by Maris Soule
Jack looked at Stewart. The officer was at the end of an eight-hour shift, but he looked like he’d been up for days. ‘You getting enough sleep?’
‘Not yesterday. Had to take my kid to the doctor.’
‘Anything serious?’
‘Asthma attack. Valerie thinks we should move somewhere warmer.’
Jack knew Stewart’s wife didn’t like Michigan winters and had been pushing him to apply for a job with one of the police forces on the west coast. Once the economy picked up and the job market opened, Rivershore would probably lose him.
‘Go on home,’ he urged. ‘You can write up your report tonight.’
‘I think I will.’ Stewart yawned as he pulled out a notebook. ‘Here’s what we have so far. Names of the two victims are Manny Ortega and Carlos Perez. Ortega is the one with the dislocated shoulder; Perez has the broken nose and dislocated knee. Both age nineteen; both new to the area. Ortega had a green card. Perez said he was born in LA, and he does have a California driver’s license. No warrants for either, as far as I could tell.’
‘They say why they were in that area late last night?’ Jack asked.
‘Said they were looking at a house, thinking they might buy one,’ Jennifer said, coming over to stand beside her partner.
Stewart glanced up at her, then looked back at Jack. ‘One of the neighbors we interviewed said the two had been sitting on the steps in front of the house for at least an hour, smoking weed.’
‘Maybe that’s why they tripped and fell.’ Not that Jack believed that story.
‘Yeah, right,’ Stewart scoffed. ‘By the way, they had a couple of “friends” visiting them when we arrived at the ER to interview them. Those “friends” left as soon as we stepped into the room.’
‘Fellow gang members, I’m sure,’ Jennifer added. ‘No one said as much, but both had the RB tattoos and blue scarves.’
‘Which explains why the two aren’t pressing charges,’ Jack said. ‘They’re going to take care of this situation without our help.’
Jennifer nodded in agreement. ‘Worst part is, we still have no idea who the woman was or even if it was a woman. I interviewed Mrs Black, the woman you talked to.’ She chuckled. ‘You said you smelled liquor on her breath… . Well, she was absolutely out of it by the time I got to her. Best she could give me was “It looked like an old woman, she wasn’t very tall, and she limped.”’
‘Did she say if the woman was white or black? Color of hair? Anything?’ Over the years, Jack had learned every detail could help.
‘She said with that street light out and the person walking away from her, she couldn’t really tell, but she thought the person had dark hair. That or she was wearing a dark hat. Mrs Black was sure the woman had on a dark-colored jacket, dark slacks, and shoes.’
Jack leaned back in his chair. ‘We need to find that person.’
‘Radio and TV newscasts are asking anyone with information to call.’ Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘But you know how likely that’s gonna happen.’
‘With them not pressing charges, I don’t see what more we can do,’ Stewart said.
Jack knew Stewart was right, but he also felt, if they didn’t do something, they’d be investigating a homicide in a very short time.
‘I think a few extra passes through that neighborhood tonight might be a good idea. Any sign of gang activity, give me a call.’
‘Will do, Sarge.’ Stewart stood, gave a mock salute, then headed for his desk. Jennifer stayed where she was.
‘That gray Chevy was still there this morning,’ she said. ‘It’s not illegally parked, but I checked the plates.’ She paused and smiled. ‘The car is owned by Harry Harrington, who just happens to be in his eighties and lives on Maple Street … two blocks away.’
The telephone rang and Mary groaned as she pushed herself away from the kitchen table and the cup of tea she’d been nursing. Although she’d taken a hot bath and downed two aspirin before going to bed, she’d had a rough time getting to sleep, and so far had accomplished little since waking. She would swear every muscle in her body ached, and even though her ankle wasn’t swollen, a large black-and-blue area was forming where her shin had hit the tall one’s legs. She also had a bruise on the side of her hand, on her wrist, and partway up her right arm. The long sleeves of her bulky black turtle-neck sweater, along with her orange-colored sweatpants, covered most of the discoloration, but the areas were super-sensitive to the touch.
