I Promise

by Joan Johnston

  Jaime Perez was dead, killed in a hit-and-run accident. Franklin Harris’s parole officer hadn’t seen him for three months. He thought Harris might have taken off for Florida, where he had relatives. Rosa Torres had been making regular visits to her parole officer, but he had no idea where she was if she wasn’t at her address in Flatbush. He suggested Delia and Marsh try Sunset Park near the BQE—the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway—after dark. Rosa had been picked up for hooking there in the past.

  Delia was walking arm in arm with Marsh along the famous Promenade in Brooklyn that had the best view of the Manhattan skyline across the East River—the one most people saw on postcards. Their late afternoon pace was leisurely. Their conversation was not.

  “I’m going with you,” Delia said.

  “Sunset Park after dark is no place for a woman.”

  “Rosa Torres will be there.”

  Marsh rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Let me go get her and bring her somewhere—”

  “I’m going, and that’s final.”

  “You are the most stubborn—”

  “Please, let’s not argue anymore,” Delia said, stopping and turning to face Marsh. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have together.”

  She had often dreamed of walking the Promenade with Marsh, dreamed of having him kiss her as the sun slipped below the horizon. This wasn’t exactly the way she had pictured them together—they had spent the past half hour of their walk debating the merits of who should interview Rosa Torres—but it might be as close as she was ever going to get. Her arms slid up around his neck, and she leaned into him. “Kiss me, Marsh.”

  She didn’t have to ask twice. Marsh’s mouth came down to capture hers. His arms tightened around her possessively. “God, Delia. I want you. Right now.”

  Delia smiled and shook her head. “The sun’s going down, Marsh. We don’t have time—”

  “I know,” he said urgently. “Time is running out. I can feel you slipping away from me.”

  She took his face between her hands. “I’ll always love you, Marsh.”

  He tore himself free. “Damn it! That’s not enough! I want us to have a life together. I want us to have a child of our own.”

  Delia’s eyes widened. “You do?”

  Marsh seemed stunned by what he had said. He put a hand to his temple and shook his head. “I don’t know where that came from.”

  He met her gaze, and she recognized the longing there. “I do,” she said. “I’ve had the same dream.”

  His arms slid back around her. He cupped her bottom and nestled her between his widespread legs. “What did you see?”

  She resisted the urge to arch into him. “A son who’d grow up tall like you.” Her thumb caressed his face. “With the North chin.”

  Marsh smiled. “Of course.”

  “With my black hair. And eyes that are gray like yours, but lighten when he’s happy to a blue the shade of mine.”

  “Blue eyes,” Marsh said definitely. “Because he’d always be happy.”

  Delia was having trouble keeping the wistfulness out of her voice. “It’s too late for dreams like that, Marsh.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m thirty-six years old.”

  “That’s not too old.”

  “I like having a career.”

  “No one said you had to give up working. Lots of other women manage both.”

  “It isn’t easy.”

  “I’d help.”

  She raised a skeptical brow. “With diapers? Two o’clock feedings? Sore throats and chicken pox?”

  “I’ve changed a diaper or two in my time,” he defended himself. “And stayed up all night with a sick child.”

  “I forgot you’ve been through this before.”

  His arms tightened around her, and he whispered in her ear, “Not with you. Not with a child of ours. I want that, Delia. So bad it hurts.”

  “I want it too.”

  Delia snuggled her cheek against Marsh’s chest and glanced across the river at the New York skyline. Even in all its nighttime glory, it didn’t hold a candle to the stars in a vast Texas sky. “We’d better go,” she said. “We don’t want to miss Rosa if she gets to the park early.”

  “Marry me, Delia.”

  She looked up at Marsh, saw the light from across the river reflected in his eyes. She made a wobbly attempt at a smile. “I love you, Marsh. I always have, and I always will.”

  It wasn’t an answer. And it was.

  She stepped back from his embrace, letting the distance grow between them emotionally as well as physically. “We’d better go,” she repeated.

