Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

  Laura suddenly bolted off the couch and grabbed her purse. “I have to see Natalie. Now.”

  “Laura, Natalie will be fine,” Steve said, grabbing her shoulder, spinning her to face him. “I fed her lunch, and she fell asleep before I left a few hours ago. They’re calling it a mild concussion and simple abrasions.”

  “She’s really okay?” Laura hesitated. “What was that business about a gun? About Mikey?” she asked, her heart pounding with the assumption that it was the gun from their attic.

  “The police took it from him. Thank God he didn’t pull the trigger. You know how the boys are playing cops and robbers all the time.”

  “Where did he get the gun?” She held her breath. Certainly it hadn’t been loaded. She’d seen to that and the weapon was locked away in the attic.

  “The guy must have taken it out of his pocket and laid it down. Mikey said he saw it lying on the table. That he snuck down and took it so the bad man couldn’t shoot it. The son-of-a-bitch must have chased him upstairs and gone into the girls’ room first.”

  Laura struggled to fight the hysteria closing in on her. “Then it wasn’t our gun?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Oh, my God, Steve, how could this be happening?” Laura’s body slumped. She felt scared and ill and guilt-ridden.

  “You going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” she forced herself to sit up straighter. “Who was this … intruder?”

  “Don’t know. Of course the detectives want to talk to us about it all. I said we’d call when you got back. I do know that when Stacy regained consciousness, she said she didn’t know. Said he was young and black. Said she thought he was a friend of ours so she opened the door and he barged in, started trashing the place.”

  “Thank God it wasn’t our gun?” Laura whispered. Why hadn’t she gotten rid of it?

  He stared at her. “How could it be? You said it was in the attic, locked up.”

  Laura was pale. “It is. I put it there when we moved.”

  “Reynolds said they have fingerprints, so maybe they’ll get lucky. I don’t like the thought of thugs running in this neighborhood.”

  Laura leapt from the couch. “I have got to go see Nattie.”

  “Okay. Why don’t you stop in to see Stacy too? I was too much in a hurry to get back here. I feel responsible for what’s happened.”

  “She’s going to be okay?”

  Steve frowned. “Physically, yes. Emotionally, who knows?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Saturday afternoon traffic was light, and Laura made it to the hospital in a half-hour. The student parking lot was nearly empty, and she parked the wagon and ran toward the hospital entrance. She headed directly for the pediatric ward on the seventh floor. Laura blinked when she saw the cartoon characters that covered the walls, the little red wagons and bright strollers scattered throughout the hallways. It was so cheerful here, so different from the drab gray med-surg wards where she’d trained so far.

  Natalie Nelson was asleep in a large steel-railed crib. The child looked tiny and pathetically alone, her blonde curls tousled and partially obscured by the white bandage that covered the left side of her forehead.

  “Dear God,” Laura murmured as she inspected Natalie’s head and peeked at her slumbering body under the loose toddler hospital gown. Respirations seemed normal, as did her daughter’s heart rate. She grabbed the stethoscope from the night table and placed it over Natalie’s chest. Everything sounded perfectly normal. Next, Laura pulled the chart from the holder at the foot of the bed. She scanned the doctor’s orders and the nurses’ notes, tears blurring her eyes and smearing the ink. Satisfied, she confirmed the diagnosis: mild concussion and superficial abrasions, just as Steve had reported.

  “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

  * * *

  “Excuse, me, are you Natalie’s mother?” a small voice behind her interrupted.

  Laura turned to face a young black girl of sixteen or seventeen. She wore a hospital gown and an oversized hospital issue bathrobe over her slight frame.

  “Yes I am,” Laura responded. The girl seemed familiar. Her gaze fell to the girl’s arm that was heavily bandaged and supported by a sling. Her eyes then darted to a series of small butterfly closures running across her forehead.

  “Do I know you?” Laura asked.

  “I’m Stacy Jones, Mrs. Nelson,” she said slowly, her eyes unnaturally bright. “I’m so sorry about what happened last night. I did everything I could to keep him away from the kids, I really did.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Laura said, intending to reassure her that whatever happened had not been her fault.”

