Seeing and Believing

by Norah McClintock

  “What?”

  “Short black spiky hair, a tattoo of a spider, pierced eyebrow. What else?”

  “Jeez, Rebecca, let go.”

  “Mike, what else?”

  I tried to think. “Nothing. Other than she’s slim and she’s pretty.”

  “Pretty.” She shook her head impatiently. “He thought Cat was pretty.” Cat, the girl Vin had been going with for a while, was about as pretty as a poisonous snake. “Look at that girl, Mike. You think she’s pretty?”

  “What?”

  She pointed to a thin girl with short blond hair. She was dressed kind of like Rebecca, in a black skirt, except that she also had on a black top—a blouse—and she had a big bag over her shoulder, the kind girls cram with all kinds of stuff they think they might need because you never know, right? She was definitely pretty, but there was no way I was going to tell Rebecca that. A guy never tells his girlfriend that he thinks another girl is pretty, not if he wants to keep her as a girlfriend.

  “Come on, Mike, do you think she’s pretty?”

  “Not nearly as pretty as you,” I said.

  “Would Vin think she’s pretty?”

  “What?”

  But Rebecca was moving away from me now, toward the girl. She said something, but I couldn’t hear what it was. The girl turned away from her and started to move through the crowd. Rebecca went after her.

  “Rebecca!” I called. “Wait up.”

  Rebecca looked over her shoulder at me, then she took off after the girl, who by then had been swallowed up by the crowd. I had to run to catch up. I found Rebecca around the side of the church. She was standing alone, looking all around as if she had lost something and was trying to figure out where it could be.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  “I think that was her.”

  “You think who was who?”

  “That girl I spoke to. It could have been her.”

  “But that girl had blond hair and it wasn’t spiky.”

  “Hair doesn’t come spiky, Mike,” Rebecca said patiently. “It’s not like wavy hair or curly hair. You put stuff in it to make it stick up. Besides, it’s a funeral. You don’t want to look weird at a funeral.”

  “Yeah, but the color—”

  “You never heard of hair dye? And you know what else, Mike? She had marks on her eyebrow, right here.” She pointed to her own right eyebrow. “It was a piercing. She took the ring out and she put makeup over the spot, but you could tell it was a piercing.” Well, maybe Rebecca could tell.

  “What did you say to her?”

  “I asked her if she was here because she knew the woman.”

  “And?”

  “She didn’t answer. She just took off. I tried to follow her, but—” She looked around again. “I’d bet anything that was her. But why would she take off like that?”

  I could tell how disappointed she was that the girl had got away from her, so I tried to be positive.

  “The important thing is that we found her, right?” I said.

  “Yeah,” Rebecca said, not nearly so positive. “But now what do we do?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  What we decided was that I would talk to Riel when we got back to school. But the funeral had gone on longer than we expected, and then we hung around the church, watching people. Because of that, we got back to school just as the bell rang. I didn’t have time to check in with Riel. As it was, I barely made it to my English class.

  Ms. Stephenson had been pushing us hard on writing skills ever since Christmas. She started every class by making us do what she called free writing. How it worked was that she wrote a word on the blackboard and then said, “Go.” We all had to write, not stopping for anything, until she said, “Stop,” ten minutes later. She said it didn’t matter what we wrote—we could sit there writing I don’t know what to write over and over again, but we had to keep writing. She said if we kept going, we’d be surprised. She said we’d always end up with something and that some of it might even be good. At first I hated it. Now I kind of enjoyed it. Sometimes I wrote things that weren’t half bad.

  We all had our heads down and we were all free writing—the word of the day was love, and I was on a roll, mostly describing what it was like to hang out with Rebecca (Ms. Stephenson said whatever we wrote was our business and that we didn’t have to hand it in and we would never have to read it out)—when I realized that everyone around me was whispering. I looked up and almost had a heart attack. Looking in through the window in the classroom door, looking right at me, was Detective Canton. There was a uniformed cop with him, which, I think, was what had got everyone else’s attention. He was looking at me, too, which made everyone in the classroom turn in my direction. I knew exactly what everyone was thinking: Oh boy, the cops are after Mike McGill again. I held my breath and hoped that they would go away.

