“Who told you that?” I asked.
“She did,” he said.
“Well, that’s a little awkward,” I said, trying to seem humble. “She lived next door to me and my wife and we talked all the time. We’re in Chicago to see family and I was wondering if she and Annie could join everyone for lunch tomorrow. I guess I thought we were better friends than we were.”
The boy shrugged. “Maybe I misunderstood her. We only talked a few times. My roommate knew her better.”
“Knew her?” I asked, then realized the question sounded sharp, so I did my best to cover. “Did your roommate move?”
“No,” the boy said. “Linda and her husband reconciled. He said he was taking them back to Madison. I would’ve thought you knew that, since you lived next door.”
I shook my head. “They haven’t been back all month,” I lied. “He moved out. I thought they were getting a divorce.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” the boy said. “But my roommate — he’s Duane’s brother — he said it was a love match and all it would take was some persuading.”
I shivered, and it wasn’t from the growing chill. Someone had clearly been persuaded, and not in a good way.
“I never thought it was a love match,” I said, looking at the door, but deliberately not looking at the upstairs window, as if I didn’t know which apartment she had lived in.
“I think the whole thing’s kinda weird, myself,” the boy said. “I was studying for my econ exam when he came to get her. It didn’t sound like a love match to me.”
“What do you mean?”
The boy shrugged again. “It’s none of my business, really.”
And he said it in a way that also meant it was none of mine.
“They fought?”
“Nothing like that. But that little girl sure cried hard. I’d never heard a peep from her before that.”
“Was she all right?” I couldn’t help the question.
The boy looked at me. He was frowning. “You know, I wondered. So I looked out the window. They all got into his car. He put suitcases into the back and Linda, she was holding her daughter. She saw me looking, and she waved at me. So I knew everything was all right.”
I started in surprise. I hadn’t expected Linda Krag to think of anyone except herself and her daughter. But she had protected her neighbor. By pretending everything was okay, she made sure he didn’t intervene.
“When was this?” I asked.
“A week ago Wednesday. I know because the exam was on Thursday.” He grinned. “And of course, I aced it.”
“Good for you,” I said, and hoped it didn’t sound patronizing. Then I thanked him, and went back down the stairs.
There was no point in asking anyone else questions.
Duane’s brother had clearly alerted him to Linda’s presence, probably on the weekend between the time Duane last punched in for work and the Monday when he hadn’t shown up. Duane had come here, tried to talk to her, hit her so hard she threw up or hurt the little girl somehow.
Then, when he realized Linda actually knew people here, he took her and Annie out of the apartment. He drove them somewhere.
But the question was where.
I didn’t have the capability to track someone like him, even with his white car and Missouri license plates. Ten days was a long time.
And he could have taken her anywhere.
Except, Valentina told me that he had been using his telephone.
He was in Madison, in his old stomping grounds, and if we were lucky, Linda and Annie were still alive.
***
I didn’t break any speed limits heading to Madison, but I wanted to. I wanted to get there as quickly as I could.
Had he kept her in Chicago, I would have had options. I knew people in the police department, I had friends who worked alongside me and could act as back-up. I even knew people who could have discretely checked on the apartment and let me know he was inside.
The only person I knew in Madison was Valentina. And I didn’t want to involve her. But I was beginning to think I wasn’t going to have a choice.
Because I couldn’t see any good way for this to play out.
Madison was a white town. I couldn’t just barge into a white man’s apartment and demand that he hand over his wife. I couldn’t call the police with my suspicions — and they couldn’t do anything anyway. A man was entitled to treat his family anyway he liked. Only when things got “out of hand” and the definition of that phrase varied from police department to police department, could the police step in at all.
So as I drove, I tried to formulate a plan, but I couldn’t come up with a good one.
I only hoped that Valentina’s friends included someone other than the lady who worked for the phone company.
Because otherwise, I was about to make a difficult situation worse.
***
Valentina’s hot line was housed in an old church near Lake Mendota, not far from either the state capitol building or the University of Wisconsin.
I knew better than to show up unannounced at a hot line run primarily by women who dealt daily with rape. The last thing they needed to see was a muscular, scarred black man pounding on the church door. So I called ahead, leaving Valentina worried, but willing to open the hot line’s doors for me.
Three cars were in the parking lot when I showed up around ten. The church looked like it had once been a monstrosity of the Protestant type — some stained windows, but not a lot of iconography. A tasteful cross carved into the brick chimney, but little else besides the building’s shape to even suggest it had once been a church.
Valentina was waiting outside, wrapped in a parka that looked two sizes too big for her. She waved as I pulled up, then shifted from foot to foot while I got out of the car.
The minute I stepped outside, I knew why she was dressed so heavily. It was a lot colder here than it was in Chicago. There was also a dusting of snow on the ground, visible under the church’s dome light.
Valentina didn’t say hello.
