she said when Alfreda nodded. “Let’s get some food and maybe some hot tea and I’ll explain myself.”
Alfreda Tompkins looked a world’s worth of better after a bowl of vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich—and Mimi’s explanation for her visit—but the worry about her sons had deepened. She was surprisingly relieved at the news that Virgie Barrett had sought outside help, but she also believed that the more people who knew of her situation, the more danger her sons were in, and she seemed to vacillate between concern for her sons and concern for herself. “Will your friend send a police officer to live with me, too?”
Mimi wasn’t expecting the question and it threw her off guard. “But I thought—isn’t Detective Davis living with you?” How the hell could a cop be safely placed in the woman’s home?! Gianna was gonna have a fit!
“But I don’t want him there! I want him out but he won’t go!” The tears that she had managed to control began to flow and her shoulders heaved. People began to watch them, and that seemed to force Alfreda Tompkins into a rigid self-control, one that Mimi found disconcerting. Something was wrong here, and she wasn’t certain what it was. It didn’t concern her that the woman swung like a pendulum between concern for her children and concern for herself; in fact, that felt natural to Mimi. A man the woman didn’t want in her home was living there against her will while her sons were . . . where?
“Where are your boys, Ms. Tompkins?”
The woman’s posture became even more rigid, and her eyes darted from side to side, as if she were expecting to be overheard, afraid of being overheard. She lowered her head and whispered, “He has them.”
Mimi wasn’t certain she’d heard her correctly, even less certain that she’d understood correctly. “You mean Detective Davis?” And when the woman gave a slight head nod in the affirmative, Mimi pressed. “What do you mean he ‘has’ them? How? Do you know where your children are, Mrs. Tompkins?” And this time the woman moved her head as well as her eyes, looking all around, as if she truly believed that she could be overheard.
Whispering again, she said, “They’re selling drugs in Center City Mall.”
Mimi felt like she was down the rabbit hole without the benefit of any kind of hallucinogen. “How do you know this?”
“Because he told me,” she whispered. “And because I went over there to see and I saw them!” She was crying again, her shoulders heaving again, but there were fewer people to observe her misery now because the room was practically empty. The lunch hour was over. “The baby, Robbie, he looked so little and so scared, but Will looked tall and mean, like he belonged out there with those hoodlums, selling that poison!”
The boys were named after their father—William Robert Tompkins—and thanks to a dirty D.C. cop, were on the way to becoming worse criminals than he ever was. Mimi could barely believe what she was hearing, but her steady appraisal of Alfreda Tompkins verified the truth: The woman was terrified and only sheer force of will kept the hysteria that lived within her at bay. Out of the corner of her eye Mimi saw one of the dining room employees approach their table, and she knew they were about to be tossed out. She stood up and Alfreda Tompkins followed suit. They both apologized for losing track of time and staying too long, and Mimi followed Alfreda back to her office. En route she whispered to Alfreda, asking her to write down and email her every bit of information she knew about DD, to send photos of her sons to her phone immediately, and to go home after work and call when she got there. She left Alfreda Tompkins at her office door and walked away as fast as she could. She wanted to get away, not so much from the woman herself but from what she’d just learned. She wanted to get away from everything she’d learned about Sunset Vista and what was happening there. She didn’t want to know it, didn’t want to know about it, didn’t want any of it to be true or even possible. She didn’t want to be going where she was headed, but she had to: Center City Mall, to see Robbie and Will Tompkins for herself so that when she told Gianna it wouldn’t be hearsay.
And Gianna still didn’t believe her. Joe hadn’t, either. “This is the most fucked-up shit I’ve ever heard about!” was his take before he stalked away from her desk, as if it were her fault, and went to talk to the business manager about finalizing arrangements for his trip to Pennsylvania.
“May I see the photos of the boys?” Gianna asked, and then she closed her eyes to the images.
“I’m so sorry, Gianna,” Mimi said, and she was. If she’d had any idea the Chief was going to dump Sunset View in Gianna’s lap she’d have kept it to herself, but when she expressed that thought out loud, Gianna shook her head.
“You did the right thing, Mimi, and I’d rather have it dumped in my lap than in some other places I can think of. I’m also glad that you’re the one Virgie Barrett called.”
“I’m still deciding whether I am or not,” Mimi groused. This was, without a doubt, one of the shittiest stories she’d embarked upon in a long time, and what really bothered her was that she didn’t really know what was bothering her. She didn’t believe that any of the women were lying to her but pieces of the story simply weren’t hanging together in an orderly pattern. Maybe dirty cops at the center of the thing was what was throwing everything out of balance.