  “You know?” Stacy squinted, her eyes flashing recognition. “We have met before. You’re the doctor who tried to help my brother, Anthony. After the riots. You probably don’t remember?”

  Laura stared at Stacy. Who? Anthony? Not her first patient, the Anthony who had died. “Anthony Diggs?”

  Stacy nodded. “Yes. Diggs is my mama’s maiden name. My mother’s Lucy Jones.”

  Laura stiffened. Lucy Jones?

  “She works for Mr. Nelson at social services, you know?” The Lucy Jones who was Steve’s assistant? That was Anthony’s and Johnny’s mother? Laura felt dizzy. She reached for the rails of the crib to steady herself.

  “Are you okay?” the young girl asked. She seemed on the verge of tears herself.

  “I’m okay now,” Laura murmured, as much to Stacy as to herself. “Let’s go across the hall and sit down.”

  Glancing carefully at Natalie, asleep in the metal crib, Laura led Stacy to the small waiting room. “Stacy, I don’t know exactly what happened, but I want to thank you for everything. Detective Reynolds told my husband how you’d been hurt and taken to the hospital. I want to know anything you can tell me,” Laura said softly.

  “You don’t remember me,” Stacy tried to begin again, “but I know you tried to help my brother.”

  “Yes, I do remember now. You visited your brother all the time. And you’ve certainly grown up, haven’t you?”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m so sorry about what happened to you last night. Tell me about it.”

  “I’m not sure, Mrs … I mean, Dr. Nelson.”

  “Stacy, please, call me Laura.”

  “Uh, okay. You know, I used to hate you,” Stacy said tentatively. “I thought you wanted my brother to die.”

  “Do you still hate me?” Laura looked directly into the young girl’s moist eyes. “No. You were kind to my mother. She told me so. I thought you wanted my brother to die.”

  Laura reached over and squeezed Stacy’s hand. “I was only a freshman med student then. Anthony was my very first patient. I really did care, and I’ll remember him every day of my life.”

  Stacy shook her head miserably. “Anthony was in a coma. Then my other brother, Johnny, got shot. He got killed. They never did find out who killed him.”

  Johnny Diggs.

  Laura was speechless at how intricately her life intertwined with this family. Finally, she said, “Stacy, I had no idea that the Mrs. Jones who worked with my husband was Anthony’s mother. This has really caught me by surprise. All of this is a surprise.”

  Stacy nodded. “For me too.”

  “Honey, can you tell me what happened at my house last night?”

  Stacy held onto her bandaged arm and began to weep. She told Laura that the man had a gun. That’s why she let him in. That he’d laid the gun on the table when he tried to force her onto the couch. That Mikey must have heard her struggling. That Mikey must have crept down and taken the gun. When there was pounding at the door, the man looked for the gun, but it was gone. She tried to stop him from going upstairs. That’s all she remembered until she woke up in the hospital in the middle of the night, her mother beside her, and three detectives ready to ask her questions.

  “Did he rape you?” Laura asked, assuming the worst.

  “No.”

  �
��Thank God for that,” Laura breathed. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

  Stacy’s eyes filled. “I’m sorry about the children. I tried to protect them.”

  “Hey, listen to me. It’s not your fault. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you did for my children. I hope to see you again when everything’s back to normal. You know, and just talk.”

  “Uh, okay. That’d be real nice,” Stacy said, managing a slight smile. “I’d better go. My mama’ll be here soon, and I’m pretty sure they’ll let me go home. I just want to get back to school and forget all this.”

  They both stood, and Laura gave Stacy a hug before heading back to Natalie’s room. The pediatrician showed up and assured her that Natalie should be just fine. Then Laura called her own mother. Just hearing Peg Whalen’s soothing voice made her cry. Laura promised to call her from home to explain everything, knowing she never could. She returned to Natalie’s bedside and sat silently for a while, her fingers gripping the steel bars of the crib.