  They didn’t.

  The classroom door opened. Ms. Stephenson, who had been marking assignments at her desk while we wrote, looked up. Ms. Rather, the school principal, came into the room. Detective Canton stood in the doorway. He was still looking at me, which was making me nervous enough. I felt even worse when I saw Riel standing behind him, looking grim.

  “Mike,” Ms. Rather said, “would you come with me, please.”

  Every eye in the class was on me as I stood up.

  “Better bring your things with you, Mike,” Ms. Rather said.

  I fumbled with my binder and my textbook. My legs felt wobbly as I followed her out of the classroom. I looked at Riel. He waited until Ms. Rather had closed the classroom door behind her before he said, “Detective Canton wants to ask you a few questions, Mike.” It was all he said. We all went down to the second floor, where Riel said we could talk in his classroom. We went inside, and Riel closed the door. Ms. Rather didn’t come in with us. She left it to Riel.

  “Sit down, Mike,” Detective Canton said.

  I glanced at Riel again. He nodded. I sat.

  “Is something wrong?” I said.

  “Detective Canton wants to ask you some questions about Sal,” Riel said. “I think you should answer them.”

  “Sal? What about him?” I said. I’m pretty sure my voice was shaking. I know my knees were. I was glad I was sitting down. A homicide detective wanted to ask me some questions about Sal. That wasn’t good—for me or for Sal. “Did something happen to Sal?”

  “He’s in the hospital,” Riel said.

  “The hospital? Is he okay?”

  “Someone beat him up pretty badly last night around eleven,” Detective Canton said. “John tells me that you were home when it happened.” I glanced at Riel. That was why he had said I should answer the questions, because he had looked in on me just before eleven. He knew that I hadn’t done anything. He had seen me at home with his own eyes. “Do you know anything about it?” Detective Canton said.

  Me?

  “No,” I said. “Sal’s my friend.”

  “Sal said that two guys beat him up. He says they told him that if he knew what was good for him, he’d better not say anything about what happened at the convenience store,” Detective Canton said.

  “But he already told you everything he saw.”

  Detective Canton just looked at me.

  I glanced at Riel. “Is Sal okay?”

  Detective Canton was the one who answered. He said, “They kicked him pretty good. Cracked one of his ribs. He’s lucky they didn’t break it. Gave him a concussion, too. They’re keeping him in the hospital for observation until at least tomorrow.” He stared hard at me. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about it, Mike?”

  “No.” Why did he keep asking me that? “I was at home. Besides, I’d never hurt Sal.”

  “I know you didn’t do it,” Detective Canton said. Maybe it was just my imagination, but he sounded a little disappointed that he couldn’t nail me for that. “But when you went to see Vincent the other day, did he say anything that gave you the impression he and his buddies were pl
anning to go after Sal?”

  “No. No way.” Wait a minute. Was he trying to trip me up again? “And anyway, I already told you that Vin doesn’t know the two guys from the store. Besides, what good would it do Vin if Sal got beat up? Vin already said he was in the store. And Sal already told you he saw him.”

  “Maybe Vincent’s friends are trying to help him,” Detective Canton said. “Maybe they want Sal to lose his memory about what he saw. That happens sometimes, Mike. Suddenly a witness isn’t one hundred percent sure he saw what he said he saw. He doesn’t come right out and say he didn’t see it. Instead, he says he has doubts. So sure, maybe Sal saw Vincent come out of the store. But maybe, now that he thinks about it, Vincent didn’t come out right after the other two guys. Maybe he came out a minute or two later. Or maybe now Sal’s not sure which direction Vincent went in. Maybe it wasn’t the same direction as the other two guys. Or maybe he suddenly remembers that he saw the two guys drop something. And, who knows, it could have been some of the money they stole. That would line up with what Vincent is saying—that all he did was pick up money that someone else had dropped. The defense would love it. It creates reasonable doubt. All we have is one eyewitness, and now that eyewitness is having doubts about what really happened. You know what I mean, Mike?”