“The fact that you’re here means something bad is going on, doesn’t it, Smokey?”
“Yeah,” I said, since there was no reason to lie. “Where can we go to talk about this?”
She led me inside and up a flight of stairs into the former sanctuary. It smelled of freshly cut wood. She flicked a light switch and a dozen overhead lights came on.
Instead of revealing church pews, a choir loft, and an altar, the lights revealed piles of wood, several saws, and some half built walls.
She waved a hand at it. “We need room for women to stay overnight, and after what most of them have been through, we can’t ask them to share a room like some kind of church shelter.”
“Overnight?” I asked as I stepped over a pile of 2x4s.
“So many won’t go home after they’ve been raped. They won’t go to the hospital, and they won’t see a friend, particularly if they’ve been battered. Most don’t have money for a hotel room either.” She ran a hand through her short hair. “Actually, it was Linda who gave me this idea. She was so afraid of Duane.”
She let the words hang. We stopped near stairs that had clearly once led to the altar. Someone had pulled the carpet off them, and one of the stairs to my left had already been dismantled. But we sat on the top step, surveying the work in progress.
“I take it the hot line itself is somewhere else,” I said.
“In the basement,” she said. “I figured it was best if my volunteers didn’t know what was going on.”
I nodded. As carefully as I could, I told her what I had learned. I also told her that I had come to find Linda.
“You can’t go to that neighborhood at night,” Valentina said.
“I can’t go period,” I said. “No one can walk up to the door of that apartment and ask Duane Krag what he did with his wife and daughter.”
Valentina rested her elbows on her knees. To her credit, she didn’t say I told you so nor did she repr
imand Helping Hands for not searching for Linda sooner.
“What can we do?” she asked.
“We can’t do anything,” I said. “But I need some information from you. Tell me about those apartments.”
She frowned for a moment. Then she said, “They’re single story, low income housing.”
“Government built?”
“Yes, with Model Cities money,” she said, citing one of the many Johnson era programs that Nixon had dismantled in his first term. “They were built to look like row houses, so that each family could feel like they had privacy.”
“But they’re attached?”
“Yes,” she said.
“They’re government buildings. They should have fire alarms. Do they?”
She frowned. “It’s not something I normally notice, and I was there three months ago, not really paying attention. But the city is pretty anal about making sure every building follows code. This place isn’t like Chicago at all. No one can buy off a building inspector.”
I nodded, hoping that was the case. “Then the buildings have to have fire alarms. The trick is where.”
“I have an idea,” she said. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.”
“Done,” I said, and then told her what I was planning.
***
Of course, she wouldn’t let me go alone. I should have known that when I arrived outside the hot line building. I had forgotten how stubborn Valentina could be.
“You have to do exactly what I tell you,” I said as we drove to the apartment complex.
Madison at night was pretty deserted. On the wide swatch of East Washington Avenue, I had only seen two other cars. I drove underneath well tended street light after well tended street light, past warehouses and buildings from the turn of the century.
No one could break into one of those buildings without drawing some kind of attention, even though the streets were empty.
“I will do exactly what you say, Smokey,” Valentina said with some bemusement. “You don’t have to keep repeating that.”
“I just don’t want you hurt,” I said. “If the cops show up, you have to get out. Is that clear?”
“I know a cop to call,” she said. “We’ll be all right.”
I glanced at her. She was staring straight ahead, the light playing across her face. The occasional shadows hid the hollows in her cheeks and she looked a lot more like the woman I had met four years ago.
“Is he one of your contacts?” I asked.
“I have to know everyone from police officers to the best criminal attorneys,” she said. “I’m getting quite a list.”
I nodded. “Well, they’re not going to like what we’re about to do.”
“Don’t like it,” she said. “I just don’t see any other choice.”
Neither did I.
She gave me good directions to the apartment complex. I drove past it once, to see it for myself.
It was already starting to look worn. The hope that the city had placed in its low income housing had faded with the Johnson Administration. But there were still things that made this place unusual.
It had functioning lights over every front door. Each apartment number was clearly marked. The sidewalks in front of each apartment had been shoveled. None of the windows were boarded up, and none had security bars either.
The lights were on in the Krags’ living room. Someone had pulled the curtains against the outside, but I could see the flickering shadows of a television set.
Someone was inside.
Which made me sigh with relief.
Just like driving past the building’s side, and seeing a giant fire alarm built onto the outside wall.
“Looks like you were right,” I said to Valentina.
“It was the only logical place,” she said. “I’m going to have to run to pull two alarms.”
“It’s necessary,” I said. “I don’t want him to think that we’ve targeted his building.”
“Okay,” she said. “Drop me off here. The parking lot is —”
“I’m going to park in front of his apartment,” I said.
“He’ll see you.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “I know what I’m doing.”