And here she’d thought she was staying in shape.
All those hours she’d spent at the gym working out on the weight machines and fast-walking – never running – on the treadmill certainly hadn’t prepared her for last night. Or maybe they had. She smiled and slowly limped toward the phone. She might be hurting, but she’d bet those boys hurt even more.
‘Pick on an old lady, will you,’ she muttered as she lifted the receiver.
‘What?’ a high-pitched, quavering voice asked on the other end of the line. ‘That you, Mary?’
‘It’s me, Ella,’ Mary answered and eased herself onto the stool she kept near the telephone.
Ella Williams lived two doors down and across the street from Mary, and a call from her always turned into a long ordeal, which was why Mary kept the stool by the phone. Today she was glad she did.
‘Did you hear what happened last night?’ Ella said, slightly breathless.
‘No …’ Mary’s stomach tightened. ‘What happened?’
‘A couple of kids got beat up on Archer Street. Beat up bad, they say.’
‘How bad?’ Mary asked, hoping she hadn’t delivered any fatal blows or inflicted damage the boys couldn’t recover from.
‘Bad enough to put them in the hospital.’
‘They’re in the hospital?’
‘Were,’ Ella paused and yelled. ‘Cleopatra, get off the counter.’
Mary flinched as Ella’s voice pierced her ear. Ella yelling at her cats, of which she had way too many, was a common occurrence during their telephone conversations. Best to wait, Mary had learned, until Ella took care of whatever problem the cats were causing; otherwise, she’d be talking to dead air.
‘Now, where was I?’ Ella said when she came back on the line.
‘You said the boys were in the hospital. They’re now out? They’re OK?’
‘I guess. Nancy’s the one who told me about the incident. I stopped at the hospital for my flu shot, and she asked if I’d heard what happened.’
Nancy had been one of the nurses who had helped during Harry’s last days. She was a sweet woman, very caring, and she and her husband lived in the neighborhood, on the next block over. ‘Did Nancy say who attacked the boys?’ Mary asked, afraid that was the reason Ella was calling. If Ella knew she’d been involved, the whole world would soon know.
‘She said they kept changing their stories. First they said a woman attacked them, then they said it was a ninja, a guy all dressed in black.’
‘A ninja?’ Mary laughed and glanced toward the front door, where she’d hung her black windbreaker on one of the hooks.
‘It’s not funny,’ Ella snapped. ‘This neighborhood’s not what it used to be. Nancy said these guys were gang members, that she was scared just being near them. If they’re on Archer Street, how much longer before they’re on our street? I won’t even drive through that area anymore. It’s just blacks and Mexicans.’
‘Ella, your prejudices are showing.’
‘I don’t care. Things were better when you and I first moved here. People took care of their places, kept up their yards. You could go for a walk at night and not worry about gangs. I’m afraid to even turn on my light tonight for trick-or-treat. Did you see on the television there was another gang-shooting in the trailer park across the river?’
‘I saw.’ She’d been watching television all morning, waiting to see if there was anything about the boys or if anyone had recognized her. One reporter on the 6.30 news said there’d been a gang fight on Archer Street, and anyone with
information should call the police, but that was it. From seven o’clock on it was all about the gang-shooting in the trailer park.
No mention of her, and she certainly wasn’t going to call the police and tell them anything.
‘Aren’t you afraid?’ Ella asked.
‘Afraid?’ Mary repeated and thought about the word. For years she’d been afraid someone would recognize her, but time had eased that fear. And growing up she’d lived with fear: fear that her mother would leave her, and she’d be all alone; fear that she’d end up like her mother; and then, in her twenties, fear for her life. But somehow she’d survived. Now that she was in her seventies, she didn’t even fear death. Not that she wanted to die, but with Harry gone, the idea didn’t seem as terrifying. ‘Afraid of what?’
‘Being mugged,’ Ella said. ‘I mean, if it could happen to two teenagers, it could happen to us. Who knows who’s going to be on the streets tonight? I hope mothers are wise enough to go trick-or-treating with their children.’
