Crossroads: An Anthology

by LaShaun, Elizabeth

  “I do,” he admitted. “I love him like a son, but evidence so far is saying he might be guilty.”

  “Of what? For all you know, Yolanda simply packed up and left. Your detectives are most likely making something out of nothing.”

  “I hope you’re right. I really do.”

  “I’m seeing him, Daddy and you can’t stop me,” I said more forcibly than I meant to.

  He sat back down, shaking his head, looking defeated. “Fine, honey, go see him. But understand this, if the District Attorney decides there’s enough evidence against Tony, I won’t have any choice but to have him arrested. It’s nothing personal.”

  Though I felt like hitting something, I couldn’t take my anger out on Daddy. In the end, he was right. He was only allowing his detectives to follow the chain of evidence. It wasn’t Daddy’s fault that Tony was a suspect. I let my arms go slack. “You don’t have to protect me Daddy, I’m a big girl now.”

  He gave me a slight grin. “I see that. You’re a firebrand, just like your Mama.”

  “No need to insult me, Daddy.”

  We shared a laugh, though it sounded forced from the both of us.

  I was opening the door to leave when Daddy shouted, “Don’t tell your Mama about Tony. I’ll never hear the end of it, baby.”

  Glancing over my shoulder, I said, “I’ll think about it.”

  Part Three: Anthony

  I was in the interview room at police headquarters. Because of my connection to the police chief’s daughter, I rated a bit more importance than most people of interest, so Sergeants Madden and Dixon brought me downtown. I was looking down at the table, fiddling with an empty paper cup. For the past half hour the detectives had hammered me about my relationship with Yolanda as though I had something to do with her disappearance. I had a hard time believing just finding Wanabe in the trash would spark so much trouble for myself. As much as I loved that cat, he was just that, a cat. It wasn’t as though Yolanda was lying on the floor dead.

  That thought sent my eyes back up toward the detectives, who had moved away from the table to converse quietly near the door. They seemed to be arguing about something. Perhaps one of them realized they were wasting valuable time investigating me, when they should be out searching for Yolanda. Letting go of the empty glass, I rubbed my bruised hand. Dixon narrowed her eyes on me.

  Unable to take her suspicious gaze or the silence, I asked, “Do you have information about Yolanda you haven’t told me about?”

  “What makes you say that?” Dixon asked, shoving past her partner.

  I nervously rubbed my hand faster. “Maybe because you’re treating me like crap, as if I had something to do with my girlfriend’s disappearance.”

  “Did you?” It was Dixon again. “’Cause right now, nothing really explains why she would simply pack up and leave, unless you provide us something that makes sense.”

  I pushed the chair back and got to my feet, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I don’t like what your insinuating, Sergeant!” It was time I called an attorney; things were getting out of hand.

  Dixon calmly approached the table and sat in a chair staring at me intently. “What happened to your hand?”

  “What?”She pointed at my wagging hand. “It’s bruised. How’d that happen?”

  “I hit it against a wall,” I answered without thinking, already regretting it.

  Madden folded his arms and looked thoughtful. “Do you like hitting things, Tony? Is that something you do when you’re angry? You hit things, maybe people too?”

  Surprised by the question, I staggered back as if a blow struck me in the face. “No, of course not! It was… I was just—” Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. I had said enough and was digging a deeper hole for myself. “I’d like an attorney.”

  Dixon glanced over her shoulder toward her partner. “Typical.”

  My hand turned into tight balls. “You know I’m getting tired of your attitude, Dixon!”

  She turned back and grinned. “I’ll betcha anything you want to hit me? Guys like you enjoy hitting women.”

  Guys like me? I instinctively opened my hands. “Look, I think you two got the wrong idea in your heads. I love Yolanda and I would cut off my own limb before I’d hurt her.”

  “You know that’s what my Pop used to tell the social workers that came by the house, after a teacher reported my injuries to them,” Dixon said, her mouth tightening into a stubborn line. “Same damn thing my boyfriend said after nearly beating me to death. It’s always the same with you type. The same damn thing!”

