"I know nothing whatever about his love life, if any."
"I don't know if he's going to make much sense yet," she said, "so you should be a perfect pair."
"This whole situation doesn't make any sense," I said.
"No?"
"Like, why did he come to me?"
Outside some drawn curtains, Matty said, "Remember, people take different lengths of time to come around after a general anesthetic." She opened a gap in the curtains and I went in.
8.
Wolfgang was not looking his best. The side of his head was bandaged—though I hadn't heard about a head injury—and there were enough drips and tubes and machines to make Baron Münchhausen envious.
But he responded to the noise of my arrival and he moved to sit up while I pulled a chair close. "Mr. Albert Samson," he said. "Greetings."
"Mr. Wolfgang . . . would that be Mozart?"
"It would." Not too spaced-out to smile.
"How's it going?"
"I've felt better. But we heal quickly."
"You told me that before. Do you remember?"
He thought. He didn't remember.
"Have you healed enough to answer some questions?"
"I'll try."
"Your house is a wreck."
"That's not a question."
"Why are seven women and three children living with you?"
"Not living."
"They have—had—beds. They come home to your place after they finish work. What do you call it?"
"Visiting."
"Silly me."
"It wasn't my plan."
"Women, some with children, just started appearing at your door?"
"It began with one. I was walking around and I found this woman leaning against a fence. She'd been beaten up."
"You found her?"
"About two miles from my house—in fact a little closer to yours than mine."
"So you dialed nine-one-one?"
"She didn't want me to do that."
"Why not?"
"Do you know anything about the psychology of battered women?"
"Do you?"
"I've been reading up on it. Anyhow, I brought her home. I got her a bed. The idea was that she could stay for a few days, until she felt better."
"When was this?"
"Second week in October."
"And is she still visiting you?"
"Well, yes."
"And she happened to have some buddies who also got beaten up?"
"I guess. Or some kind of word started spreading around. Women, and children . . ."
"But there are shelters in the city, Wolfgang. Organized places with much better facilities than just having beds scattered around an open space, all sharing one bathroom."
"And one kitchen . . . I know. Dayspring, the Julian Center . . . I have a list and I tell them. And some have gone to them. But a lot don't want to."
"They all stayed on?"
"A lot have gone back to where they came from." He shook his head sadly.
I said, "Back in September you talked about doing something for ‘invisible' people."
"This wasn't what I meant. I want to do something to help people with problems. But now all I do is squeeze more beds in and try to keep them all from squabbling. I hate raised voices."
He paused. I just waited. Any group of people crowded in together isn't going to last as happy families. The Big Brother television shows made fortunes on that principle.
Wolfgang said, "I don't want my house to be a refuge for anyone but me. And I'm sure the neighbors don't like it. But if people are in trouble, how can I say no to them?"
"Practice makes perfect," I said.
"But the best part . . ." He smiled with some life in his eyes.
"What?"
"Sometimes they hold my father's handprint and they say it makes them feel better."
I knew all about the "handprint," supposedly left by his extraterrestrial father. In the real world, it was a piece of limestone with some grooves in it that looked like the fossilized veins of a leaf.
"They feel ‘better'?"
"It calms them. They say it makes them more positive about life and the future. Sometimes we sit in a circle and pass it around."
"The psychological equivalent of homeopathy?"
"They tell me they feel something. I feel something. Maybe if you'd hold it you'd feel something too."
"I guarantee I'd feel whatever a guy giving me a safe place to sleep and food to eat wanted me to feel."
He tilted his head with a world-weary smile.
I said, "I didn't see the stone in the wreckage."
"It wasn't out. I keep it in a safe place."
"So the police in your house won't be in danger of feeling better by stumbling across it."
"Police?"
"You were cut up. Your house is a wreck. What do you expect?"
"I guess."
"Wolfgang, what happened? You were stabbed four times, maybe with as many as four different knives. Did everyone want a piece? Like when the Brutus gang hit Julius Caesar?"
"They weren't trying to kill me. They were trying to get me to tell them where I keep my money."
"What happened?"
"Four men came to the door wearing masks. I wouldn't let them in, but they broke the door down and grabbed me and said they wanted money."
"So it was money rather than being connected to the women you were sheltering?"
"Yes and no." He smiled.
"Will I get a straight answer if I whack that bandaged shoulder with a saline-drip bag?"
He didn't like the sound of that.
"When I asked you before, you said it was terrorists."
He shook his head.
"It's what you told me," I said.
"They had terrorists' masks."
"I only heard ‘terrorists.' So we're talking about their masks, not them?"
He nodded.
"Because I didn't hear the apostrophe, the city of Indianapolis is on a rainbow alert."
"They just wanted money. For some reason they thought I keep enough money around the place to be worth robbing me."
"Do you keep a lot of money around?"
"You never know when you're going to need cash. Especially with a lot of mouths to feed."
"And beds to buy." He nodded. "How many women have stayed in your house since October?"
