Water started to boil in the percolator. Its first little pop made me jump.
“I been a cop my whole life,” Sinkovich said. “My dad was a cop.”
“Then you know the code.” Somewhere in this conversation, Johnson’s hostility had disappeared and he was speaking to Sinkovich with sympathy now.
“What was I supposed to do?” Sinkovich’s voice rose. “You tell me. What was I supposed to do?”
“What you did,” Johnson said.
“But I’m paying for it now. And that means if something else comes up, I can’t do nothing about it. If I lose this, I don’t got nothing left.”
Johnson looked at me over Sinkovich’s head.
“His wife locked him out yesterday,” I said.
Johnson nodded. I didn’t need to explain any more.
Sinkovich threaded his hands over the back of his neck. Last night’s drunk act had been a good mask for the despair that was obvious now. And Elaine had reminded me how lethal such despair could be.
“If you’re at a desk,” I said, “you’ll be in a good position to help us on this.”
Sinkovich shook his head. “They’ll want to know what I’m doing. They’ll look for anything to bust me out of the department.”
“Then you may as well go out following the law.” Johnson was still watching me as he spoke. I liked him more and more each time I talked to him. Johnson got subtlety.
“Then what?” Sinkovich asked, raising his head. His pale skin was blotchy. “When they kick me out, then what do I do?”
“We’ll figure it out from there,” I said.
“Oh, yeah,” Sinkovich said. “I recognize that one. We’ll cross that bridge and all that. I just like to know ahead of time.”
“There’s no way to know,” Johnson said. “We have access to more files than Grimshaw here does. Who knows? This sick fuck might be killing white people, too.”
“I gotta hope for that so that if we catch him, I’m a hero?” Sinkovich shook his head. “That’s fuckin’ wrong, man, and you know it.”
“Of course I know it,” Johnson said. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
Sinkovich stood up and took the percolator off the burner. I hadn’t even noticed that the coffee was done. He stood there with his back to us for a long time.
“Nine victims, maybe more,” he said after a while.
“Yeah,” I said.
“And this guy’s been getting away with it for two years.”
“That I found,” I said. “I haven’t had time to go back farther than that.”
“Shit.” Sinkovich still had his back to us.
Johnson was watching him, expression unreadable.
“What the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound, my mom used to say.” Sinkovich sighed. Then he turned, his face grim. “Give me a copy of that goddamn list.”
NINETEEN
WITH THAT, the investigation became an unofficial police project. Because Sinkovich wasn’t allowed near his precinct until Monday, we agreed that Johnson would dig up the files and we’d meet at my apartment on Sunday to review them. Sinkovich would do the library work I’d been doing, to see if he could find more victims.
Even though I had their help, I kept a few things from them. I didn’t tell them about Delevan or Saul Epstein’s remaining photographs. I also didn’t tell them about the two boys I’d interviewed or the car that had driven away from the crime scene.
All I wanted them to do was work on the connections between the victims. I wanted to keep Louis Foster for myself.
After they left, I typed a report for the newly rich Mrs. Foster. I didn’t tell her everything. I left out the fact that her husband might be one of many victims, and I also didn’t tell her about the leads I hadn’t followed yet. Without that information, the report was only two pages long, single-spaced, and it felt like I hadn’t had as busy a week as I had.
Still I paper-clipped my weekly expenses bill to the back of the report, as we had agreed. I hoped she’d pay me quickly. I needed the extra cash for Christmas. I still hadn’t figured out how Jimmy and I would celebrate, but I did know that we would. Jimmy needed at least one happy Christmas in his young life.
By the time I finished, I had to pick the kids up from school. I put Mrs. Foster’s bill in an envelope, meaning to drop it off along the way. As I left the apartment, I hesitated near the door. I hadn’t given Sinkovich a key, but I had a hunch he’d be back. No amount of cajoling was going to change his wife’s mind, no matter what he thought.