Unfortunately, I had snuck into neighborhoods before. I knew how to do it, and do it well.
I dropped Valentina on the corner, then went around the block. She was supposed to wait five minutes before she went anywhere near that first alarm.
I hoped she listened.
As I got ready to turn back onto the Krag’s street, I turned off the car’s lights and took my foot off the gas. I coasted to a stop in front of his sidewalk, and shut off the ignition.
Then I unscrewed the dome light. I opened the driver’s door as quietly as I could, and slipped out, careful not to close the door too tightly.
Staying on the street, I walked around the corner. There was no alarm on this side, but I didn’t expect one. The alarm was on the other end of the building, hidden in that alcove between two buildings.
I waited at the front corner of the building, in the shadows so that I could see the street but no one could see me.
Then an alarm clanged. It sounded very far away.
Another followed. The second one was deafening.
Valentina had been right; Madison’s low income housing was up to code.
Now we’d see how long it took the fire department to respond to a major fire.
I hoped it was a long time.
People started shouting and screaming. Families came out the front doors, wearing bathrobes and pajamas, barefoot against the cold.
I silently apologized to them.
No one came out of Duane’s apartment.
Families, carrying children, holding blankets, turned and looked at their homes. Voices rose in confusion at the lack of smoke and flames.
Valentina ran to my side. No one seemed to notice her in all the chaos.
“Where are they?” she asked.
“No one came out,” I said.
“What are we going to do?”
I was about to tell her that I would break in the back, when the door banged open. The little girl came out wearing footie pajamas. Her hair was a rat’s nest and she was sobbing.
“Help me! Help me!” she yelled. “My mommy won’t come. My mommy won’t come.”
“Get her to the car,” I said as I sprinted for the main door. I didn’t want anyone else to answer her summons.
So far, no one had noticed her. They were still talking and yelling and looking in the opposite direction.
Valentina ran at my side. We reached the little girl at the same time.
“Annie,” Valentina said, crouching in front of her and putting her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “We’re going to get your mom out.”
“Get her to the car,” I repeated, then pushed the door open.
The apartment was a jumbled mess — overturned chairs, a ripped couch. The television was on, but no one was watching it.
That sour smell was here too, and it turned my stomach.
I hurried down the corridors, checking the kitchen, then the bathroom, and finally one of the bedrooms. The interior smelled of old blood.
I flicked on the light.
A body was leaning against the wall, a spray of blood behind it, and a pool of blood below. It took me a second to realize that the body did not belong to Linda Krag.
It was a man’s body. It had to be Duane.
Sirens started in the distance, very faint, but growing.
I cursed.
A gun was on the bed.
I left it there and checked the other bedroom.
Linda Krag was huddled in her daughter’s bed, eyes wide. “Leave me,” she said, but I didn’t know if she was talking to me or just repeating what she had been saying to her daughter.
I wasn’t even sure she had seen me.
I scooped her in my arms. She moaned when I picked her up. I carried her down that hallway
. I could feel dried blood against her skin, but I didn’t know if it was hers or his. She hadn’t showered in days. The stench of her made my eyes water.
The sirens were getting closer.
I hurried out of the building. People were wandering around, searching for the fire. In the distance, I could see flashing red lights.
Valentina was standing beside my car, leaning on the passenger door. Annie was inside the car, in the back seat.
“Open up,” I said.
She didn’t have to be told twice. She opened the door to the back seat. Annie leaned forward and Valentina shooed her away.
I put Linda inside. She toppled toward her daughter, but I didn’t care.
We had to get out of there.
“Get inside,” I said to Valentina as I pushed the door closed.
She did. I got in the driver’s side, and started the car all in the same move. Then I backed around the corner, so that no one could see my plates. I backed the entire block, then turned right, away from the apartment buildings, heading toward East Washington Avenue.
“Screw in the dome light,” I said to Valentina.
She gave me a funny look, visible in the street lights, then did as she was told.
“What are we doing?” she asked.
“I’m dropping you off, then we’re going to Chicago.”
She leaned over the back seat. “Linda needs medical attention.”
“She’s not getting it here,” I said.
“Smokey,” Valentina said.
“You didn’t ask me where Duane was,” I said.
She looked at me. “Where’s Duane?”
“Daddy’s dead,” Annie said in a very small voice.
“Jesus,” Valentina said, looking at me. “What happened?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Don’t want to know. And this is the last we’re going to say about it. Right, Annie?”
“Smokey,” Valentina said, reprimanding me for my tone.
“Right, Annie?” I repeated.
“Okay,” Annie said.
The capitol dome loomed in the distance. We were only a few miles from the hot line.
“Where are you taking them?” Valentina asked.
“Back to Helping Hands. We’ll find them a new apartment,” I said. “Can you get into the back seat, and see if Linda will make it all the way to Chicago?”
Family Affair: A Smokey Dalton Story Page 3
