by Tim O'Mara
‘I thought about what you said,’ she said. ‘And maybe I did come on a little strong with Chris and Billy. This is not the place for that, and I couldn’t help myself.’
I noticed the absence of a real apology in what she had just said, but I kept that thought to myself. Like a good boyfriend. Instead, I kissed her on the cheek and said, ‘Thank you. So, we’re good?’
‘We’re good.’ She tapped her bottle against my cup. ‘Let’s go say good-bye to your mother.’
Thirty minutes later we had spoken with my mom, finished another drink each, met about another half dozen different people who had known my father, and decided it was as good a time as any to make our exit. I had school tomorrow, and this past weekend seemed to have been ten days long. We said our good-byes, Officer CJ Gray drove us to the LIRR train station – he would have taken us all the way home if we’d let him – and Allison and I went our separate ways at the Woodside stop, where I jumped on the subway to Brooklyn and she stayed on the train to Manhattan.
I have to admit it would’ve been nice to spend the night with her, but we probably needed a break from each other. At least I did. I wondered what married people did at moments like these.
SEVENTEEN
After the weekend I’d just had, going back to work almost felt like a day off, especially after the district office called and said the suspension hearing had to be rescheduled for another day. The feeling lasted until five minutes past nine, when the phone in my office rang.
‘Raymond Donne.’ I took a sip of my second cup of coffee.
‘Mr Donne,’ a female voice said. ‘It’s Susan. Down in the nurse’s office?’
Susan McClarty was our new school nurse, and I had the feeling that working at a middle school was not exactly what she’d had in mind as she worked her way through nursing school. Although, in actuality, nothing prepares you for middle school. Even the five years I’d had as a New York City cop.
‘Yes, Nurse McClarty. What’s up?’
‘I have a young man down here,’ she said. ‘Thomas Avila?’
‘Tommy,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell me he’s got a headache again. Or is it a stomach ache this time?’ Tommy had a bad habit of getting sick in school, especially on test days. His number of absences was also creeping up to the danger point; anything past eighteen and students run the risk of being held back. We’d had his parents in a few times, but nothing was getting through to the kid.
‘It’s a bit more serious than that, I’m afraid, Mr Donne.’ She took a breath. When she spoke again, her voice was shaky. ‘I was hoping you could come down.’
‘I’m on my way.’
I got to her office in less than a minute. It was next to the main office and just two flights of stairs below mine. She met me at the door.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It seems Tommy had a bit of an accident on the way to school this morning.’
‘What kind of accident?’ I asked, worried he’d pissed his pants.
She lowered her voice as a pair of girls walked by.
‘He says he was … attacked when he got off the bus.’
‘The stop in front of the school?’
‘No. He said he got off a few blocks away. He wanted to get breakfast.’
Great. Not only was the kid running late for school but he felt he had time to hit the deli for a quick bite. I looked through the window of her door. I didn’t see him. ‘Did he say who attacked him?’ I took a step closer to the door. She moved in front of me.
‘I want him to tell you, but I want you to be prepared.’
Nurse McClarty didn’t know me too well. I thought of telling her I was not too easily shocked, but I chose to let her have her moment.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Now I need to see him, if you don’t mind.’
She stepped aside and I went into her office. ‘He’s in the room on the right,’ she said, her voice still quiet and shaken. She followed me but kept her distance.
I found Tommy sitting down on the chair closest to the sink. He was doubled over, hugging his jacket, and had his chin buried in his chest. His breathing was labored enough for me to hear it from across the room. Maybe that’s why my day had seemed to start so smoothly; all the drama was in the nurse’s office.
‘Tommy,’ I said. ‘It’s Mr Donne.’ I pulled over another chair and sat next to him. ‘Tommy, what happened?’ I put my hand on his back and could feel his heart beating through his ribs and spine like it wanted to bust out.
‘Tommy,’ I said. ‘Try to calm down, OK. Just breathe.’