  Stacy Jones. Lucy Jones. Back in her life. Certainly there wasn’t any connection between what had happened last night and that nightmare night in 1967.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  On Alexandrine Avenue, darkness was descending as Lucy settled Stacy on their worn living room sofa, propped her up with pillows and placed a cool washcloth on her forehead. She couldn’t help a sigh of relief as her three younger girls adjusted hesitantly to their sister’s bandages before plying her with questions. Lucy witnessed the girls trying to emulate their older sister in every way — her speech, the way she dressed, her mannerisms. Again, she mentally counted her savings. Soon she’d have enough to get all four girls out of this crime-ridden neighborhood to somewhere safe. As intensely as Lucy missed her eldest daughter, she was anxious to get her back to the safety of the academy.

  There was a knock on the front door, and Lucy answered it.

  It was Willie Allen, Snake’s sidekick. “Stacy home?”

  “Yes she is,” Lucy said reluctantly, “but she’s resting.”

  “Hey, girl?” Willie slid past Lucy and approached the sofa. “Heard you had a problem last night? Hanging out in the wrong honky neighborhood, huh? You should stick around here, where we take care of you, girl.”

  “Mama, I’m gonna go out and talk to Willie for a minute. I could use some fresh air. Just be a little bit.”

  Lucy frowned. “Thought you had a headache.”

  “Took two Tylenol. It’s gone,” Stacy rose, reached into the closet for her coat, draped it over her injured arm, and walked to the door with Willie.

  Willie did not say another word until the door closed behind them. “Listen here, girl. My man Snake, needs to talk to you about something. Says it’s important.”

  “Not to me it isn’t.”

  “Hey now, my man says it’s important, it’s important.” Willie smiled a thin, menacing smile. “He says you better come, you don’t want more trouble. You know, your little sisters.”

  Stacy found Snake stretched out on a cot in the tiny back room of his mother’s tenement apartment just down the block. There was a makeshift splint and bandage on his lower leg, which he had propped up on a pillow.

  “Leave us alone, Willie,” Snake ordered when he saw Stacy standing at the entrance to the shabby room.

  As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Stacy skipped a few breaths. The room was filled with small portraits of her. Snake had made her look beautiful, surrounded by reds and browns and swirling colors. All she could do was stare as the previous night came back to her. How he’d promised not to hurt her. Then he’d pushed her down those stairs. But deep down, she knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her.

  “Like my pictures?” She felt his eyes bore into her.

  She said nothing.

  “You okay, Stacy?”

  “Yes.”

  He shifted his leg. “Damn this hurts. Fuckin’ leg’s busted. What’d you tell those fuckin’ pigs?”

  “That I opened the door, thinking it must be a friend of the Nelsons, but it was a stranger. That you, I mean the stranger, had a gun.” Stacy hesitated. “Then I said I must have fallen down the stairs and hit my head.”

  “That all?” Snake’s filmy eyes bore into hers. She looked away.

  “That’s all, Snake, I swear.”

  Snake smiled. “You got it all figured out, huh?”

  “I don’t want any trouble. I can’t believe you hurt that innocent baby.”

  “Yeah right. Look at my fuckin’ leg. What about that? Won’t kill me, but it sure gonna make me think ’bout how white you are now.”

  “I am not!”

  “Yeah, you’re turnin’, turnin’ away from me and the rest of the brothers and the sisters ’round here. Everybody say so, too good for us or somethin’. It’s that fuckin’ school, I say. No time for me, no way. I wanna show you my paintin’ last night, and you stand me up for that honky, that yellow-hair doctor fucked up Anthony. And her man, the one fuckin’ up my mama’s benefits all the time.”

  “You’re wrong about the lady doctor, she’s really nice. She didn’t hurt Anthony. She tried to help him. Just ask Mama.”

  “Just ask Mama,” he mimicked. “So that’s what she told you, huh? So, you don’t believe your own flesh and blood? Johnny was there. In that emergency room. Don’t you forget it.”

  “Snake, I gotta go.”

  “Last night, you loved it, didn’t you, girl?” Snake managed a grin. “Wanted more, am I right?” Next time he’d go all the way. He’d felt her heart beating so fast, proof that she’d been turned on when she felt his stiff cock pressing against her. “You gonna be beggin’ for it once I’m a famous artist with lots of money.”

