On Friday morning the headline in the Wyattsville Daily read, “SHOOTER TO GO FREE?” Mike felt putting the accusation in the form of a question would serve the purpose, but an angry Lucinda disagreed. Numerous times he’d explained how making an unsubstantiated statement could be cause for libel, but his wife turned a deaf ear and suggested a week of sleeping on the sofa might change his mind.
When Mahoney arrived at the hospital that morning, he was greeted by squinty-eyed looks of suspicion. It was not until he saw the newspaper on the nurses’ station countertop that he understood why. The bold headline was all but impossible to miss, and the story went on to describe how the suspect was shot by Sid Klaussner, the store owner. After detailing a myriad of good deeds attributable to Klaussner, the article reported that according to a reliable source the suspect in custody had not yet been charged with the shooting. Mike had added a closing paragraph.
“Certain sources indicate that despite the preponderancy of evidence, it is questionable as to whether the suspect will in fact be set free. We have to ask you, Detective Mahoney, is this justice?” Twice the article had mentioned his name, and it had also questioned why a detective from Northampton would be involved in a Wyattsville case.
Mahoney cringed. “Damn.” He walked into Paul’s room. The boy remembered nothing more than he’d said yesterday. Mahoney questioned him about whether he might have seen a “Help Wanted” sign and gone into the store to ask about a job.
“Is any of it even a little bit familiar?” he said.
Paul’s expression was an absolute blank. None of the suggestions generated a smile, a frown, or even a blink.
After almost twenty minutes Mahoney knew nothing more than he did when he walked into the room, and given the article in today’s paper there was sure to be a greater push than ever for prosecution. So far the evidence was all circumstantial. The truth was out there, but only three people saw what happened that morning in Klaussner’s Grocery. Hurt McAdams was missing and Sid Klaussner was still in a coma, which left only Paul.
Paul knew what happened, but the image of it was hidden in the darkest corner of his mind, a place where ugly, mean, and hurtful things could be forgotten and left to die a death of anonymity. Normally that was a good thing; this time it wasn’t. The road to redemption ran smack through that black hole, and Mahoney had to uncover whatever was there.
He thought back to yesterday. Seeing Jubilee had jogged the boy’s memory; not all of it, but some. Questions went without answers, but Paul had responded to visual stimulation. Things he could see, touch, and feel brought back memories.
Mahoney left the hospital and headed for Olivia’s apartment.
Before she had the door fully open, Mahoney started asking about the things Olivia had found in Jubilee’s travel bag. He followed her into the living room, then said, “Mind if I take a look at them?”
Olivia pulled the tattered bag from the closet and set it atop the coffee table. “This is everything,” she said. “There were a few pieces of underwear but no other clothes or…”
Mahoney ignored the words as he pulled the miner’s hat from the bag, then the pictures, and a child’s story book. These were all personal treasures, things that had little or no value to anyone but the boy who had carried them with him when he left home. For a few moments Mahoney stood there leafing through the worn pages of what was obviously a family Bible. Then he said, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to take Jubilee and this bag back to the hospital.”
“I don’t know,” Olivia said. “Seeing her brother in such a state is awfully hard on Jubilee, and she was there just yesterday.”
“I think Jubilee and the things in this bag might help us unlock Paul’s memory,” Mahoney answered. “Unless he can tell us what actually happened in that store…” The rest of the sentence trailed off, too unthinkable to consider.
When Olivia suggested they wait a bit for Ethan Allen to return from school, Mahoney said it would be better for him and Jubilee to go alone. “I’m trying to do this as quietly as possible.” He made no mention of the newspaper article. When Olivia appeared reluctant, he added, “Let’s ask Jubilee if she wants to go.”
Since they both knew what the child’s answer would be, Olivia went ahead and nodded her consent.
On the drive back to the hospital, Mahoney explained that he was hopeful the things Paul had packed in the bag would jog his memory of leaving home.