I waited as he got his breathing somewhat under control and then he lifted his head. His eyes were full of tears, and his face looked as if he’d just run a few miles. I didn’t think he was ready to speak until the words came out.
‘Some guys,’ he said between breaths. ‘They jumped me when I got off the bus. They took my bookbag. One of them had a knife.’
Shit. I turned to Nurse McClarty. ‘Call nine-one-one,’ I said. After she’d left, I realized we also needed to call his parents. His dad worked about ten minutes away in an auto parts warehouse by the Queens border. ‘Do you have your dad’s number?’ I asked.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell, and handed it to me.
‘It’s under “Dad,”’ he said.
I found the number, pressed it, and the call went right to voice mail. I left a message that made it quite clear he needed to call me as soon as possible, but not enough to scare the crap out of him. I then found his mother’s number – under ‘Mom’ – and did the same. The nurse came back into the room and said, ‘They’re on their way.’
Tommy sat up straight. ‘The cops?’ he said.
‘Yes, the cops,’ I repeated. ‘You were attacked and robbed, Tommy. We have to call the cops.’ I looked at Nurse McClarty. ‘Was he injured?’
‘Show Mr Donne your shirt, Tommy,’ she said.
Tommy stood up slowly as if nervous about making a class presentation. He put his jacket on the chair and first showed me his T-shirt, which had a tear in it that ran across the width of his midsection. He then lifted the T-shirt and showed me a red line on his skin a few inches long that looked like someone had drawn half the letter V above his belly button.
‘The guy with the knife did this,’ he explained.
I looked at the scratch – something didn’t seem right about it – and motioned for him to pull his shirt down. ‘How’d you get away from them?’ I asked.
‘I just tore ass, Mr Donne. Soon as the guy with the knife swiped at me, they all started laughing and I ran as fast as I could right here.’
‘Did you tell school safety?’ He had to have passed their desk to get here.
‘No. I was so scared and I thought I was bleeding, so I came right to the nurse.’
‘I washed the wound,’ Nurse McClarty said behind me. ‘It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but I do want to put a bandage on it after the police look at it. He’s going to need a new shirt, too,’ she added for some reason. ‘He’s very lucky.’
That’s when it hit me what was wrong. The rip on the shirt was cutting straight across his midsection. The scratch on his stomach was slanted. Was he wearing his jacket when attacked? And why would some guys – one of whom had a knife – take his bookbag but not his cell phone? Tommy was in trouble all right, but I was starting to feel it was not the kind he was trying to sell me.
His cell phone rang. The caller ID said ‘Dad.’
‘Mr Avila,’ I said.
‘What’s wrong, Mr Donne? Is Tommy OK?’
‘He’s fine,’ I said. I stood up and walked out of the room. ‘He says he was attacked when he got off the bus.’
‘Attacked? How can you say he’s fine if he was attacked?’
‘How soon can you get here?’
‘I’m on my way now. I’m working deliveries today and I’ve got the truck. I’ll be there in five minutes.’
‘He’s OK now. Drive carefully, Mr Avila. I’ll explain it when
you get here.’
He ended the call.
‘Your dad’s on his way, Tommy,’ I said. ‘He should get here about the same time as the police. Is there anything else you want to add to what you’ve already told me?’
He looked at me warily. ‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Anything else you remember about these guys. The cops are going to want to know what they were wearing, how many there were, which direction they were headed.’
That last question was designed to confirm my suspicions, which Tommy did as soon as he spoke again.
‘There were three of them and they went the other way, Mr D. I don’t know what they were wearing. Jeans and hoodies, I guess.’
It wasn’t the number of attackers or what they were wearing that concerned me. What didn’t match was how could a kid who ‘tore ass’ away from his attackers know which direction they went? I also wasn’t sure how he made his way past the school safety officers at the front desk, but I’d talk to them later.
My walkie-talkie spoke as I stood up. ‘Mr Donne, what’s your twenty?’
‘I’m in the nurse’s office.’