"Maybe twenty. Twenty-five."
"Do you keep records?"
"Of what?"
"Well, like their full names and Social Security numbers."
"I'm extraterrestrial, not anal."
"And do you get a lot of men coming to the door?"
"A few. Husbands and boyfriends. A violent girlfriend once too. Not often."
"So what happened when the four guys in terrorists' masks demanded your money?"
"I wouldn't give it to them."
"Why not?"
He smiled. "Guess?"
I stood up and threatened his shoulder. But as he winced I put it together. "You keep your money in the same place as the handprint?"
"Yes." A smile.
"So you got yourself cut to pieces because you were protecting that damned chunk of rock."
"Whoever told them about the money might have told them how much the handprint means to me. I couldn't bear to lose it."
So he'd rather die. I guess I just don't understand extraterrestrials. . . . "They wanted money. You wouldn't give it to them. What happened then?"
"They showed me the knives, but when I still wouldn't do it the leader cut me—not deep, but enough to draw blood. There were a couple of women in the house and that set them off screaming and they ran. The men started cutting up mattresses and couches and everything they could see that might have money in it. But eventually the leader said they should take me with them, so they bundled me into a car."
"Right there, in front of your house?"
"Yes."
"What kind of car was it?"
"Q
uite large. Quite old. Light green or maybe light blue."
Not a description to conjure up a car with, but the kind of neighborhood Wolfgang lived in would probably provide the police plenty of witnesses.
"Where did they take you?"
"They just drove around."
"And continued to cut you in the car?"
"They didn't know what else to do. But then . . ."
"What?"
"They gave up. My shoulder was bleeding so much the driver complained about the car upholstery and how they'd never be able to clean the DNA off it. He said he didn't want to burn his car and they started arguing with each other."
"Obviously, a gang of master criminals."
"So they dumped me out, behind the Murphy building, and I recognized it."
The old Murphy five-and-dime was across Virginia Avenue from my office. That was one question answered.
"So you came to me," I said.
"I didn't have a phone. They took the stuff in my pockets."
"What was in them?"
"The usual things. Keys, wallet, phone."
"Much money?"
"A couple of hundred."
"The police are going to want to hear in detail what these guys said, anything you can remember about the car, and maybe names of the women staying with you."
"You don't want those things?"
"Are you hiring me?"
"Well, no. But I thought . . ."
"The cops probably won't have much trouble tracking down your assailants. And when they find them they'll have the advantage of the power of arrest."
"I see."
Which made me wonder something. "Wolfgang, could the guys who attacked you have been neighbors of yours?"
"Neighbors?" A deep frown.
"From families who don't like the idea of your opening your house to waifs and strays."
"Well . . ." He thought about it. "I don't know who they were."
"Did they say anything about your moving somewhere else, say?"
He shook his head. "It seemed to be all about the money. I've had some problems with my neighbors, but I can't imagine . . ."
"Okay," I said. Though there seemed to be quite a lot he couldn't imagine, at one time or another. Why people didn't just accept him as an extraterrestrial, for instance. "I do want something else."
"What?"
"I found a little girl in your house. She was hiding and must have been there for hours."
"Who?"
"Nicole? She's ten."
He nodded. "Elaine's little girl."
"Elaine hasn't come back."
"That's surprising. She's a very attentive mother."
"Nicole was surprised too. . . ."
9.
I had no reason to think that Elaine was in the kind of trouble that led her to court. But a woman desperate enough to run with her child from a boyfriend was not going to leave that kid unattended if she could help it.
The police would get onto it eventually, no doubt. But as long as they could drop the kid into the welfare system they'd focus first on the wreckage and the stabbings. That's how police prioritize. Even those related to me by blood. Unless given a little guidance.
I had no specific reason to connect Elaine's absence to the attack on Wolfgang, but I don't believe in coincidence much more than I believe in extraterrestrials. One way or another there was a connection. And the only person I knew who could tell me more about Elaine was Nicole.
I called Sam.
"Where are you, Daddy?" she asked.
"Funny thing. I was about to ask you the same question."
"A detective named Saul Imberlain wants to talk to you."
"I already talked to him, at the hospital."
"He wants to talk to you again, so I gave him your address and phone number."
"I haven't been home. But look, sweetie, I need to talk some more with the little girl, Nicole. Do you know where she is?"
"She's still here."
"Wolfgang's house?"
"I'm waiting with her till someone from the Department of Child Services shows up. Which won't be long."
"So her mother hasn't appeared?"
"No."
"Just don't let Nicole go anywhere before I get there, okay?"
"Why not?" I could hear her not saying she wasn't on duty.
"Because I'm trying to find her mother and if I can do that it'll save the poor kid some grief."
After a moment Sam said, "Okay."
What a good girl.
10.
Wolfgang's house looked lit up like a roaring fire now that the light was fading. The cops seemed to have turned on every light in the place.