  Dixon seemed to realize that she’d said too much and then frowned, while Madden maintained his thoughtful expression. After a long, awkward silence, Dixon got up and moved to her partner’s side. “Since you opted to lawyer up, we’re not allowed to ask you anymore questions,” she huffed and stormed out.

  Madden gestured with a nod to follow him. “I’m taking you to a phone so you can call your attorney. Though I have to say I’m disappointed that you decided to go that route. We could have worked this out, nice and neat, without involving a third party.”

  Nice and neat, for the police, maybe. But I had the distinct feeling that Madden and Dixon were out to bury me. With his partner out of earshot, I decided to once again ask, “Did you find something in Yolanda’s apartment that makes you think I had something to do with her disappearance.”

  “Yes,” Madden said poker faced, offering nothing else.“Come on, man, throw me some kind of bone. Dixon is on a witch hunt. I don’t know if you’re playing the good cop here or what, but I get the feeling you don’t share her opinion.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “I like to think I can read folks fairly well. You don’t have that scumbag vibe Dixon and I often have to deal with,” he admitted freely. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t agree with my partner. Sometimes my readings are way off the meter. But I will tell you this much. Yes, she’s on a witch hunt. You heard her story, Dixon came from a home where her father beat her most of the time. Later, Dixon ended up with the wrong men in her life, men that tended to be like her father.”

  I was beginning to understand. Dixon hated men that hurt women. “I never laid a hand on Yolanda. I would never do that,” I said with a sincere conviction.

  Still poker faced, he said, “You can’t talk to me about this, son. You’re lawyering up, remember?” He gently took me by the arm and guided me to a row of phones lined up on a wall. “Use your own dime to call your attorney.” He sauntered away out of earshot.

  Left alone, I wondered what Dixon had found in the Yolanda’s apartment that had made her go from calm to enraged. When I searched her place, I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, I found Wanabe’s twisted corpse in the trash. I was kind of frantic when I was there and could have missed something. Still, what would make Dixon think I would hurt Yolanda?

  I picked up the handset and was about to dial, but paused.

  Why had I been directed to a payphone? The police had my cell phone. All they had to do was give it back to make my call. They might be checking my calls. But wouldn’t the police need a warrant for that? And if they had a warrant for my phone, what else might they have one for? Searching for change in my pocket, I realized one other thing; I didn’t actually have an attorney to call. I only said I would call one, because I was nervous and wanted to get the hell out of there.

  I thought about picking up the beat up copy of the Yellow Pages lying on the floor, but it was after office hours. Lawyers would be hanging out at some bar enjoying the beginning of the weekend. I banged the handset against my forehead, trying to recall if I knew any attorneys. One name eventually came to mind, my cousin Eddie. He was a glorified ambulance chaser. I wasn’t sure he ever had a case that went to court. Letting out an exhausted breath, I’d had no one else to call. It was either him or a complete stranger who might not be any better than Eddie. Digging in my pocket, I pulled out some change.

  The
call was picked up on the third ring. I said, “Hello.”

  No answer, though there was the faint sound of breathing on the other end.

  “Eddie, it’s me, your cousin Tony.”

  “Whaddup Tony,” Eddie’s boisterous voice said. “I didn’t recognize the number on my caller-ID, I thought you might be a bill collector.”

  Eddie was always behind on his bills. He lost his house, his car, and dog, to debt collectors. He was the only person I’d known whose dog was repossessed. Eddie lived in his car and his so-call office was in a booth in the back corner of a coffee shop. Though most of the time he appeared to have lost everything, somehow he managed to always land back on his feet. There was always someone who needed a lawyer, some more desperately than others. Never thought that someone would be me.

  “I need your help, Eddie. I think I’m in trouble,” I choked out, hardly believing that I was forced to seek help from the man who could be the poster boy for ill fortune.

  “Um huh,” he said cautiously. “Are we talkin’ ‘bout a payin’ gig or are you askin’ to help you move furniture for free?”