  He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t plead, didn’t argue, didn’t bargain. She saw a muscle in his jaw working, knew he was grinding his teeth. Saw the tension in his back and shoulders. Saw the despair reflected in his eyes.

  They didn’t speak again as they walked briskly toward the park. It was a dreary, frightening place in the dark. Shadows became slinking forms. Sounds became guttural voices.

  Marsh slipped an arm around her waist protectively as they walked slowly, carefully through the park, searching the faces of the women, looking for the one that matched the picture Rosa’s parole officer had given them.

  It was ludicrously easy to spot her. She was standing under one of the few streetlights. Her skirt was short, her jacket black leather, and she was wearing immensely high heels. Her bleached blond hair was tied in a topknot and stringy bangs fell onto her forehead and into her eyes. She wore surprisingly little makeup. Despite the stated age of eighteen on her record, she looked thirty.

  “Rosa?''

  The woman took one look at them and ran. Marsh grabbed her arm to stop her, and she screamed. His hand quickly covered her mouth. She stabbed at him with her high heels, and he gave a pained grunt and grabbed at her legs to immobilize her.

  “Rosa, please stop fighting,” Delia said. “We aren’t here to hurt you. I’m Judge Carson. Do you remember me?”

  The woman stopped struggling, but her chest was heaving, and her dark eyes were wild with fear.

  “I’m going to take my hand from your mouth,” Marsh said. “We aren’t going to hurt you. We just want to talk to you. Don’t scream.”

  Marsh slowly removed his hand. Rosa remained silent but wary, tensed to flee.

  “I’m going to let you go,” he said. “Don’t run, or I’ll come after you.” Marsh stepped back a foot, ready to catch her again, if necessary.

  Rosa stood trembling, but still.

  “We only want to ask you some questions,” Delia repeated.

  “I don’t have time for questions,” Rosa said. “I gotta work.”

  Marsh reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. “How much time will this buy?”

  “Ask your questions,” Rosa said, tucking the money in her deep cleavage.

  “Would you come with us somewhere we can talk privately?” Delia said.

  “Where?” Rosa asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked from one to the other of them.

  Delia and Marsh had scouted earlier and found a small bar not far from the park, which Delia named. “We can walk there,” she said. “It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  “I’d rather talk here,” Rosa said.

  Delia looked around her. The movement of shadows in the dark felt ominous. Surprising that Rosa felt safer here. Delia supposed it was all a matter of perspective. “All right,” she conceded. “Let’s move out of the light.”

  “I like it in the light,” Rosa said, her chin tilting up. “You want to talk? Talk.”

  Delia glanced at Marsh, and he nodded.

  “It’s about Sam Dietrich,” Delia began.

  “Who?”

  “The Brooklyn district attorney.”

  “Oh, yeah. What about him?”

  “We wondered if . . . if he might have been a client of yours.”

  Rosa looked from Delia to Marsh and hooted. “Shit, no. The man, he likes boys.”

  Delia’s ey
es goggled. “He’s a homosexual?” Of all the things she had imagined, that was not one of them.

  “Naw. He likes boys. You know, little boys. The man is a pre-vert, you know? Lets them suck his d—”

  “We get the picture,” Marsh interrupted. “How do you know the DA likes boys?”

  “Jaime Perez told me,” Rosa said, snapping her gum, comfortable now that she realized she wasn’t the focus of their questions.

  “How do you know Perez?” Marsh asked.

  “He’s a cousin of mine,” Rosa said.

  “How did Perez know about Dietrich’s penchant for boys?” Delia asked.

  “His what?” Rosa asked.

  “That he liked boys,” Marsh said.

  “Oh. He seen him with one,” Rosa said. “He was dealin’ dr—walkin’—in the same alley where the DA was doin’ it in his car. He recognized him ’cause he seen the man in court.”

  “Did you use that information to coerce the DA into giving you a lighter sentence?” Delia asked.

  “Hey, lady, I ain’t gotta say nothin’!” Rosa said.