‘I just hope I have enough candy.’
‘Speaking of children,’ Ella went on, ‘I see your car isn’t in your driveway. So did Robby drive you home last night?’
Mary avoided a direct answer by telling the truth. ‘He’s sure his mom is getting too old to take care of herself.’
‘Well, he’s got a point,’ Ella agreed. ‘I tell you, it’s not safe for someone our age to be out after dark. Not safe at all. How was your granddaughter’s birthday party?’
‘Good.’ Mary smiled, remembering. ‘Seems like just yesterday she was a baby, now she’s all grown up. I still can’t believe she’s a high school senior. Most of the talk last night was about where she’ll go to college.’
‘What did you get her for her birthday?’
‘I gave her that pin, the one you saw the day you helped me take Harry’s clothes to the Salvation Army. And, of course, money. What else can you give a teenager nowadays? Shannon has definite ideas of what’s cool and what’s “Oh, so last year.”’
‘Did she like the pin?’
‘I think so. I… .’ The sound of her doorbell stopped her, and Mary felt her heart start racing. ‘Someone’s here,’ she said, suddenly very tense. ‘I’ll … I’ll call you back later.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE FRONT DOOR opened a-ways, a safety-chain holding it in place. Through the opening, Jack could see a white-haired woman on the other side, wrinkles etching the corners of her blue eyes and around her mouth. ‘Yes?’ she said, frowning slightly.
‘I’m looking for Harry Harrington,’ Jack said. ‘Is he home?’
The woman’s frown turned into a smile. ‘He’s in his eternal home.’
‘Eternal…?’
‘He’s dead,’ she supplied. ‘My husband died two years ago.’
‘Oh.’ It was Jack’s turn to frown. He turned slightly and pointed to the west. ‘The car. It’s registered to him.’
‘Oh, yes, the car.’ She sighed and cocked her head to the side. ‘And you’re?’
‘I’m sorry.’ He pulled out his identification. ‘Sergeant Jack Rossini. And you are…?’
‘Mary Harrington. I know I should have gotten the registration on the car changed, but …’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, seems like every time I was going to do it, something came up. But I will get it moved. I—’
‘Could I come in?’ he asked, interrupting her. ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘You want to come in?’ She hesitated, making him wonder if she might say no, then she pushed the door shut.
He was about to yell at her through the door when he heard her disengage the chain. Once again the door opened.
Jack wasn’t quite sure how to categorize the woman standing in front of him. Her outfit – the bright orange sweatpants, black turtle-neck top, and fluffy pink bedroom slippers – reminded him of the attire worn by some of the residents at the local nursing home, and her long, white hair could certainly use a good brushing, but the way she was looking at him indicated an alert mind. He guessed her height around five-five or -six, and she didn’t slouch, as so many older women did. She also didn’t have a midriff bulge and probably didn’t hit a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet.
Although she wasn’t wearing any makeup, and gravity had turned one chin into two, he had a feeling she’d been quite stunning in her younger years, and he wondered how old she was.
‘Come on in,’ she said and motioned toward the kitchen. ‘I was just having a cup of tea. Would you like some? Or maybe coffee?’
A wooden table with orange jack-o-lantern-shaped placemats sat to the side of a marble-topped counter. He saw a mug on one of the placemats, an ice pack next to it. A few feet away, one of those single-cup coffee makers sat on the counter. Since he didn’t like tea, his decision was easy. ‘Coffee would be great.’
‘Light roast, medium, or dark?’ she asked, pointing at a carousel with a variety of small containers.
‘Oh, I don’t care.’ He watched her limp over to the coffee maker. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’
She gave him a quick glance, and for a moment he thought he saw a look of fear, but then she shrugged and smiled. ‘Tripped coming down the stairs.’
He could see a staircase, just off to the right of the entryway. ‘Those are pretty steep stairs. Are you all right?’
‘A little bruised up,’ she said. ‘That’s all. Go ahead. Sit down. Take off your coat.’