  “I just want you to leave me alone, Snake. I swear I’ll never tell anybody about last night because you could get in real trouble, but,” Stacy continued slowly, “if you do anything like that again, I’ll tell them you did it. You could be in trouble already. I mean, I didn’t tell them who you were, but what about fingerprints? Can’t they find you from your fingerprints?”

  “You been watchin’ too much TV, girl. They ain’t never gonna find me cause I ain’t got no fingerprints on file cause I never been arrested. I’m clean.” Snake struggled to sit up. “But we ain’t finished here. I’m gonna get that motherfuckin’ yellow-hair doctor, for your brother, you hear me? No white bitch is getting away with that shit. And you stay away from that black-ass detective cop! That’s right, I circled round and seen ’em last night. That’s the cop breakin’ everybody’s balls after Lonnie got his dick shot off!” He shook his head slowly. “Another brother, man, acting like Mr. Important Whitey. And now you, at your fucking white school. Your mama and her fucking job. Got no use for us brothers at all. Fucking white doctors killed your brother, and you don’t even give a shit.”

  “That’s not true! You’re wrong!” Stacy grimaced, grabbing her sore arm. “I gotta go. I gotta get out of here.”

  “Yeah, girl, you go. But this ain’t settled yet.”

  Without another word, Stacy backed slowly out the door.

  When Laura arrived home, an exhausted looking Steve was waiting for her in the living room. Susan had gone home, and Mikey and the other two children were napping.

  “Oh my God, Steve, how did any of this happen?” Laura asked, sinking into the rocking chair.

  “I don’t know, babe, I don’t know. I feel bad about getting Lucy’s daughter involved in all this.”

  “I met Stacy Jones in the hospital,” Laura said. “And you know what?”

  “What?” Steve said absently.

  “Remember the first patient that I had in my physical diagnosis class? Well I found out that Stacy is his sister. And Lucy, your assistant, is his mother. I never would have expected it with their last names being different. And there are so many Jones.”

  “That’s quite a coincidence,” Steve said as Laura headed toward the stairs. “Laura, why don’t you just come on over here?” He patted th
e couch beside him. “Sit down for a while. Just let me hold you. Just you and me, babe. Maybe we could listen to some music? It’s been a long time.”

  She hesitated. “Not right now. I promised my mother I’d call her back. And Susan. And didn’t you say Detective Reynolds wants to talk to us?”

  “Those calls can wait. Come on, Laura.

  I need you.” “I need you too,” Laura stammered as the previous night intruded into her reality. “But, I don’t feel well at all.”

  Upstairs, Laura shut her bedroom door and collapsed on the bed as she tried to focus. She needed to organize the swirl of competing emotions. Too much had happened. Too fast. She called her mother back. She explained what had happened the night before at home, but not what had happened in Montreal. She couldn’t think about that right now.

  Finally, Laura took a deep breath and dialed Detective Reynolds’ number.

  John Reynolds arrived promptly at eight accompanied by Morris Willard. When Steve held out his hand for him to shake, Reynolds refused, explaining that he had a cold and didn’t want to pass along germs. At the detectives’ request they spoke first with Mikey.

  “What did you see the strange man do?”

  “He did bad things to my baby-sitter,” Mikey began. “He was hurting Stacy. Stacy told him to stop.”

  Laura cringed. “What was he doing?”

  “He laid down on top of her, Mommy. She couldn’t get up.”

  “Then what happened, Mikey?” Reynolds softly prodded.

  “I snuck down and got his gun. Then I called the police. I dialed the big ‘O’ like you told me if ever there was a ’mergency.”

  “The gun was just lying there?” Detective Willard asked.

  “Yup, and I took it. Then the bad man came upstairs. In Nattie and Nickie’s room first. I was watching. They were both crying and he took Nattie out of her crib and said a swear word. Then he came into my room.” Mikey turned to Steve. “I was gonna shoot him, Daddy, I was.”

  Laura sucked in her breath. The thought of Mikey with a loaded gun made her physically ill. She forced herself to appear calm as Steve reached over and patted Mikey’s head.