  Cops. They looked at the dark side of every situation. They always came up with ways people could be scamming them. What a way to go through life.

  “Sal told us he can’t identify the guys who beat him up. It could have been the other guys from the convenience store. It could have been friends of theirs and Vincent’s.” There he was, lumping Vin in with them again. “One of them spoke to Sal, but Sal says he didn’t recognize the voice.” Detective Canton paused to look at me. “The thing is, Mike, they were waiting for Sal in the alley right next to the apartment building where he lives. So it raises the question: If he doesn’t know them, how did they know where to find him?”

  “You’re saying Vin told them?” No way. “Vin doesn’t know those guys,” I said—again. “Vin didn’t do anything. Why would he want to get Sal beat up if he didn’t do anything?”

  Detective Canton just shrugged. “Makes you wonder,” he said. “At least, it sure makes me wonder. How do a couple of complete strangers know where to wait for Sal? But a friend—even an ex-friend—that’s another story. Someone who knows Sal would know where to find him. You sure Vincent didn’t say anything to you about getting even with Sal or maybe wanting to scare him?”

  “The only thing he said was to tell Sal he didn’t do it.”

  Detective Canton stared at me. Then he said, “By the way, Mike, we put out the robbery on Crime Stoppers. It’ll be in the paper and on local TV. Who knows, maybe we’ll get some tips.”

  What did he expect me to say to that?

  “I hope it helps,” I said.

  Detective Canton looked at me a little while longer. Finally he thanked me for my time and left. After he’d gone, Riel said, “He’s just doing his job, Mike.”

  Right.

  “If you want me to,” Riel said, “I’ll run you over to the hospital after school. You can see how Sal is.”

  I told him no. I said I could get there on my own.

  Then he said, “So, how was the funeral?”

  The way I had it pictured in my head, it would go sort of like this:

  Me: I saw the girl Vin told me about. She was at the funeral, but she got away before I could find out her name. You got any idea how I can track her down?

  Riel: Tell me what she looks like and what she was wearing.

  Me: (Here I give Riel her description.)

  Riel (reaching for the phone): Let’s call Canton and Mancini. They’ll find her. Good work, Mike.

  What actually happened:

  I said, “I saw the girl Vin told me about. She was at the funeral, but she got away before I could find out her name. You got any idea how I can track her down?”

  “What girl?” Riel said. He had sat down at his desk and was reaching for a stack of what looked like test papers.

  “Vin said there was a girl in the store, remember?”

  “Right.” He didn’t roll his eyes, but I could tell from his tone of voice that he probably wanted to. Mostly Riel is an okay guy, but sometimes he gets impatient, usually when he thinks someone is doing something stupid and they should know better. This was one of those times. The stupid things I was doing: believing Vin and wasting my time trying to prove he hadn’t been lying to me.

  “Vin described the girl to me,” I said. “Short, spiky black hair, an eyebrow ring, with that tattoo Vin drew for me.”

  Riel looked up from the test papers, which was how I knew he was interested. “And you saw this girl?”

  I nodded.

  “Where?”

  “At the funeral.”

  He gave me a look like it was all falling into place. So that was why I’d gone to the funeral.

  “You saw a girl with short, spiky black hair, an eyebrow ring, and a spider tattoo at the funeral?” he said.

  “Well, actually, her hair was blond.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Rebecca says she must have dyed her hair.”

  “So she had spiky blond hair?”

  “Well, it wasn’t spiky,” I said. “It was a funeral. Rebecca says she probably wanted to look more normal.”

  “Rebecca?” Riel said, like he couldn’t figure out why her name kept coming up. “Rebecca saw this girl?”

  “I told you she was going to the funeral with me. Rebecca’s the one who spotted her.”