Virgie was crying again but she wasn’t hyperventilating this time. She was weeping softly and smiling. She looked from Mimi to Gianna, back and forth. “I believed that you
would help me, Miss Patterson, I trusted that you would, but I had no idea you’d bring a police lieutenant! And you!” She pointed at Gianna. “You brought a police detective to my door! A real police detective! A woman police detective!” Virgie’s tears fell harder and faster, and her breath caught in her chest.
“Breathe, Virgie!” Mimi admonished, and Virgie inhaled deeply, held it for a few seconds, then exhaled.
“Thank you. I’m all right now. And thank you, Lieutenant! Thank you so very much!”
“Yes,” Sonia Alvarez said, speaking for the first time. “Thank you and God bless you. All of you!” She included Mimi, who, after a look from Gianna, was heading for the door. They’d already agreed to meet later, and Mimi understood that whatever happened from this point on was police business. Gianna would share what she could later, when they were alone.
The cops—Gianna, Alice, and Linda—were gathered in Sonia’s living room. They’d had the locks changed on her front and back doors because Officer Phil Diaz had a key that he’d refused to return. She had agreed immediately to have Linda Lopez in her home when Virgie explained the proposal. She lived in fear, she said, that once Diaz got over his shame at what he’d done, he’d return. “He keeps calling and calling. I stopped taking his calls because they were all the same,” she said, and began to cry at the memory. “He said he was sorry for what he’d done. Then, from the other side of his mouth, he blamed me!”
Linda Lopez embraced the woman and held her tight as the memory of the rape overtook her. The police didn’t know it but this was the first time Sonia had told anyone the whole story; she had told her best friend only part of it. “This is not your fault!” Linda whispered. “This is his fault and only his fault!”
“He said looking at me and being near me made him do what he did! He said he couldn’t help it, that it was all my fault!” she wailed.
Alice went into the kitchen, rolled off a handful of paper towels, wet them, and brought them to Linda, who helped Sonia dry her face.
“Ms. Alvarez, Sonia. Look at me,” Gianna said, and the woman looked into cool, clear, calm—and calming—hazel eyes. The “Maglione Look” was legendary. It could either intimidate and unravel a perp or, as in this case, totally relax a witness and inspire trust. “Listen to me,” Gianna said, and Sonia listened. “Phil Diaz is a liar and he is a criminal and he will be punished for what he did to you. I promise you that.”
“But you can’t be sure of that.”
“Oh, yes I can!” Gianna said, and almost smiled. “The Chief of Police sent me here and told me to do whatever was necessary to make things right in Sunset View Apartments, especially where wrongdoing by members of his department was concerned.”
Sonia and Virgie both had stopped crying and were sitting up straight, looks of determination and resolve having replaced fear and sadness on their faces. “What do you want us to do?” Virgie asked, and Gianna told them: “Tell the truth—for the most part. Use Alice’s and Linda’s real names. Linda is a cousin, Alice is a longtime friend. They’re here, Sonia and Virgie, because you asked them to come, and you did that because you no longer felt safe in your homes. Under no circumstances, however, should you reveal that Linda and Alice are police officers.”
Then Gianna turned her attention to Alfreda Tompkins. “Your brother will show up tonight to pay an unexpected visit. You didn’t know he was coming, and he came because you haven’t responded to his texts and phone calls.”
Alfreda was ready. “What’s his name, my brother? And is he a cop?”
“Detective Bobby Gilliam.”
Alfreda’s head was bobbing up and down, and she seemed oblivious to the tears that were streaming down her face. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so very much.” Then, “What if DD knows him, knows Mr. Gilliam?”
“Bobby is certain he doesn’t know Dexter Davis, but if Davis knows him, then he’ll be arrested sooner rather than later,” Gianna said.
“My boys,” Alfreda said. “What about my boys?”
“We will secure your sons as soon as Dexter Davis is no longer an issue,” Gianna replied, and both Alice and Linda made mental note of the fact that their Boss didn’t say ‘arrest’ when referring to the Tompkins boys or to Davis when that certainly was what she meant, as Alfreda would learn soon enough. Her boys were drug dealers, and DD was . . . the charge list would be long.
“You all have taught me a very important lesson,” Sonia Alvarez said. “As much as I appreciate what you all have done for me—a newspaper reporter and cops!—I can’t live my life letting other people fight my battles. My husband is dead and I’m on my own, me and my son,” she said as she slid her hand down between the sofa cushions. Her next words froze in her throat as the hand holding the gun she’d pulled from between the sofa cushions froze, midair. Her eyes were locked on the two Sig Sauers pointed directly at her.
“Put the weapon on the coffee table,” Linda Lopez ordered. “Do it now, Sonia! Do it now!”