‘I’ve got two youth officers here at the front desk.’
‘I’m on my way.’ I turned back to Tommy. ‘Stay here.’
‘Should I give him a new shirt, Mr Donne?’ Nurse McClarty asked. ‘I have some in the back for … situations like this.’
‘No,’ I said, putting on my serious cop voice for Tommy. ‘The shirt’s evidence. The police are going to want to see it exactly where it is.’
I left the room without waiting for a response from either of them. I walked over to the school safety desk and stuck my hand out to the youth officers, both of whom I recognized from previous incidents in and around school.
‘Officer Martinez,’ I said. ‘Officer Johnson. Thanks for getting here so quickly.’
Officer Yvette Martinez was about ten years younger than I was and looked as if she had given up a career in modeling to work with troubled youth in Williamsburg. Officer Johnson – I never did get his first name the few times we’d crossed paths – looked as if he was just about ready to put in his papers and move on to greener pastures. I didn’t waste any time telling them Tommy’s story and my take on it.
‘This the kind of kid that would make up something like this?’ Martinez asked.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so until this morning, but his story’s a bit shaky, don’t you think?’
That’s when Johnson said, ‘Why don’t you let us determine that, Mr Donne.’
‘That’s why we called you,’ I said, choosing to ignore the reminder of whose job description this fell under. ‘Follow me.’
We turned at exactly the time Tommy’s father came barreling through the front doors. He ran right up to the three of us and said, ‘Where’s Tommy? Where’s my kid?’
I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘He’s in the nurse’s office, Mr Avila. We were just going in to talk to him.’
He looked at the three of us. ‘I’m going with you.’
I turned back to Martinez and Johnson. ‘Officers?’
‘OK with me,’ Martinez said. ‘Hank?’
Hank shrugged. ‘Let’s go talk to the kid,’ he said.
When we got to the nurse’s office, Mr Avila ran straight to Tommy and put his arms around him carefully. He held him for almost half a minute. The room was silent except for Tommy crying. The silence was finally broken by Officer Johnson.
‘We need to talk to your son, Mr Avila,’ he said.
Avila looked at the two cops and then back at his son. ‘You feel OK enough to talk, Tommy?’
Tommy shrugged and said, ‘I guess. I already told Mr Donne what happened.’
‘We need to hear it from you, Tommy,’ Officer Martinez said. ‘We have to fill out an official report and try to get these guys before they do it again to some other kid.’
Tommy considered that for a bit. Through his tears, he said, ‘OK. Can my dad be here?’
‘Of course,’ Martinez said.
Tommy then went on to tell the exact same story he’d told me a few minutes ago: three kids in hoodies, one with a knife, the stolen bookbag, and how he got away. Officer Martinez wrote it all down in her pad. When Tommy was done, she said, ‘Can you show us where he cut you?’
Tommy showed us the cut shirt and then reluctantly lifted it to expose the small wound above his belly button. Martinez took a few steps closer to get a better look at the injury. She was inches away as she studied it. When she was done, she nodded and told Tommy he could lower his shirt.
‘Why don’t we all talk outside while Nurse …’
‘McClarty,’ Nurse McClarty said.
‘While Nurse McClarty puts a bandage on the cut.’
We all followed Officer Martinez out of the office. When we got to the hallway, Martinez took the lead.
‘I think you’re right, Mr Donne,’ she said.
‘About what?’ Mr Avila asked like he’d walked in five minutes late to a movie.
Martinez looked at me, urging me to speak now.
‘We think Tommy’s wound is self-inflicted, Mr Avila,’ I said.
His face went blank, and then he gave me a look as if I’d just told him the two police officers next to me were from Mars.
‘Self-inflicted?’ he repeated. ‘You think he did this to himself? That’s crazy.’
I told him how the wound didn’t match the cut on the shirt, Tommy’s cell phone wasn’t taken, and somehow he knew which direction his attackers had gone while he was running toward the school. He thought about that for a few seconds.
