The secretary boxed in the center of the U looked to be in her early twenties and thankful she wasn’t working at a fast food joint. Her too-tight blouse stretched across a pooching belly. Gaping buttons fought a life or death battle to keep everything in. Her hair was three shades of blonde, fashionably straight, and parted in the middle, exposing black roots.
“Can I help you?” She asked, her voice reflecting the late hour of the day.
Ellie showed her badge and introduced herself. “I was here earlier, and Mr. Kellum said you were out running errands. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions?”
The poor girl looked like a proverbial deer caught in headlights. “Sure,” she said in a small voice, probably frantically wondering if she had paid those traffic tickets.
“And your name is?”
“Candice. Candice Summers.”
“Hi, Candice. I’m investigating the beating of a small child who was found Tuesday in the alley across the street. Do you remember seeing anything out of the ordinary?”
Candice shook her head. “I left at four Tuesday, so I didn’t know anything about it until yesterday morning.”
“What about earlier Tuesday when you were here? Did you see anything then? Maybe something that didn’t look quite right?”
She shook her head again. “I don’t pay much attention to stuff out there. When we get kinda slow in here, I try and study some. Stan don’t mind.”
“You’re still in school?”
“I’m taking some classes at the community college. That’s why I left early Tuesday. I have a class that starts at five.” She kneaded her hands together, her eyes still wide and scared.
Ellie smiled to hopefully put the girl at ease. “There was a man seen Tuesday around three in the parking lot behind the fish market. He was a black man with a light complexion, shaved head, and a muscular build. He was driving a green Honda Accord. Do you remember seeing anyone fitting that description?”
Candice gnawed on her bottom lip and concentrated hard on the description. After a moment, she shrugged as if she were apologizing. “It don’t sound familiar.”
“What about the car? Think one of your clients might drive a green Honda?”
“I don’t know right off the bat, but I can do a search and see.”
“Would you? That would help a lot.”
“Sure.” Candice turned to her keyboard and typed in the make and model. “You don’t know the year?” She asked while the system searched the agency’s database.
“No year. Just that it was a green Accord.”
Candice studied the monitor. “Here it is. We have four Accords. Here’s a green one, too.” She turned the monitor so Ellie could see and pointed it out on the screen.
“Can you tell who it’s registered to?”
Candice moved the cursor over the link then double-clicked. “Reginald Booker. 4816 Apartment E, Stanford Street.”
Ellie wrote down the name and address. “Thanks, Candice. You’ve been a big help.”
“You don’t think he was involved, do you?” She seemed as shocked as a parent defending their child to an angry principal.
“I just want to talk to him to see if he remembers seeing anything.” Ellie smiled and closed her notepad.
Outside, the clouds were spitting snow and a thin white blanket covered the walkway. Ellie called Jesse on his cell phone, angry with herself for knowing the number without having to look it up. “Hey. Can you run a check for me?”
“Let me switch screens. What’s your password?”
“What?”
“Your password.”
Ellie huffed then gave it to him. “Don’t you have a desk anymore?”
“Yeah, but I like yours better. They stuck me and Ricky Delwood down in the basement, and have you ever smelled Ricky Delwood?”
Ellie rolled her eyes. “No. I’ve never smelled Ricky Delwood.”
“Trust me. You don’t want to. What’s the name?”
“Reginald Booker, 4816 Stanford—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing looking up Reggie Booker?”
“Apparently, he drives a green Honda Accord, and a green Honda Accord was seen in the area Tuesday.”
“There’s a lot of green Honda Accords out there, Ellie. It doesn’t mean it was Reggie Booker’s.”
Ellie pursed her lips, her anger slowly creeping upward. “Someone matching his description was seen in the area getting into the green Honda Accord. Is that enough info?”
“Reggie’s not your man.”
Ellie tapped her foot in a slow, deliberate manner. “And you know this how?”
“Reggie and I go way back. He’s not a nice guy, but he’s not the kind to kill a kid.”
