by Maris Soule
Fuck you, the short one had said.
Well, it wouldn’t be the first time for her, but she doubted that had been their intention last night. They’d seen her as prey, had considered her an easy mark. Maybe they would have knocked her around a little, but rape? Mary didn’t think so.
Then again, the first time she was raped she didn’t expect it either, never thought her mother’s latest boyfriend would do such a thing. Worst part was she’d actually liked him, thought maybe he would marry her mother, and that they would be a family … a family like she dreamed of. How naïve she’d been back then. What a dreamer.
Mary forced those memories to the back of her mind. In a way her dream had come true. She did end up with a wonderful husband, did have a child, a home … love. She wouldn’t think of what came before those times. Not now, not ever.
She left the comfort of Harry’s chair to stand in front of the plate-glass window that looked out on the street. ‘Leave me alone,’ she muttered to no one. ‘Forget I exist.’
Somehow or other she had to keep her past a secret.
Jack spent the afternoon writing up a report on a robbery and testifying at a domestic violence trial, but he couldn’t shake the image of Mary Harrington sitting across from him at her kitchen table. The way she’d answered his questions, smiled, and scooted him out of her house had him certain she was involved, but why wouldn’t she admit it?
He’d told her the boys weren’t pressing charges. She shouldn’t be afraid of being arrested. He’d told her she might be in danger. Most women would find that frightening, yet she’d merely shrugged off the idea. Maybe he hadn’t stressed that point enough.
Or maybe there was a reason she wasn’t frightened.
After work, he headed for the local gym. At one time or another most of the area’s residents ended up at the Shoreside Gym, built one block away from the Rivershore hospital. Some came for physical therapy, others to workout and take classes. The first thing Jack did was pay a visit to the director.
‘Mary Harrington?’ the director said, skimming through computer files. ‘Ah yes, here she is.’ He looked up from the monitor and smiled. ‘She’s the one that reporter wrote about. After that article came out, our senior membership doubled.’
‘She said she’s taken some classes in tai chi,’ Jack said. ‘What about martial arts classes? Has she ever taken any of those?’
The director shook his head. ‘We’ve never offered anything other than tai chi.’
‘So, if she wanted to learn martial arts, where would she go?’
The director shrugged. ‘Probably Kalamazoo or Grand Rapids, they offer a variety of classes. Tae kwon do. Karate. Aikido. Just about anything you can think of.’
‘Thank you,’ Jack said, knowing both locations were close enough that Mary Harrington could have driven there, especially when she was younger. The question was, how long would it take him to find the location where she’d learned martial arts … or was it worth the effort?
As long as he was at the gym, a workout seemed a good idea, and Jack went from the director’s office to the men’s locker room. He was changing into sweats when one of the local doctors came into the area.
‘Hey, Doc,’ Jack called, stopping the man from going to his locker. ‘You got a minute?’
Sam Schell was in his early fifties, a sprinkling of gray in his dark sideburns giving him a distinguished look. Tall and slender, the doctor was often at the gym the same time Jack worked out, and had been giving Jack tips on what weight machines would best help him with his back pain. Jack knew the doctor’s specialty was geriatrics, which made him the perfect person to question.
‘You see old people all the time,’ Jack said. ‘By any chance is Mary Harrington one of your patients?’
Schell frowned. ‘Now, Jack, you know I can’t talk about any of my patients.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
Schell chuckled and shook his head. ‘You know what’s terrible, I’m not sure. The name sounds familiar, but I see so many patients… .’
‘About a month ago she was featured in an article about staying fit.’
‘Oh yeah, I do know the one you mean.’ He shook his head. ‘No, she’s not one of mine.’
‘But you’ve seen her picture. Right? Do you think she could beat up two boys in their late teens?’
‘Using what for a weapon?’ Schell asked.
‘Nothing as far as I can tell.’
‘When you say “beat up”, what exactly do you mean?’