Which is not to say there weren't a few lights aglow elsewhere along the street. Dim ones, with just enough illumination for neighbors to find their cigarettes and lemonade without making a mess as they watched the goings-on from behind their curtained windows. The neighbors were curious, but were they hostile?
A carpenter was at work on a temporary repair to the front door as I went in. Sam sat with Nicole in the kitchen area. A tall guy with a brown and gray beard stood behind them. Sam got up when she saw me. The tall guy pulled out a notebook.
Sam said, "This is Whitney Moser of DCS. Department of Child Services."
Moser offered a hand.
I shook it. I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.
Sam said, "Mr. Moser is going to take Nicole to where she can sleep tonight."
"I need to ask her a few questions," I said.
"And she needs to get settled for the night so she can get some sleep," Moser said. "You can't treat a child the way you might treat an adult."
I crouched to be on a level with Nicole. Admittedly, she looked sleepy. It wasn't all that late, but she'd had a shocking day. "Hi," I said.
"Hi."
"Which would you rather do, Nicole?" I asked. "Get some sleep or help me find your mother?"
"Daddy!" Sam said as Moser said, "Honestly, Mr. Samson."
"Help find Mom," Nicole said. She was plenty awake now.
"I need you to tell me some things that no one but you knows."
"Okay."
"Do you know the address where you and your mom lived with Harvey?"
"Who's Harvey?" I heard Moser whisper to Sam.
Nicole said, "3117 Hincot Street."
"Good girl. And does your mom have any friends around there?"
"Laurie across the street."
"Right across the street?"
She nodded. "With the orange door. Mom wanted one but Harvey said no."
"Shall I get you an orange door for Christmas?"
She nodded, vigorously considering how tired she was.
"What school did you go to before you and your mom moved here?"
"Ninety-three."
"Did you like it there?"
Nod.
"I bet they liked you there too."
A little shrug. Then a nod.
"What's your mom's name?"
"Elaine."
"Elaine what?"
"Warren."
"And are she and Harvey married or is he your mom's boyfriend?"
"No."
"No?"
"He was her boyfriend. We don't put up with him anymore."
"And does your mom have any brothers or sisters that you know about?"
"Bobby. But he died."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."
"He did magic. He found an egg in my ear."
I took a close look at one of her ears. "Yeah, I'd say there was room for an egg in there."
She smiled as she rubbed the ear in question.
I said, "And how about your mom's parents. Do you know them?"
A nod.
"Where do they live?"
"Crawfordsville."
"Are their names Mr. and Mrs. Warren?"
A nod, but then uncertainty. "I guess."
"Do you know their first names?"
"She's Lily. He's . . . um. O
h, he's Wayne."
"And do you like them?"
A nod.
"My grandmother used to make pies, just for me," I said. "Does Lily do that for you?"
Shake of the head.
"Well, I'll tell her to get her act together," I said.
"Yeah!" Nicole said. Then she yawned.
I said, "I'm going to let you go to sleep now."
Nicole looked from me to Moser and back to me. "I want to stay here, in case Mom comes home."
"I'll see what we can arrange." I gestured to Sam to take over distracting the little girl.
I led the social worker a few feet away. "Look," I said, "I know you want to get this all settled."
"I want what's best for Nicole," Moser said.
"If I can find her mother in a reasonable amount of time, that would be best, wouldn't it?"
"As long as she's able to provide a safe environment."
"Can you hang on here for a while?"
"Do you know where Elaine Warren is?"
I was tempted to say yes just to get the guy to agree, but I saw Nicole paying attention to us. "Not for sure, but I have an idea. And I'll give finding her a damn good try. Plus, you've seen that Nicole doesn't want to leave. I'd appreciate it if you'll give me some time."
Moser looked at his watch.
I said, "Think about all the paperwork you'll save if I'm successful."
Moser turned out to be one of the good ones.
11.
Whitney Moser began to gather bits of bed and bedding to make Nicole a place to sleep and I took Sam to the front porch. "He's going to stay here with Nicole while I have a crack at finding Elaine."
"Where is she?" Sam said.
"I have no idea."
"Great."
"But I might know someone who does."
"I want to help, if I can, Daddy."
"Officially or as a caring human being?"
"Can you stop being you for a moment and just tell me what you have in mind?"
I had a moment in which I visualized Wolfgang the extraterrestrial in his hospital bed, bandaged and receiving drips. My feeling of isolation from the world I inhabit can be as self-created as his. "Sorry. I'm going to try to become a better person."
"Perhaps you can postpone that too," she said, looking at her watch.
"I want to start by looking at 3117 Hincot Street. If I can find it."
"Want to follow me and my GPS?"
Hincot was a short, dead-end street behind an old shopping center a couple of miles south of the city's center. It didn't appear to be a bad neighborhood, but then again, it didn't appear much at all. The GPS had brought us to a dark stretch between two streetlights that didn't work. Or that had been shot out. I've never owned a gun in all my years as a P.I. but for a moment I was glad Sam-the-cop was packing.
Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine 11/01/12 Page 12