  Marsh frowned at Delia, and she glared back.

  “We’re not after you,” Marsh said to Rosa.

  “Maybe you ain’t a problem,” Rosa said to Marsh. “But the judge here, she’s got a reputation, you know?”

  Delia flushed. “I don’t want to make any trouble for you.”

  “Yeah. Where have I heard that before?” Rosa said.

  “Do you know Franklin Harris?” Marsh said.

  “What if I do?” Rosa retorted.

  “How do you know him?” Delia asked.

  “I bought a used car from him.”

  “Stolen car,” Marsh muttered.

  Delia shot him a silencing look. “Did you tell Harris about the DA’s . . . problem?” Delia asked.

  Rosa shrugged. “Hey, a girl’s gotta live. He was gonna take the car away ’cause I couldn’t keep up the payments. So I told the man about the man—if you know what I mean.”

  Delia’s gaze locked on Marsh. They had found the secret they were searching for, and enough of a connection from one party to another to piece together what had probably happened. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Sam Dietrich’s secret had probably been passed from one party to another as necessary to pay off debts and then used to finagle light plea bargains. The problem was proving it.

  “Would you be willing to tell someone else—the police—what you just told us?” Delia said.

  “Hey, judge! I ain’t gonna say nothin’ to nobody ‘bout nothin’. Ain’t gonna put myself in jail for you or nobody. Understand?”

  Delia understood perfectly. With Perez dead and Harris gone and Rosa unwilling to testify, they had nothing they could use against Dietrich. Even if they could get the other three to talk, it would only be hearsay evidence. Perez was the only one who had seen Sam committing an illegal act. And Perez wasn’t available to testify. Delia began to wonder whether his death had been an accident, after all.

  “Thank you, Rosa,” Delia said.

  “For what?” the woman asked. “I ain’t gonna testify. I told you that, and I meant it.”

  “I know,” Delia said. “I just meant thank you for your time.”

  Rosa reached into her bra and patted the twenty Marsh had given her. “Shit, the man paid for it.” She gave Marsh a sloe-eyed look. “You got a little time left on the meter, mister. What’ll it be? You want me to suck—”

  Delia hooked an arm through Marsh’s and dragged him away. She looked up and saw him struggling not to laugh.

  “Don’t you dare!” she hissed as she hurried with him to the closest subway entrance.

  A guffaw burst free. “If you could have seen the look on your face when she offered—”

  “This isn’t funny! It’s a disaster! Don’t you see? We know for sure Sam was making deals, but we have absolutely no way to prove it. It would be his word against mine. And the accusations I would have to make are so awful I wouldn’t dare do it without some proof.”

  “I could put a private investigator on him, someone to follow him around and get pictures.”

  “That might take weeks or months. I haven’t got that much time. The attorney general’s starting his investigation now. I need proof now!”

  They had reached the entrance to the subway tunnel when Marsh grabbed her arm and stopped her. “I have a suggestion. I don’t know whether you’re going to like it.”

  “I’m up for anything.”

  “This might be dangerous.”

  Delia eyed Marsh skeptically. “What did you have in mind?”

  “What if you confronted Dietrich personally with what you know?”

  “What good would that do? It would still be my word against his.”

  “Not if you were wearing a wire.”

  Delia frowned. “A wire?”

  “Look, we go to the attorney general, arrange for you to wear a wire and confront Sam Dietrich. You could get everything he says on tape.”

  “Who says he’ll confess?”

  “You don’t think you could make the man talk?” Marsh asked.

  Delia looked at him thoughtfully. “When would I do this?”

  “What about now? Tonight?”

  “The attorney general would need probable cause—”

  “They can pick up Rosa and squeeze the truth out of her again, if necessary. There’s always a judge available to sign court orders when they’re needed in a hurry. What do you say? Are you game?”

  Delia smiled grimly. “Bring on the DA. I’m ready to play.”