  “You’ll be paid. I need your…” I couldn’t believe I was about to say this. “Your skills as an attorney.”

  He yelled, “Yes!” His end went silent.

  I imagined he was pumping one arm and leg, up and down in the air, gesturing as if he just won the lottery, viewing me as his next meal ticket.

  After a while, he said in a calm, professional voice, “Tell me about your problem Tony.”

  Pam

  I entered the interview room expecting to see Tony being given the third degree, instead I find him sitting, leaning his elbows against the table, face in his hands. His fingers were spread wide apart and I could see his eyes behind them, staring back at me. Occupying the empty chair opposite him, I reached out and gently touch his arm.

  “You okay, Tony?”

  “No, I’m not Pam.” He lowered his hands to the table. Tony had bags beneath his bloodshot eyes and peered about wild-eyed. “They think I did something with Yolanda. Can you believe that?” His voice sounded strained as if it hurt him to speak.

  “No,” I said reassuringly. “Have the detectives finished questioning you?”

  He shook his head. “I told them I wanted an attorney. All conversation ended after that.”

  “Is he on his way?”

  He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Who?”

  “Your lawyer. When will he be here?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, looking as if he was ready to burst into a forced laugh.

  I squeezed his arm to get Tony to focus. “Either he’s coming or he’s not. Which is it?”

  “My attorney’s car is having engine problems. He doesn’t have enough cash to take a cab, so he’s catching a bus downtown to meet me here.”

  I thought he was joking, but his stoic expression said differently. “Please tell me you’re pulling my leg.”

  “I wish. I was foolish enough to call my cousin.”

  Shocked, I pulled my hand away. “Eddie?”

  “Eddie,” he replied with defeat in his voice. “Eddie.”

  The interview room door opened and a woman stuck her head in. Her eyes went directly to Tony’s and then swiveled toward me. “You the chief’s daughter?” she asked.

  “Yes. And you are?”

  “Sergeant Paula Dixon.” She stepped fully into the room, letting the door shut and approached us with an indifferent expression.

  “Mind if I ask you a few questions while we wait for Mr. Holman’s lawyer?”

  I had the sensation of a spider crawling up my back. As Daddy had feared, I may have placed myself into the investigation just for trying to be a good friend. Trying not to show my concern, I calmly said, “I don’t think so, sergeant. I’m here to take my friend home.”

  Dixon gawked at me in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

  “Is Tony under arrest?” I asked.

  “No, but—”

  I held up a hand stopping her mid-sentence. “Is he currently being charged with anything?”

  Dixon let out a heavy breath. “No.”

  I stood and gestured for Tony to do the same. “Is there anything stopping him from getting out of that seat and walking out of here?”

  Dixon went to the door, grabbed the knob and pulled it open. “No ma’am, there’s absolutely nothing stopping him from leaving,” she said sarcastically. She leveled her stare toward Tony. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again real soon, hotshot.”

  “What about my cell phone?” Tony asked.

  Dixon reached into her pocket, pulled out the phone and tossed it underhand across the room. Tony caught it and examined the device like he was looking for damage. After a few moments, he looked satisfied and put it away.

  “Anything else I can do for you, hotshot?” Dixon’s face contorted like saying the words was painful.

  Tony shook his head.

  As I was walking by the detective, she stopped me by touching my arm and whispered, “You better watch out for this one. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them.” After saying her piece, she let me pass.

  In the corridor, I asked Tony, “What’s her beef?”

  “Her partner said she had it rough when it comes to men.” He glanced around as if to make sure no one was listening. “As far as she’s concerned, Dixon thinks I killed Yolanda and buried her somewhere.”

  “What about her partner?”

  “Sergeant Madden? I’m not sure about him. He’s as expressionless as a Vulcan. But I suspect he doesn’t share Dixon’s conviction.”

  We stayed quiet until we were outside. I said, “The police are searching your house.”