She swept at a patch of snow with the toe of her shoe. “We may not even be talking about the same guy. What does he look like?”
“Big. Built like a linebacker.”
“Shaved head?”
“Last time I saw him, he had the dreadlock thing going on. Looked kinda stupid on a guy his size.”
“Maybe that’s why he shaved. You didn’t like his haircut.”
Jesse laughed. “Reggie Booker doesn’t exactly care what I like. Be careful around him. He takes no prisoners.”
“Thanks for the concern, but I think I can handle this. He was seen in the area. No matter how big and bad he is, he may have seen something.”
“When are you going to talk to him?”
Ellie grinned and shook her head. The worm was trying to weasel his way in again, anyway. “I don’t need your help on this, Jesse.”
“I wasn’t offering it. I was just asking for an estimated time so I’ll know what to tell the guys when you turn up missing.”
Ellie stared at a mangy looking dog across the street while trying to swallow the venomous words she was tempted to say. The dog stared back at her then sauntered off toward Shorty’s rancid fish. “Bye, Jesse.” Ellie started to close her phone, but Jesse wasn’t quite finished with the conversation.
“What time did you say you were going to talk to him?” he asked. “Seriously. For my own knowledge. It’s part of the case, right?”
Ellie sighed. “I don’t know. I’ve got to go talk to Alvin B. Kepler, the third, attorney at law, then—”
“Alvin Kepler is Booker’s attorney.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
“Well that could explain why he was in the neighborhood Tuesday.”
“Kepler won’t tell you squat.”
Ellie stared at the sky and let the snow cool her rising temper. She spoke through clenched teeth. “After I talk to Kepler, I’m going in Marisol’s and talk to a guy named Mickey Mak—”
“Mickey Mouse?”
Ellie shot a blast of air out her nose, pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at it. Is there anyone you don’t know?
“What’s Mickey got to do with it?”
“He called it in to 9-1-1. Do I need to be careful around him, too?”
Jesse laughed again. “No, Mickey’s harmless.”
He cleared his throat. “Seriously, though, are you going in Marisol’s?”
“I’ve been in Marisol’s before, Jesse. Who appointed you my guardian?” Why was he so interested now? He’d avoided her for months.
“I was just going to tell you to be careful on that floor. I’d hate for you to slip and fall on a peanut hull.”
Ellie slammed her phone closed and stuffed it in her pocket. She wondered if it was too late to change her mind and tell Jack she had reconsidered. There was no way in the world she could work with Jesse.
She headed in to Kepler’s office which consisted of three rooms: a reception area, a cluttered conference room, and Kepler’s office, all with cheap, salvage store furniture and threadbare carpet. Mismatched discount store artwork hung lopsided on nicotine-yellowed walls. A bell with a red bow was hung over the door and jangled each time the door was opened.
The bell slammed against the glas
s door as Ellie pushed it open, and seconds later, Kepler strutted into the reception area. The secretary, if he had one, had already left for the day.
“Oh, it’s you again. What can I do for you?” He stepped around Ellie and bolted the door. She wasn’t sure if he was locking her in or locking others out.
“I wanted to ask you a couple more questions.”
Kepler looked at his bulky watch. “I can spare you ten. I like to get to the gym before the crowd hits.” He puffed out his chest and hiked up his pants.
Everything about Kepler reeked cheap, from his haircut to his suit and faded tie. He was just a shade taller than Shorty, with a barrel-chest and stubby fingers that looked like sausage links. A mole the size of a dime clung to his jaw near his ear and at first glance, made you think some type of insect was ready to invade the orifice.
He glanced at his watch again. “Clock’s ticking.”
“Reginald Booker. Is he a client of yours?”
“Sweetheart, you know I can’t tell you that. Attorney-client privileges.” He coupled a tsk-tsk sound with a wink.
“OK, let’s back up. There was a black man, muscular build, seen in the area Tuesday. Do you remember seeing anyone that fits that description?”