“Oh, they will,” Jubilee said confidently.
Mahoney smiled and said nothing. He knew children Jubilee’s age had a faith that was all too soon outgrown. They believed in princesses, fairy tales, and happily-ever-after endings. Even when there was no bread for the table, they believed Santa would show up simply because it was Christmas Eve. Times like this Mahoney wished he could slide back into such a faith instead of struggling with the reality of a situation.
When they arrived back at the hospital, a uniformed policeman stood at the door of Paul’s room. For three days there had been no one. Now he was back.
“What’s up?” Mahoney asked. “I thought they’d called off the guard dogs.”
“Things change.” The patrolman gave a chagrined shrug.
Paul was alert and sitting straight up. The large bandage that had swaddled his head was now gone, replaced by a smaller one held in place with strips of adhesive. He looked considerably better than he had earlier in the day, with one singular exception.
Paul was now handcuffed to the bed.
“What the…” Mahoney stormed out the door and headed for the nurses’ station.
Jubilee stayed behind and stood beside her brother. At first she made no mention of the handcuffs and spoke only about how they were going to help Paul remember.
“Mister Mahoney got good intentions,” she whispered. “You can say the truth and he don’t get mad, even if you say stuff what ain’t like he’s thinking.”
“Say the truth about what?” Paul looked at Jubilee quizzically.
She went through the same things she’d told him yesterday. Mama died. Daddy was killed in the mine. They were gonna find a new place to live. Only after she’d gone through all of those things did she mention the handcuffs.
“How come you got chained to the bed?” she asked.
“They said I shot somebody,” Paul answered.
Jubie frowned. “You ain’t never shot nobody.”
Paul’s eyes began to water. “They say I did. So maybe I did.”
“That’s a lie! A big, fat, dirty lie!” The screech of her voice was so loud it brought both Mahoney and the guard running into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Mahoney asked.
“Paul’s lying!” Jubilee’s voice trembled as she spoke. “He’s saying he maybe shot—”
Mahoney grabbed the girl’s arm with a firm grip and gave her a look that quickly silenced her. “I don’t think that’s what Paul intended—”
“Maybe not,” the guard dog said, “but sometimes the truth slips out.”
When Jubilee went back to reminding Paul of all the things he should be remembering, Guard Dog slipped out of the room. Moments later Mahoney spied him talking on the telephone and turned to Paul.
“Son, I’m trying to see justice done, but justice isn’t always quick to see the truth of things. I’d suggest you hold back on saying you maybe shot Sid Klaussner until we’ve got something more to go on.”
Jubilee gave Mahoney a hard glare. “I told you—”
“I know, I know,” Mahoney mimicked her words. “He didn’t shoot nobody.”
Jubilee gave a satisfied nod and turned back to her brother. “Remember when—”
Mahoney interrupted. “Let’s try something else,” he said and lifted the bag they’d brought onto the chair. He reached in, pulled out the Bible, and handed it to Paul. “Remember this?”
Paul held the book in his hands and leafed through the pages, studying the names. After the Bible, he was handed the photographs one by one. He smiled and touch
ed his finger to the faces of those he loved. Mahoney knew when a look of anguish settled on his face he was remembering the passage of years and the death of his parents.
The last thing Mahoney took from the bag was the miner’s hat with “Jones” printed across the back in black letters.
Paul took the hat in his hands and held it as though it were something precious. He brushed his thumb across the rough edge and said nothing. Moments later a tear dropped from his eye.
“You remember your daddy wearing this hat, don’t you?”
Paul pulled his gaze away from the hat and gave a sad nod.
“Do you remember the last time you saw him wearing it?”
Paul took on the pained look of trying to remember; then the left side of his face crumpled into a grimace. “Yes.”
“That was the day he died, wasn’t it?”
Paul nodded. “I thought Daddy was just late coming home, but then Mister Brumann came and told us there’d been an accident…” Paul’s voice trailed off, and a flow of tears began.