I’d loaned him one of my jackets, but he’d need more than a grimy T-shirt and a single pair of pants to get through the next few days. My clothes wouldn’t fit him, and besides, I didn’t have enough to share.
When he got back, I’d direct him to a nearby thrift store. Between the two of us, we could probably scrounge up enough cash to get him a change of clothes for the weekend.
The junior members of the Blackstone Rangers were back in the playground when I returned to the school. I recognized some of the faces, although others were new. They made a point of watching me park and walk to the front door. I was on their list, and they were making sure I knew it.
I entered the school just as the final bell rang. Kids poured out of classroom doors, and the hallway, which had been empty a moment before, was full of children. Slowly my flock gathered around me, only Lacey holding back until I beckoned her to us. We managed to walk out with a large group of students and get to the car with no problems at all.
My shoulders relaxed as I backed out of the parking lot. I hadn’t realized how tense even that little ritual had made me.
The children were silent on the drive, and I didn’t ask any questions. I dropped the Grimshaws at their house and continued home. Jimmy stared out the passenger-seat window, answering any question I asked him with a nod or a grunt.
Sinkovich’s car wasn’t in front of the apartment building when I parked, and I was grateful. I wanted to talk with Jim, see how the week went, see why everyone had been so silent. I was trying to figure out how to approach the subject when I opened the building’s front door.
Marvella was leaning against the banister, her legs crossed at the ankles. Her elegant feet were bare, and the pedal pushers she wore revealed equally elegant ankles. Her hair was wrapped in a towel, and she wore a Roosevelt University sweatshirt two sizes too big, the sleeves pushed up.
In her right hand she held a single piece of paper, and she was slapping it against the palm of her left. “I saw your little visitors again today, Bill.”
“Little visitors?” Jimmy asked.
“Nothing important,” I said. “Go on upstairs and I’ll join you in a minute.”
“No.” He crossed his arms. “I got as much right to know what you’re doing as you do.”
Marvella’s mouth quirked upwards. “I hope you understood that,” she said to me, “because I sure didn’t.”
“He seems to think this is a completely equal relationship.” I looked down at Jimmy. “It’s not, Jim. I’m the adult and I make the rules. You’re heading upstairs.”
He glared at me, then ran up the steps, avoiding Marvella as he did. She didn’t move or say anything until we heard my door slam shut.
“Another note?” I asked.
She nodded. “I caught them pinning it up about a half hour ago.”
“Same kids?”
“No,” she said. “This time, I recognized one of them. You know Sonny Bonet?”
“Amos Bonet’s son?” Amos Bonet was the man who had invited me to steal Christmas trees last weekend. His son was also named Amos, but everyone called him Sonny. “Yeah, I know him. He seems like a good kid.”
“That’s what I thought.” Marvella handed me the note. “But he says he wrote this.”
I took the paper. It was a lined sheet that had been ripped from a notebook. In a different childlike scrawl, it read: “Grimshaw!!! Stay out of stuff you don’t understand.”
“Sonny Bonet wrote this?” I asked, unable
to understand why. “Is it for Jimmy?”
“I don’t think so,” Marvella said. “He said that some man asked him to write the note and tape it to your door.”
“Did you see the man?”
She shook her head. “He stopped Sonny a few blocks from here. I didn’t even try to look for him.”
“And you got Sonny to tell you all this?”
“It wasn’t hard,” she said. “A soft voice and cookies go a long way toward dispelling a kid’s fear.”
I smiled at her. “Thanks.”
“That’s it?” she said, smiling back. “Just thanks?”
“Is there anything else?” I asked, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Other kids, more information?”
“No.” Her smile widened. “But I should get more than thanks for fending off the mighty note-writer.”
“How about thanks a lot?”
She sighed, but her smile remained. “Someday I’m going to meet this woman.”
“What woman?” I asked.
“The one who has such a hold on your heart.” She came down the stairs, wincing as her bare feet touched the tile floor. Then she leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. “That’s the kind of thanks I meant.”