“The majority of my clients fit that description.”
“Were any of them in the neighborhood Tuesday?”
He stared at her a minute then sighed. “It was a busy day. I had a lot of people in and out.”
“Anyone fitting Booker’s description?”
He grinned, shook his head, and pointed a fat finger at her. “You’re slick. You know I can’t give you the names of my clients. And no judge in his right mind is going to grant you a court order for it, either.”
Kepler was right. It was aggravating but there was little she could do about it other than play on his heart. If he had one. “A child was brutally beaten and left for dead. It takes a very sick person to do that to a child.”
Kepler nodded. “I agree with you one hundred percent. Look, between you and me, most of my clients are petty crooks. Shoplifting, bad checks, minor drug offensives. They’re not pillars of the community, but they’re not killers, either. If you’re still interested in this guy, I’d suggest you drop by Ripped Fitness Club between five and six. You might find a few guys fitting your description.” He unbolted the door and looked at his watch.
“My ten’s up?”
“Your ten’s up.”
“And this Ripped gym would be located where?”
Kepler sighed. “Langston Avenue. You’re going to show up, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
He slightly nodded and chewed the inside of his mouth. He opened the door and made a sweeping motion with his arm like he was sweeping Ellie out with the trash. “I guess I’ll see you there, then.”
Kepler bolted the door behind her, waved his chubby fingers then dropped the lopsided blind with its several broken slats.
Ellie headed across the street to Marisol’s. She brushed the snow from her hair and glanced around, squinting against the dim light.
Marisol was at the bar filling frosted mugs from the tap. She noticed Ellie and bobbed her head toward the lone pool table in an open alcove joining the main room. Four men were hovered around the table racking a new game.
“Lost?” One of the men asked as he eyed Ellie. Sweat gathered and glistened on a swastika tattoo on the side of his shaved head. A braided beard touched his chest.
Another man walked behind her, his pool stick clasped to his side. He was tall and lanky with a mouth full of rotting teeth. “Sure brightens the place up a bit, doesn’t she?” His rancid breath was warm against the back of Ellie’s neck.
The third man pointed his pool stick like a sword, stretching it across the table, the tip resting on the top button of Ellie’s blouse. “They call me Rat. What do they call you, pretty lady?”
Rat, Mickey Mouse…what other vermin called Marisol’s home?
Rat pressed the end of the pool stick against her flesh. Ellie silently told herself to remain calm. She feared the rodent would hear her heart thundering in her chest.
“You don’t have a name?” Rat asked, nudging the top of her blouse aside.
Ellie grasped the end of the pool stick and pushed it away then brushed the tail of her blazer to the side, exposing the Glock hanging on her hip. “Detective Ellie Saunders, Burkesboro Police.”
Rat raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, we’re cool. We were just playing around. No harm meant.”
Ellie eyed each one of them, her heart slowly returning to a normal rate. “Good. Which one of you is Mickey?”
The men glanced at one another. Then Rat and the guy with the shaved head went back to their game. Among several of the little quirks she had, the one thing that irritated Ellie more than anything was being ignored. It was downright disrespectful. “OK, Marisol said Mickey was back here shooting pool. Now I know you’re Rat, so which one of you three is the mouse?”
The guy with the shaved head started laughing. “I almost like her.”
“Mickey Mouse!” Jesse brushed past Ellie, grabbed a pool stick, lined up the cue ball then broke the rack. The balls clattered against one another as the seven-ball rolled into the left corner pocket. “What do you say, Mickey? Long time no see.” Jesse took another shot, rolling the five-ball into the right corner pocket.
“Hey, Jesse,” one of the men said, resignation resonating in his voice. He was as big around as he was tall, with carrot-colored hair and a baby face splotched with freckles.
“Detective Saunders wants to ask you a couple questions about that kid they found in the alley Tuesday. You don’t mind helping Detective Saunders out, do you Mickey?”
Mickey shook his head.