  Marsh hated like hell being stuck in the paneled truck with the police, around the corner from Sam Dietrich’s home in Brooklyn Heights, unable to help Delia if she ran into trouble inside. The worst part was, this had all been his idea. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

  What could happen? She would confront the man, he would either spill the beans or not, and Delia would leave. No problem. Quick and easy as throwing a two-day-old calf.

  Only Marsh had a bad feeling that wouldn’t go away. He listened as Delia checked the microphone before ringing the doorbell.

  “All right, guys,” she said. “Here goes.”

  He heard her take a deep breath and exhale. Heard the elaborate door chimes. Heard the door open.

  “Well, well,” Sam said. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

  From the mirrored window at the back of the van, Marsh saw Dietrich look around to see who might be watching them. He didn’t seem to notice the tail end of the paneled truck, which was parked right around the corner.

  “What are you looking for?” Delia asked. “The police? Or the press?”

  Marsh cringed. Lord, what did the woman think she was doing? Dietrich was sure to suspect something now.

  “Either or both would be equally unwelcome,” Dietrich said.

  “I feel the same way,” Delia said coolly. “What I have to say to you—what I want to ask—needs to be done in private.”

  “Very well. Come in,” Dietrich said.

  Marsh felt a clutch in his chest as Delia entered the elegant Tudor brick house and the door closed behind her with a solid thunk. There was nothing he could do now but listen.

  “May I offer you a drink?” Dietrich asked.

  “This isn’t a social call,” Delia said.

  “I didn’t think it was,” Sam answered smoothly. “I’m having Chivas. What would you like?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Suit yourself. Come into my library and sit down. We can be comfortable there.”

  Marsh knew from the floor plan of the DA’s home he had perused that the study was in the back of the house farthest away from help if Delia needed it in a hurry.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I had to be crazy to suggest this.”

  “Shh,” one of the policeman said. “I can’t hear.”

  Marsh scooted closer to him. “Is something wrong with the wire?”

&
nbsp; “I don’t think so. They ain’t said nothin’ for a while, but I don’t want to miss nothin’.”

  Marsh sat on the edge of his seat, listening, waiting, knowing both Delia’s future and his own were on the line.

  “Come on, Delia,” Marsh murmured. “You can do it.”

  “I presume you’re here about the newspaper articles,” Sam said.

  “You presume correctly,” Delia replied.

  “All I did was tell the truth.”

  “As you see it.”

  Sam didn’t answer. Marsh pictured him smirking, nodding.

  “You know there’s nothing incompetent about my work,” Delia said.

  Sam didn’t answer. In his mind’s eye, Marsh saw him give an uncaring shrug.

  “I never said there was,” Sam said at last. “I only said you’re inexperienced.”

  “You implied more,” Delia spat back. “You suggested I’m inept, when we both know that’s not the truth.”

  “Truth has very little to do with politics, my dear,” Sam said.

  Marsh heard the ice in Sam’s glass rattle in the silence that followed.

  “You’re never going to be governor of New York, Sam,” Delia said.

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because I know your secret.”

  Marsh found the silence interminable. Why didn’t Dietrich say something?

  At last Sam replied, “What secret is that?”

  “The one Perez found out. That you like little boys. You’re the worst sort of person I can imagine, Sam. A grown-up who takes advantage of innocent children.”

  Marsh could hear the loathing in Delia’s voice. And no wonder. She had been the victim of just such a man.

  “Perez found you out, Sam, and he used that information to make a deal with you on his plea bargain,” Delia said.

  “Quite true,” Sam admitted. “But Perez is no longer with us. Killed, I believe, in a hit-and-run accident.”

  “My God. You killed him!”

  Marsh heard the shocked accusation in Delia’s voice and wanted to slap a hand over her mouth. Was she crazy or what? If the man could kill once, he surely wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

  “It was necessary,” Dietrich replied. “The fool had big eyes and an even bigger mouth.”

  Marsh’s jaw dropped. They had the DA cold. And not just for fixing plea bargains. For murder.