‘Dislocated shoulder on one, broken nose and dislocated knee with the other.’
‘Wow.’ Schell came closer. ‘Isn’t she in her seventies?’
‘Seventy-four.’
‘She didn’t look very big in the picture.’
‘She isn’t.’ Jack held his right hand up just past his chin. ‘I’d say she’s around five-five or five-six. Maybe a hundred twenty pounds.’
‘So why did she beat up these boys?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t even know for sure that she did. It’s just that her car was in the vicinity of the incident, she admits she was there around the time of the incident, and she has bruises on her arm, wrist, and hand and is limping. But …’ He paused, thinking how to explain everything. ‘She says she wasn’t involved, saw nothing, and got the bruises when she fell down some stairs.’
‘And what do the boys say?’
‘At first they said they were attacked by an old woman, then they said it was a ninja.’
‘A ninja?’
‘Yeah, like we have a lot of them around here.’ Jack chuckled. ‘Anyway, now they’re saying they simply fell.’
‘Which, of course, wouldn’t have caused those injuries.’ The doctor set his gym bag down on the bench and ran a hand through his still thick hair. ‘Where did this all happen?’
‘Over on Archer Street. Our once peaceful neighborhood. So what do you think? Could she have done it?’
‘I don’t know. With most people, there’s a loss of about a half a per cent of lean muscle mass every year between age twenty-five and sixty, and a corresponding decline in muscle strength. From age sixty on, the rate of loss doubles to about one per cent, then doubles again at age seventy, and again at age eighty, and ninety. We call it sarcopenia. I know that article was about how she and other seniors have slowed the decline by staying physically active, but for a seventy-four-year-old woman to take on two teenagers in their prime…?’ He shook his head. ‘I doubt it.’
‘She says the only martial arts training she’s had is tai chi.’
‘So you think she’s lying?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jack said. ‘But if she did take down those boys, I’d sure like to know how she did it.’
‘And you don’t know who her doctor is?’
‘I did a little research on her today, but that didn’t come up.’
‘I’ll ask around, see what I can find out.’ Schell smiled. ‘Meanwhile, what about you? Have you been doing those exercises I suggested?’
Jack considered lying, then shook his head. ‘Haven’t had time.’
‘And…?’
Jack knew what Schell wanted to hear. ‘Going to start today.’
CHAPTER SIX
I HAVE LIZARD skin, Mary thought, staring at her legs. The drier air of fall always brought dry skin. Add more age spots that she could count, and the surface of her legs did resemble a lizard’s hide. As if that wasn’t ugly enough, her right leg was one big bruise from the middle of her foot up to a point below her knee.
She applied a liberal amount of lotion to both legs, flinching slightly as her hands passed over the bruised area.
As a child, she’d acquired her share of bruises, most of them from being slapped around by her mother. Over time she’d learned to keep her mouth shut, do what she was told, and stay out of the way. All she wanted to do was survive until she was old enough to be on her own. In her dreams, she would leave the cruddy apartment she shared with her mother, would meet a rich
and handsome man, get married, and live happily ever after.
Even after being raped by her mother’s boyfriend, she refused to give up the dream. It wasn’t until her mother died that she discovered a girl could starve on a dream. Fifteen-year-olds didn’t attract rich and handsome men except for one thing, and a proposition was not the same as a proposal.
Raphael became her savior … and her pimp. Her mother had worked for him, so when she came to him for help, he willingly took her on. He sent her to the johns who were willing to pay the big bucks. She was seventeen the day she was sent to Carl Smith’s hotel room. She’d thought the man was crazy when he said all he wanted was for her to take an IQ test and talk to him, but she did as he asked. Back then she’d been amazed at what got men off.
Short and pudgy, with thinning blond hair, Carl definitely wasn’t handsome, but he did have the money. For two hours after she finished the IQ test, he asked her questions. Some were stupid, like who was the president and what did she think about Russia. Others she had to think about. Should someone who’d threatened to detonate an atomic bomb in the United States be assassinated before he did it? Did she believe in an eye for an eye?