Jack pulled out the wooden chair on the side of the table opposite the placemat with the mug and ice pack. He shrugged out of his overcoat before he sat down, and from the inside pocket of his wool jacket removed a three-by-five notebook and the stub of a pencil. ‘Is there a reason you parked your car on Archer Street?’ he asked as her coffee maker began spewing coffee into a purple mug.
‘It stopped running,’ she said.
‘And what time was that?’
‘Hmm… .’ She brought the mug over and set it on the placemat in front of him. ‘I’m not sure. Do you take milk or sugar?’
‘Neither.’ He shook his head, all the while watching her. ‘Morning, noon, or night?’ he asked, even though he already knew from reading the interviews of the neighbors that the car hadn’t been there until after dark.
‘Around ten, I guess. Ten or ten-thirty.’ She sat across from him and smiled. ‘At night.’
‘Really.’ Ignoring his coffee, he sat back and stared at her. The boys had said an old lady beat them up, but he hadn’t believed them, and he still couldn’t fathom how someone Mary Harrington’s size and age could take on the boys. ‘Two, ah… . Two young men were attacked in that area last night. Would you know anything about that?’
‘My neighbor called and told me about it,’ she said, looking him directly in the eyes. ‘In fact I was on the phone with her when you rang my doorbell.’ She shook her head. ‘Ella said a ninja beat them up. Is that true?’
‘Where’d she hear that?’
‘From one of the nurses at the hospital. Are the boys all right?’
‘They’ll survive. And no, I don’t think it was a ninja.’ Jack glanced at the ice pack on the table. ‘The incident happened about the time you say your car stopped running.’
‘Oh, my.’
‘Where were the boys when you left your car?’
She smiled. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t see any boys.’
‘You’re sure?’ According to the report Jennifer had handed him before she left the station, more than one of the neighbors said the boys had been sitting outside of the abandoned house for over an hour. From where the Chevy was located, they would have been easily visible. ‘The boys were wearing sweatshirts. Hoodies.’
‘I guess I was simply focused on getting home.’
‘When I arrived last night, the boys said a woman beat them up. An old woman.’ He kept his gaze fixed on her face, waiting for her reaction.
‘Not a ninja?’
‘No. An old woman.’
She gave a stilted la
ugh. ‘And what where they smoking?’
‘How did you know they were smoking anything?’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t, but really, an old woman beat them up?’
‘This woman might be in danger.’
‘How’s that?’ Her voice and eyebrows lifted slightly.
‘They’re members of a gang.’
‘Ah.’ She nodded. ‘Ella … my neighbor … and I were just talking about gangs. Wasn’t there another gang-shooting last night?’
‘Different gang,’ he said, unwilling to allow the conversation to be diverted. ‘This gang, the one the two boys belong to, is a particularly nasty group. Image is very important to them, and they would think nothing of killing someone they felt didn’t show respect. They wouldn’t want it getting around that a woman, much less an old woman, beat them up.’
‘So why aren’t they in jail?’
‘So far no one’s willing to testify against them.’
She gave a slight nod and then shrugged. ‘Well, from what you’ve told me, the ones doing the testifying would be the gang members. They were the ones beat up. Right?’
‘But maybe there was a reason for the beating.’ He waited, hoping she’d give him one.
‘Maybe,’ she said and lifted her mug of tea and took a sip.
‘Such as?’
She shrugged and set her mug back down. ‘I guess you won’t know until you find who did it.’
‘I think you know who did it,’ Jack said, irritated by her casual attitude.
‘Me?’ Again she shook her head. ‘No.’
He studied her for a moment, trying to figure out why she would hide the truth; finally, he decided it was fear. ‘You’re not going to get into trouble, you know. Even if they did press charges, no judge would believe you went out of your way to attack those boys. And, as of this morning, they’re not pressing charges. But if we could get them off the street… .’
He let the idea hang out there.
‘I’d like to help you,’ she said, oh so sincerely, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t.’