  “Oh,” Riel said. “So Rebecca has seen this girl before?”

  “Not that I know of. But she noticed that this girl had a little scar over her eyebrow, like maybe it had been pierced.”

  Riel frowned. “So this blond girl you saw at the funeral wasn’t wearing an eyebrow ring?”

  “No, but—”

  “But she had a little scar that maybe could have been a piercing—” I never should have said maybe. “—according to Rebecca, who has never laid eyes on this girl before.” He squinted into space. I couldn’t tell if he was really trying to picture it or if he was just needling me. “But you saw the tattoo, right?” Riel said. “And it matched the picture Vin drew for you.”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “Not exactly? Either it matched or it didn’t, Mike.”

  “I didn’t see it. She was wearing long sleeves.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Riel said. I hate it when he says that, because it usually means he’s going to lay out for me exactly how stupid I sound. “You saw a blond girl with non-spiky hair, no eyebrow ring, and no tattoo, at least none that was visible, and, even though you personally have never seen this girl before, you think that she’s the girl with black spiky hair, an eyebrow ring, and a spider tattoo that Vin says he saw in the store when that woman was shot.” The way he said that one word, says, told me everything I needed to know about where this conversation was going. “Does that make sense even to you, Mike?”

  “Well—”

  “Because it doesn’t add up for me. Look, I know you think Vin is your friend.”

  Think? “He is my friend,” I said.

  Riel shook his head. “After what happened last year, I thought maybe he’d learned his lesson. But it doesn’t look like it, does it, Mike? If anything, it looks like he’s got himself in an even bigger jam. If he keeps this up, he’s going to be spending more time inside than he is outside.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I’m not finished, Mike.”

  Right.

  “You’re doing great. I think you know that. Your grades have improved. They like you down at the community center. All I hear is good things about you. You’ve got a nice girlfriend. You keep going the way you are, and I can see you in college in a couple of years. Maybe even university. You can do whatever you want with your life, Mike. And you know why? Because so far you’ve been making the right decis
ions, not the wrong ones, like Vin. It’d be nice if you could keep it that way, don’t you think?”

  “But what if Vin’s telling the truth?” I said. “What if there really was a girl in the store, and what if she could tell the cops that he didn’t do anything?”

  Riel looked at me as if he thought I was saying I could fly to the moon if I just flapped my arms hard enough.

  “Vin was in the store,” he said. “He ran out right after those other two guys and after those people were shot. He hid out from the police. When he was arrested, he had some of the stolen money on him. That paints a picture for me, Mike, and, to be honest, I can’t understand why it doesn’t paint the same picture for you.”

  I was actually grateful when the bell rang.

  It turned out that the whole school had heard about what happened to Sal—except Rebecca and me, and that was because we’d gone to the funeral. At first I couldn’t figure out how the news about Sal had got around so fast. Then I remembered Imogen. She was like CNN. She had broadcast all the news on Vin. Now she’d moved on to a new story—Sal.

  “Are you going to see him?” Rebecca asked me. She was waiting for me at my locker after school.

  “Yeah,” I said. He was my friend, too, even if we hadn’t been getting along all that great lately, and even if he didn’t think he was my friend. I thought about what he had said last time we talked—how he always felt like a third wheel on a two-wheel bike when he was around me and Vin. That sounded more like something a girl would say than something Sal would say. I was willing to bet Imogen had something to do with that, too.

  “I’m coming with you,” Rebecca said. When I gave her a look, she said, “I like Sal too. Everybody likes Sal.”

  She dragged me into 7–Eleven on the way. She headed straight for the magazine rack and reached for a magazine that I had never heard of and never read. It was all about the outdoors, hiking and mountain climbing and deep-sea diving, that kind of thing.

  “You planning to climb Everest?” I said.

  “It’s for Sal.”

  “Is Sal planning to climb Everest and somebody forgot to tell me?” I was kidding around, but Rebecca didn’t even smile.