“I’m sorry, son,” Mahoney said. “I know this is painful.”
Jubilee looked up at Mahoney. “Then why you doing it?”
“Because, like you, I don’t think Paul was involved in the robbery—”
“I ain’t just thinking,” Jubilee said. “I know for sure.”
“Fair enough,” Mahoney conceded. “We know for sure Paul wasn’t involved. But the only way we can prove it is for him to tell us what actually happened that day, and in order to tell us he’s got to remember.”
“Oh. Okay.” Jubilee stepped back and allowed Mahoney to continue.
Bit by bit the memories began to surface: the house, the school, the garden, teaching Jubilee to read and count numbers. All of those things came back, but after their days on the mountain, there was nothing. Paul had no recollection of the bus ride, Aunt Anita, or the reason why they’d come to Wyattsville.
“Try harder,” Jubilee urged. “Remember the big bus? What about the place with turnaround stools? The lady gave me a free biscuit and told where to get sleeping rooms, you remember that?”
Although Paul was still shaking his head side to side, Mahoney’s eyebrow shot up. “The biscuit place? Was that after you got off the bus here in Wyattsville?”
“Unh-huh.” Jubilee nodded.
“If I took you back to the place, you think you’d remember it?”
She gave another sad-eyed nod. “Yeah, but it ain’t me what’s gotta remember.”
Mahoney smiled. “That’s true, but maybe what you remember can fill in some of the holes to help Paul remember.”
A few minutes later they left the room. Mahoney stopped at the nurses’ station, scribbled a telephone number, and handed the piece of paper to Barbara Walsh, the head nurse. “Don’t forget,” he said.
“I won’t.” She nodded.
Mahoney took Jubilee by the hand, and they left the hospital. The slightest trace of a smile was visible under his mask of determination.
The Bread Basket Café
Mahoney’s original intention had been to go directly to the bus station and try to retrace Paul’s steps, but Jubilee insisted on first stopping at the apartment.
“Grandma Olivia’s a worrier,” she explained, “and I ain’t supposed to go nowhere ‘less she says okay.”
“You call her Grandma Olivia?”
“That’s her name, even if you ain’t blood kin.”
“Who said?”
“Ethan Allen.”
Mahoney laughed and shook his head. “Figures.”
Once Mahoney told Olivia of his plan, she insisted on coming along to see to Jubilee’s welfare.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll sit quietly in the car, and you’ll never even notice I’m there.”
“I’m gonna have to go too,” Ethan Allen said, “’cause I promised Jubie—”
“…that you’d stick by her,” Mahoney said, finishing the thought.
Although he knew the likelihood of Olivia going unnoticed was improbable, Mahoney agreed because he’d seen the way Jubilee clung to Ethan Allen. If she was in doubt about one thing or another, she’d look his way and wait for a nod or a shake of his head.
“Okay,” he said, looking over at Ethan Allen, “but we’re going to let Jubilee be the one to decide what she remembers and what she doesn’t, right?”
Ethan Allen gave a sheepish nod.
Within a mile of the Greyhound Bus Station, there were five coffee shops. Two were on the north side of station, but Main Street was to the south. Mahoney pulled up in front of the station and turned to Jubilee. “You remember which way you and Paul walked?”
She hesitated a moment then pointed toward the front of the car, which was north.
Mahoney pulled out, circled the block, and parked on the back side of the station, facing the opposite direction. “Which way now?”
Jubilee craned her neck looked around and shrugged. “This ain’t where we was.”
Three times Mahoney circled the block and parked in different places, and all three times he got the same answer. While the back side of the station remained unfamiliar, Jubilee was consistent in pointing north from the front of the station.
Mahoney was feeling good when they pulled up to Millie’s Luncheonette. “Does this look familiar?”
Jubilee scrunched her face and shook her head. “Unh-unh.”
“Not even a little bit?”
She shook her head again.