“That’s what I thought. You’re a real stand-up guy, Mickey.” Jesse dropped another ball then straightened up and motioned for the other three guys to move on.
A part of Ellie fumed, but part of her was so relieved she could’ve kissed Jesse Alvarez at that very moment.
Jesse stuffed the pool stick back in the wall rack. “So, tell us what you saw, Mickey.” Jesse propped himself on the edge of the pool table.
There he went with the “us” thing again. But this time, Ellie wasn’t so sure she resented it.
“I didn’t see anything.” Mickey said, staring wide-eyed at Jesse.
“Mickey, Mickey, Mickey. You called it in, man. And you expect us to believe you didn’t see anything?”
“I didn’t call anything in.”
“The call was traced back to your phone, Mickey,” Ellie said.
“I wasn’t on it long enough for a trace.”
Jesse chuckled. “What she meant was the caller ID came back to you. But now that you’ve admitted calling it in, tell us what you saw.”
Mickey scrunched his face and looked like one of those little pug dogs. “I’m telling you, I didn’t see anything.”
Jesse rolled the eight-ball around the table with the palm of his hand. “Been hanging out at Buckaroos lately?”
Mickey’s eyes flew wide. He scoped out who was within earshot then leaned into the table. “Come on, Jesse,” he whispered. “You wouldn’t—”
“Tell us what you saw, Mickey.”
He glanced around the corner then settled his gaze on the table. “I went out to take a leak.”
“Why didn’t you just use the bathroom in here?” Ellie asked.
Jesse leaned over to her. “You’ve obviously never been to the bathrooms here. So you were outside in the alley and what did you see?”
“I was standing there doing my business, you know…looking around the alley, when I saw him.”
“Did you check to see if he was alive?” Ellie asked.
He shook his head. “I got a little closer and could see he wasn’t breathing.”
“Did you touch anything? Move anything out of the way? Food wrappers, anything like that?”
He shook his head again. “I didn�
��t touch anything. I mean, he was lying there in plain view. You didn’t have to move anything to see him.”
“Do many of Marisol’s customers come from the parking lot through the alley?”
“Most use the other side. Phil Cooper slipped on some trash last year, cracked his head on the brick, and ever since, most people walk around.”
“Whatd’ya do after you saw him?” Jesse asked.
“I came back in the bar and had a few beers.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?” Ellie raised her brows and stared at Mickey.
Mickey shrugged. “I didn’t want to get involved, you know?”
Ellie sighed. “So how long before you called 9-1-1?”
“I don’t know, maybe thirty minutes. I started feeling kinda bad, you know, thinking maybe the kid was still alive and maybe he needed help.”
“Pretty good observation, Mickey.” Jesse rolled the eight-ball into the far pocket and shook his head.
Mickey turned to Ellie. “Like I said, I started feeling pretty bad and went back outside. I looked in the alley to make sure he was still there and then I called 9-1-1.”
Jesse burst out laughing. “Where were you expecting him to go?”
Mickey rolled his eyes then turned back to Ellie. “Like I said, I didn’t really want to get involved.”
“Several officers canvassed the area Tuesday night. Why didn’t you come forward and admit you were the one who called 9-1-1?” Ellie asked.
Mickey looked at Ellie then at Jesse and smiled. “I didn’t want to have to answer a bunch of questions.”
Jesse pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and slid it across the table. It was a photocopied picture of a black man, shaved head, and a jagged scar under his left eye. Ellie assumed it was Reginald Booker. “Ever see him before?” Jesse asked.
Mickey studied the picture a moment then nodded. “Yeah. He was in the parking lot Tuesday when I got here. I thought it was kinda odd, you know, a black dude in here. I mean, they ain’t skinheads but pretty close to it.” He glanced around at his companions in the bar then stared at Jesse.
“So tell me what you know about his guy.” Jesse said.
Mickey bobbed his big head around like he was totally confused. “Nothing. Only time I’ve ever seen him was the other day in the parking lot.”
The Rising Page 8