When she asked him why he was asking her all these questions, he said a couple of people had told him she was way too intelligent to be a prostitute. She’d laughed, and told him she made more money in a week than most seventeen-year-olds made in a year. He left after that, and it was a month before she saw him again.
The second time he paid for her services, he offered her a job. He said he couldn’t tell her what she’d be doing or who she’d be working for, but he promised she’d make a lot more money than she ever could as a prostitute, and she’d be using her intelligence. She told him he was crazy, that even if she wanted the job, the only way she could quit was over Raphael’s dead body.
Two days later, Raphael was dead.
Mary set the bottle of lotion on the table. Enough reminiscing. That seventeen-year-old no longer existed, hadn’t for fifty-seven years. The day she boarded the plane bound for Washington DC and sat next to Carl, she had no idea what lay ahead. She certainly didn’t think thirteen years later she’d be living in a small, midwestern town and be known as Mary Smith, or that by the age of seventy-four all of her childhood dreams would have come true: that she would marry a kind and handsome man, have a son she was proud of, and a granddaughter she loved dearly.
For the last forty-four years she’d kept her past a secret. She wasn’t about to reveal it now, especially since she knew what the consequences would be.
Damn that sergeant for being so nosy.
If she were twenty years younger, she might be flattered by Sergeant Rossini’s concern for her welfare. In spite of a Roman nose, the guy wasn’t bad looking. He certainly had a nice, full head of silver-gray hair, and his pot belly wasn’t as pronounced as most middle-aged men’s. He was about the same height as Harry had been, but Rossini was broader in the shoulders. In a way, he reminded her of David.
Damn, she hadn’t thought about David for years, and now, twice in one day, he’d come to mind. David and Pandora. They’d made quite the pair back then. She wondered what he was doing nowadays, or if he was even still alive.
The doorbell rang, startling her, and Mary glanced at the kitchen clock. It was a bit early for trick-or-treaters, but with all the news about gangs and shootings, mothers might want to get their young chicks home before the older kids hit the streets.
Time to stop thinking about the past, she told herself. David was probably dead by now, and Pandora no longer existed.
She pushed her pant legs down so they covered her bruises, eased out of the chair, and limped over to her front door.
The bell rang a second time, and Mary looked through the peephole. She smiled when she saw Shannon’s heavily made-up face on the other side. Quickly she released the safety chain, and opened the door.
The exaggerated mascara, eyeshadow and lipstick were combined with a frilly pink prom dress that accented her granddaughter’s small waist. Clear-plastic high heels, a rhinestone-studded tiara, and a plastic wand completed the costume.
Mary laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’re out trick-or-treating?’
‘Nope.’ Shannon gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before flouncing into the house, the netting of her dress crackling as she passed. ‘I came to help you give out treats.’
After his workout, Jack headed for the Shores Bar and Grill. The building was one of the oldest in town, dating back to the early 1900s, and wasn’t much more than a hole-in-the-wall, but as far as Jack was concerned, they made the best burgers in Michigan, and the beer on tap was always frosty-cold.
Michigan’s no smoking law, and a good clean-up by the staff, had eliminated the tobacco smell but not the odor of spilled beer and sweaty bodies. Favored by construction workers as well as off-duty police, the place was jammed, and at first he didn’t see Officer Jennifer Mendoza sitting back at a corner booth. If she’d had anyone with her, he would have simply taken the one empty stool at the bar, but she was alone. ‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked the younger woman.
She looked up and smiled, a hand gesture toward the opposite side of the booth indicating her agreement.
‘So how’s it going?’ he asked as he slid onto the bench. ‘Stewart treating you all right?’
‘Considering some of the stories I heard at the academy about what rookies go through, Stewart is a dream of a partner. Doesn’t even seem to mind that he’s been paired with a woman.’ She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her chest nearly touching her half-finished salad. ‘Is it true I’m the first woman ever hired on the Rivershore Police Department?’