“Let’s go inside and take a look.”
“This ain’t the place, but we can look if you want.”
As it turned out there were no stools at all, just square tables with straight-backed chairs. They moved on to the Happy Burger, but that fared no better.
“This ain’t the place,” Jubilee said. Her answer was absolute, no shred of doubt.
They got back in the car and headed south. Mahoney drove past the bus station and parked in front of the Bread Basket Café. “Does this look familiar?”
“Unh-huh.” A smile spread across Jubilee’s face.
When she jumped out of the car Ethan Allen was right beside her and before Olivia could tell him not to go, he was through the door.
“See, Ethan.” Jubilee climbed on the first stool and started swiveling herself around. “It’s like I said.”
Mahoney followed them. He stood behind Jubilee and put a halt to her spinning. “Is this where you and Paul had breakfast?”
She nodded. “I got two biscuits.”
“Is that the woman Paul spoke with?” Mahoney pointed to a short stocky woman standing at the register.
Jubilee shook her head. “That ain’t her.”
Mahoney asked if Jubilee could describe the woman who waited on them that day, but the best she could do was, “Real pretty.” He looked around, and the only other person he saw was a skinny man stooped over and clearing dirty dishes from a back booth. Mahoney rose from the stool and walked over to the register to ask about other employees, but before he could do so Jubilee squealed, “That’s her!”
She pointed toward the kitchen and the blonde who came through the door carrying three dinner plate specials. She gave a bright smile and waved to the waitress. “Hey, there,” Jubilee called out. “Remember me?”
The blonde looked over. “Be with you in a minute, sweetie,” she called back. Connie set the plates she’d been carrying in front of the three elderly gents at the far end of the counter and walked up to where Jubilee was sitting. “With all that hollering, you must be wanting another biscuit real bad.” She laughed.
“I don’t want no biscuit,” Jubilee answered. “I’m just looking for you to say me and Paul was here.” Before Connie had time to answer, Jubilee launched into the story of how a man said Paul shot somebody when he didn’t shoot nobody.
Mahoney reached over and clamped his hand onto the girl’s arm. “Hold on, Jubilee,” he said. “Before you start telling your side of the story, let’s hear what Connie has to say.�
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“Maybe it’d be good if Jubie gave her a bit of reminding first,” Ethan Allen said. He was going to mention how folks can possibly forget something important, but the look Mahoney gave him put an end to his saying anything.
Mahoney started with the simplest question. “Do you remember Jubilee being in here on Wednesday, March sixth?”
“I remember her being in here, but the date? Hmm…” She turned and called out to the stocky woman at the register. “Hey, Martha, you remember when you had that dentist appointment?”
“Wednesday ‘afore last.”
Connie turned to Mahoney. “That’s when this little sweetie was here. I know ‘cause I was all alone that day and worked my butt off.”
“Was she with anyone?”
“Yeah, a boy. Not this one.” She gave a nod toward Ethan Allen. “A bigger kid, seventeen, maybe eighteen. Her brother, or maybe her daddy, I ain’t too sure on that.”
“You recall what the time was?”
“Seven, maybe a bit after. It was before the rush, I’m sure of that.”
“How long were they here?”
“Half-hour or so. The boy was in the back a good part of the time.”
Mahoney glanced toward the rear of the store—two phone booths and a shelf with three telephone directories hanging from it. “He make a phone call?”
Connie shook her head. “Don’t think so. He was looking in the phone books. Trying to find an aunt, I believe. I doubt he found her, ‘cause before they left he asked about a place to stay.”
“You suggest any place special?”
“Missus Willoughby’s,” Connie said. “It’s clean and cheap.”
“Did the boy ask for cheap?”
“No, but I knew. You work here long enough and you can tell when a body’s looking at the prices and figuring how much they can afford to eat.” Connie gave a saddened sigh. “Kids like them manage to get along on next to nothing.”
Jubilee's Journey Page 18