“Mmm,” I said, wishing I felt more for her than I did. “I’ll remember that next time.”
“No, you won’t,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “But that’s all right. I’ll be happy to remind you.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said, and hurried up the stairs to my apartment, note in hand.
* * *
Jimmy was as confused by the note as I was. He and Sonny Bonet got along; they had just seen each other that morning in school, although Sonny had left early to help his mom with her shopping.
Welfare checks arrived around the beginning and middle of every month. Even though prices at the markets always went up at this time, some families had no choice but to shop then. Usually they went in pairs because thieves were out as well. In fact, I’d seen more than one mailman travel with a guard on check days.
The Bonets weren’t the only family on the block receiving some kind of assistance. A lot of families were just unable to make their bills. When I’d moved into the neighborhood, Franklin had warned me not to tell the authorities who lived in an apartment. Social Services did spot checks, and families couldn’t receive Aid to Families with Dependent Children if a man lived in the household. So there were a lot of shadow households—intact families that pretended to be run by single parents when the government showed up.
I’d had several interactions with Amos Bonet before he told me that he lived with his family several buildings down from mine. The fact that he mentioned it at all was a sign of trust.
Their apartment building was older than ours. The brick-work was crumbling, and the iron banister leading up the front steps was rusted. Two of the windows had been broken since I moved into the neighborhood in May. Someone had stuffed blankets in them to keep the wind out.
Jimmy led me to the Bonet’s apartment, on the first floor. This building was built before the turn of the century, and except for the addition of electricity and modern plumbing, it hadn’t been remodeled since. He knocked on a solid wooden door that had a metal number 1 held on by only one nail.
The door opened almost immediately, sending the distinctive odor of boiling ham hocks into the hallway. My stomach growled, and I realized I had forgotten to eat lunch.
The person holding the door open was a little girl, no more than five. She saw us, then turned and ran deeper into the apartment, leaving the door ajar.
A radio played in the background and I recognized the rich, warm tones of Sam Cooke. Children’s laughter echoed, followed by a woman’s voice, hard and angry.
“Hello?” Jimmy pushed the door open farther. “Is Sonny here?”
“Son, one of yer friends is here,” the woman shouted.
“I’m coming!”
Someone ran toward the door, then pulled it open all the way. A boy, taller and thinner than Jimmy, stared at both of us.
“Dang it,” he said.
“It’s all right—” I started to say, but Jimmy held up his hand to silence me. That was a trick I used. I’d never seen Jimmy do it before.
He took the note from me and waved it at Sonny. “You wanna say something?”
Sonny glanced at the note, then at me, before looking at Jimmy. His lower lip trembled. “I didn’t mean nothing.”
“I thought you and me was friends,” Jimmy said.
I watched him with admiration. I hadn’t realized how well he could stand up for himself.
“We are,” Sonny said.
“Then why’d you do this?”
Sonny put a finger to his lips, then he stepped into the hallway. He pulled the door closed. “This’s kinda private,” he said to me.
“This’s my dad,” Jimmy said. “Anything you say to me you can say to him.”
“You’re not gonna say nothing to my dad, are you?” Sonny asked me.
This was the moment of truth. We’d get no information out of him if I let him know I was going to act like a grown-up. “I wasn’t planning to,” I said, not making any real promise, but not lying either.
Sonny stared at me a moment longer, as if taking my measure. Then he slid a grimy hand into the right-hand pocket of his too-small pants. After a bit of struggle, he pulled out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill.
“Some guy gave me this to write the note. I didn’t think nothing was wrong with it.” But the quiver in his voice told a different story.
“What guy?” Jimmy asked.
Sonny shrugged. “I dunno. Some white guy.”
That stunned me. It stunned Jimmy, too, because he gave me a quick glance over his shoulder. I nodded at him. This was his interrogation, not mine.
“You let some white guy tell you what to do?” Jimmy asked.