‘First in my twenty-four years here.’ Jack motioned to the waitress to bring him a beer, then looked at Jennifer. ‘You drinking?’
‘Just iced tea. I’m on duty tonight.’
‘You must be racking up the hours, what with the overtime you put in this morning.’
‘Stewart wanted to follow up on those boys,’ she said, ‘and I wanted to get my paperwork started while everything was still fresh in my mind. Did you follow up on that car parked on Archer Street? The one owned by Harry Harrington?’
‘I talked to the owner this morning. It was left there by a little old lady.’
Jennifer’s eyebrows rose, and she sat back. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Not at all.’
‘So were the boys telling the truth last night? Do you think an old lady did that to them?’
Jack started to shake his head, but shrugged instead. ‘I’m not sure what to think.’
‘Stewart thinks they were so high they probably did it to each other.’
‘Hospital tested them, didn’t it? What did the tox screen show?’
‘Traces of coke, but mostly marijuana. We even found a bag in the tall one’s shoe. They were definitely flying, but I don’t think they were high enough to make up a story like that.’
‘This old lady’s in her seventies. About your height. Think you could have taken them on? Both of them?’
‘Wow. I don’t know.’
Jack watched her chew on her lower lip, then take a sip of her iced tea. He knew she was remembering the boys from the night before and the injuries they’d sustained. He liked the way Jennifer Mendoza’s mind worked. In the two months since she’d been hired, he’d watched and listened as she learned the routine and worked with Stewart VanDerwell. She asked questions, followed up on leads, and wanted facts. No jumping to conclusions. No taking the easy way out.
She was young and enthusiastic, and he envied her that. She also knew how to take a joke. She might consider Stewart a dream, but so far her partner had played two pranks on her … or tried to. One was the old standby of having a friend lay in a casket in the local funeral home, and then having someone call in a 10-34. From what Stewart said the next day, when they went to investigate the open door, Jennifer had no idea what was going on and screamed like a banshee when the guy sat u
p in that casket.
It was the second prank Stewart tried that backfired.
Jack sat back in the booth as the waitress brought his beer. ‘Same as usual?’ she asked, and he nodded, then added, ‘Easy on the onions.’
Once the waitress left, he looked at Jennifer. ‘That day you said you had a terrible headache and couldn’t drive, did you know Stewart had put Vaseline on the cruiser’s door handle?’
She grinned. ‘When he made such a big deal about me driving, I knew something was up. And to squelch a rumor, I did not wet my pants that night at the funeral home.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t be the first if you had,’ Jack said. ‘That’s one of the oldest pranks around.’
‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘When you started, did they give you a rough time?’
‘Not here. When I was hired here, I’d already put in ten years in Chicago. I think they were afraid to pull anything on me.’ And he knew they felt sorry for him back then. Losing your partner in a shoot-out was one of the worst things an officer could go through.
‘What brought you here?’
He chuckled. ‘You mean to Mayberry?’
‘This town isn’t that backward.’
‘And it never has been, but Rivershore also never has had the same level of crime as Chicago. Still doesn’t. Our stats may have gone up over the years, especially regarding gang violence, but it’s still a nice place to live. And that’s why I applied here. In Rivershore there was a good chance my boys would have a father as they grew up, and my wife would have a husband, one who wasn’t so stressed out from the job and so cynical about mankind that he turned into a drunk. Also, my wife grew up in Paw Paw, and we decided Rivershore was close enough that we could easily visit her folks when we wanted, but far enough away that my in-laws wouldn’t always be over.’
Jennifer said nothing for a moment, then nodded. ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose a partner … to have something happen to Stewart. I mean, he’s got little kids.’
Jack did know what it was like. ‘My partner, Craig, had four. Two boys and two girls. His wife remarried after a few years, but she said things were never the same after he died.’