Fear and confusion in equal parts played across Sonia’s face as she leaned forward and placed the gun on the table in front of her. “I’m . . . I didn’t . . .”
“Put your hands behind your head and lock your fingers together,” Alice Long ordered, and as Sonia complied, tears streamed down her face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .”
“Anyplace else in America you’d be dead now, Sonia,” Linda said.
“Anyplace else in D.C. you’d be dead now,” Alice said. “What in the world were you thinking, pulling a gun on a room full of cops?”
Gianna leaned forward and picked up the weapon. It was a short-barrel S&W .38 Ladysmith revolver, recently oiled and cleaned. “Where did you get this, Sonia? And why do you have it?”
Sonia had recovered herself and was angry now. “From a friend of mine, my best friend. She saw something was wrong with me and I told her. I didn’t tell her what happened, what he did. I just told her that I was afraid all the time and that I was tired of being so alone. Her husband is back from Iraq so she’s not scared all the time anymore, and she said I could hold the gun.” She was crying again. “But my husband’s not coming back and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let that . . . that . . .”
Gianna reached out for Sonia and held her, and the woman stopped weeping and pulled away and sat up straight. “I don’t think I could have shot him, not really, and I am really thankful that I don’t have to find out. But I do know this: I won’t ever let anybody take advantage of me again! Never!”
Gianna stood up and so did Linda, Alice, Virgie, and Alfreda. Sonia’s eyes followed the S&W that Gianna still held as she headed for the back door, while Virgie and Alice aimed for the front door—as they would if they were friends visiting friends. “Front door for you, too, Alfreda,” Gianna said, adding that she was hoping to sneak out of the back and into the waiting rental car driven by Sgt. Tommi.
“When can I have the gun back?” Sonia asked.
“When it’s been checked and cleared,” Gianna said, opening the back door. The spotlight above the door had been turned off so it was dark as she hurried out and into the car. She was counting on Alice and Linda to make certain the other women followed instructions: to chat out front like friends, for Virgie and Alice to walk upstairs to Virgie’s, for Alfreda to go home, for doors to be locked, curtains drawn, for dinner to be cooked and eaten, television watched. “When Davis comes, act normally,” Gianna had said to Alfreda, “and when Bobby comes, act surprised and happy to see him, and he’ll set the tone for how to deal with Davis.” And as Tommi drove them quickly away from Sunset View, Gianna prayed that Dexter Davis wouldn’t do or say anything to make Bobby Gilliam angry. That prayer that went unanswered since the very sight of Dexter Davis angered Bobby Gilliam. The condescendingly nasty tone of voice he used when speaking to Alfreda Tompkins was gasoline on the fire.
“Who’s he and what’s he doing here?” Davis had used a key to enter the back door and he stopped short at the sight of Bob
by.
“My brother, Bobby—” Alfreda started to say before Davis cut her off.
“I don’t give a damn what his name is! What’s he doing here?”
“She doesn’t answer to you, whoever you are,” Bobby said, stepping in close to Davis, intentionally invading his space. “The question that needs answering is, what are you doing here?”
“Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”
“Let me say it again: She doesn’t answer to you.” Bobby took a step closer to Davis, requiring him to take a step back or bump chests with Bobby. He picked the smart option and backed up a step. He wasn’t as tall as Bobby, or as muscular, but he was younger, which could be a problem if things got physical. But he was also a coward and a bully. Bobby saw that immediately with his attempts to intimidate the woman and ignore the man. Bobby would kick his ass if that became necessary, and that would happen only if Alfreda weakened, but Alfreda was playing her part like an award-winning thespian. She stood close to him, her hand on his arm, but he could feel the tension in her body.
“What’s for dinner, Alfreda?” Davis asked.
“I’m taking my sister out to dinner, and you’re not invited,” Bobby said. “By the way, where are my nephews? Will they still eat anything as long as it’s spaghetti?” And Alfreda’s hand became a vice-like claw on his arm.
“They’re at a friend’s,” she said. Davis was watching her like a hawk.
“On a school night, Sis? Mom would have a fit!” She increased the pressure on his arm and it became pain. He felt her trying to summon the strength to talk, but whatever Alfreda was about to say was cut off by a sound from Davis that was more a growl than a word, and he pulled open the back door so hard that it crashed against the kitchen wall. He rushed out without a backward glance and they heard him clamber down the steps. Bobby quickly closed and locked the door and whipped out his phone to call Eric. “Davis is on the move, probably headed to wherever the Tompkins boys are. If they’re still at Center City, do the roundup and make sure Davis sees it. If they’re not, follow Davis because wherever he goes is where those boys will be. Then get that locksmith here on the double.” Bobby ended the call and looked at Alfreda, who looked about ready to collapse.
Death's Echoes Page 12