“Twenty bucks!” Sonny held up the bill. “It’s just a note.”
“It’s a mean note,” Jimmy said.
“I thought it was a joke.” Even though he didn’t. He had backed against the door. “It’s Christmas, Jim. I can get my mom something now.”
Jimmy’s eyes narrowed. I recognized the look, and remembering the argument he’d had with Keith over the importance of Christmas, I put my hand on his shoulder, reminding him to stay calm.
“Who was this white guy?” Jimmy asked.
“I dunno,” Sonny said. “I never seen him before.”
“But you took his money?”
“Jim, I told you—”
“How did he approach you?” I asked.
Sonny looked up at me as if he’d forgotten I was there. “He yelled at me from his car, asked me if I wanted to make a quick twenty.”
“What did you say?” I asked.
“I went over to him. What’d you think, I’m dumb?”
I didn’t answer that, not yet. I needed more information first. “Then what happened?”
“He asked me if I had some school paper and a pencil. I said sure.” Sonny shifted from one stocking-covered foot to the other. “Then he asked if I knew a Bill Grimshaw. I said no. So he said this Bill Grimshaw lived down the block, and I said, ‘Oh, you mean Jimmy’s dad.’”
Jimmy’s body went rigid beneath my hand. I didn’t like the sound of that either.
“He said that seemed right. Then he told me to write this note. He told me what to write and everything, so I did.” Sonny wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “He made me do it twice. I didn’t know how to spell unnerstand.”
“Then what?” I asked.
“Then he made me promise I’d do it, and he gived me the money. So I brought the note, and then that pretty lady said she’d give it to you.” He looked at the paper, still clutched in Jimmy’s hand. “Guess she did.”
Jimmy frowned. “How come you didn’t just keep the money and throw away the note?”
“Because he said he’d know if I didn’t do it.” Sonny shoved the twenty back in
his pocket, as if he were afraid we’d take it from him. “I didn’t want to give the money back.”
“What did he look like?” I asked.
Sonny shrugged again. “He was white.”
“What else?” I asked.
“I dunno.”
“Think,” I said. “It might be important.”
“He was rich.”
“What made you think he was rich?” I asked Sonny.
Sonny thought for a moment. “His car was new.”
“What kind of car?”
“I dunno. Green, I guess.”
“Anything else?”
“He had lots of money in his wallet. I never seen so much all at once.” Sonny touched his pocket as if it held a talisman.
“You don’t remember anything else?” I asked. “His hair color? Whether or not he had a scar or wore jewelry? His name?”
“He didn’t say his name,” Sonny said. “I didn’t say mine neither. I’m not dumb.”
“Yes you are.” Jimmy slid away from my hand. The tension I’d been feeling burst out of him. “Didn’t nobody tell you not to take money from strangers?”
“Twenty bucks, Jim!”
“He didn’t have to give it to you,” Jimmy said. “He got you right next to the car. He could’ve held it out, and when you grabbed it, he grabbed you.”
“What would he do with me?” Sonny’s eyes widened.
“Hurt you.” Jimmy’s voice lowered. “Other stuff. Guys like that, they can do all kinds of stupid stuff.”
I frowned, remembering Jimmy’s mother. He’d watch her pick up men and take their money. Had any of her johns done stupid stuff to him? I had never thought to ask before.
“You don’t go near guys like that no more, promise?”
“Jim, twenty bucks,” Sonny wailed.
“Promise?” Jimmy was fierce.
“No!” Sonny said. “You’re not my dad. You don’t got the right to tell me what to do.”
“Ask your dad what he’d do if some guy offered him money to come near a car,” I said.
Sonny glared at me.
“Just ask him.”
“You said you wouldn’t get me in no trouble,” Sonny said.
“I’m not going to talk to him. You will.” I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “And you don’t have to tell him about this. Just ask him what to do if something like it should ever happen.”
Thin Walls: A Smokey Dalton Novel Page 25