  Tony didn’t look surprise and only nodded. He padded the pocket where he placed his cell phone. “I think my phone logs were checked too.”

  We started down the long row of stairs leading to the sidewalk. “Daddy won’t help you.”

  That got a surprised reaction, but he said nothing, only nodding his understanding.

  I took his hand. “We’re going to figure this out, Tony. We’re a team, you and I.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I don’t want you dragged into this, Pam.”

  “Yolanda is my friend too, remember. You’re not alone in this.”

  Tony smiled. “You’re a good friend, Pam.” He squeezed my hand.

  A rush of heat swept into my belly and I wondered if he felt that same sensation. We held hands all the way down to the bottom step. A bus pulled up to the curb. The silhouette of a man stood behind the door. When the door swung open, Tony’s cousin Eddie, wearing a frumpy two-piece suit stepped out, smelling of coffee. In one hand he carried a tote bag with Boy Scouts of America stenciled on its side; his poor man’s version of a briefcase. Startled by his sudden appearance, our hands fell apart.

  Eddie stared at us wide eyed. “You’re out?” He sounded disappointed.

  “Turns out, they couldn’t hold me,” Tony replied.

  Eddie’s frown deepened. “I was all set to go in there like Matlock and fight for your freedom. On the bus, I wrote an entire speech I intended for the arrestin’ officers.” He dug into the breast pocket of his wrinkled coat and presented evidence of his work.

  Tony looked down at the wad of crumpled paper in his cousin’s hand and then at me, grimacing. “Gee Eddie, I’m sorry, I had to miss seeing that.”

  Eddie turned to me. “Hey beautiful, long time, no see.” He never could remember my name and called me beautiful, gorgeous, or princess to cover his lack of memory.

  I grinned, acknowledging him, but said nothing.

  Eddie’s attention went back to his hand, obviously disappointment in his expression. Finally, he stuffed the wad back into his pocket. “Do you still need me or did I waste bus fare comin’ here?”

  Tony gave Eddie the abbreviated version of what happened during the day. I chimed in, giving my portion of the story and leaving out the par
t about the pictures Daddy told me about. I didn’t want Tony finding out about them, not like that. It would require a little finesse and much more privacy. His cousin listened wordlessly. When we were finished, Eddie placed a consoling hand on Tony’s shoulder. “I see you do need me, cuz. Don’t worry, I got your back.”

  “That’s comforting,” Tony said with a cautious smile. “But what advice can you offer me in the meantime?”

  He looked up to the night sky as if in deep thought, and then lowered his gaze to Tony. “Do nothing, cuz. Let me handle things from this point on.” When Tony opened his mouth to argue, Eddie stopped him by giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Look, cuz. I know you want to be proactive about this, but you can’t. Anythin’ you do would only make you look more guilty to the cops.”

  “Yolanda might be in trouble. I can’t sit back and wait,” Tony yelled.

  Eddie gestured for him to lower his voice. “Or she might be chillin’ in Hawaii for all you know, sipping a fruit drink with an umbrella. Besides, you don’t have any experience with findin’ missin’ folks. Let the professionals do their job. You’ll just be in the way.”

  I wrapped my arms around Tony’s to reassure him. “Maybe he’s right.”

  Tony looked at me as if I struck him. “Not you too, Pam. I thought you understood more than anyone.”

  “I do, but Eddie made some good points.”

  “At least, sleep on it. Don’t go looking for her tonight. Okay?” Eddie asked.

  Tony reluctantly nodded his agreement.

  “Great,” Eddie said triumphantly. “Now that that’s settled, I’ll just go inside police headquarters, hunt down the investigators and bust a few balls to find out what’s really goin’ on with the case.” He swung his gym bag over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, cuz. You’re in good hands.” Eddie, happy to be working, literally skipped up the row of stone stairs, whistling.

  “I can’t believe I’m putting my life in his hands,” Tony said nervously.

  “You’re not,” I said. “We’re going to stick with our original plan and check out Yolanda’s cubicle in the morning.”