‘But why?’ he said. ‘Why would he do something like this?’
‘I know it sounds far-fetched,’ I said. ‘But Tommy’s been showing signs of school phobia lately: leaving school sick, a lot of absences. Didn’t you tell me the last time we spoke what a struggle it is almost every day to get Tommy to school?’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I just figured that’s ’cause he’s a middle school kid. I hated school too when I was his age. Now you’re saying he made this whole thing up? I can’t wrap my mind around that, Mr Donne.’
‘Do me a favor,’ I said to the cops and Tommy’s father. ‘Let Dad and me have a talk with Tommy. See if his story changes.’
The two youth officers looked at each other and Martinez said, ‘OK with me.’
‘Thanks.’
I led Mr Avila back into the nurse’s office where Nurse McClarty was putting a gauze pad and some tape over Tommy’s wound.
‘All done,’ she told her patient. When she saw us, she said, ‘Will you be taking him home now, Mr Avila?’
‘We want to talk to him again first,’ I said. ‘You mind if we have the room for a few minutes?’
‘Sure,’ she said.
After she left, Tommy’s dad crouched down to eye-level with his son. This was not going to be an easy conversation for either one of them.
‘Tommy,’ Avila began, ‘Mr Donne thinks there’s something you’re not telling us.’ He put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. ‘That there’s more to your story.’
‘Like what?’ Tommy said. ‘I told you what happened.’
Mr Avila went silent again and looked to me for help.
‘We’re confused,’ I said, ‘about where your wound came from.’
He looked at me. ‘I told you. The guy with the knife swung it at me.’
‘Yeah, that’s what you told me. It’s just that the cut on your shirt doesn’t match the cut on your stomach.’
‘Whatta you mean?’
‘The shirt is cut straight across and it’s pretty long. Your wound is short, it barely broke the skin, and goes up and down on a slant.’ I let that sink in for a few beats. ‘Do you see how that would confuse us, Tommy?’
He stared at me and started breathing heavy again. He looked at his dad and said, ‘What are you saying?’
Dad took a deep swallow. ‘Did you do this to yourself, Tommy?’ he asked.
Tommy gave us a shocked look and stood up. ‘Why would I do that?’ he asked.
Avila looked at me, then back to his boy. ‘Mr Donne told me that he thinks you maybe have some sort of … school phobia.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s when you’re scared to go to school.’
‘Why would I be scared to go to school?’
‘I don’t know,’ his father said. ‘But you have to admit, you’ve been sick a lot this year, and a few days a week you try to talk your mom and me into letting you stay home.’
‘Yeah, but …’ He stopped there, not knowing where to go with the thought. I’ve learned it’s best to stay silent in situations like this. The kid knew what I thought. He was either going to confirm it or stick to his story.
‘What if,’ he began again after taking a deep breath, ‘what if I did make it up? What kind of trouble would I be in?’
Mr Avila’s face fell. To his credit, he recovered quickly and said, ‘We just want to know the truth, Tommy. You can always tell me the truth.’
Tommy looked at me. ‘Would I get in trouble with the school and the cops?’
‘We all want what’s best for you,’ I said. ‘If you made up the story, my only concern is why. As far as the cops go, I think you’ll be OK. They’re here to help.’
He nodded as he considered that. I found myself hoping he had enough trust in me to believe me and to be straight with us. This would be a tough situation to be in for anyone, but for a twelve-year-old? Shit.
‘I cut myself,’ he mumbled. ‘First the T-shirt, then my stomach. Then I threw my bookbag into a garbage can.’
Mr Avila slipped his hands into his pockets as the words came out of his son. He looked down at the floor and said, ‘Why, Tommy? Why would you do something like this? You scared the crap out of me.’
‘I don’t know, Dad. I guess it’s like Mr D said. I don’t like coming to school. I thought maybe if something bad happened, you’d find me a new school. Or maybe I could get homeschooled like those kids I saw on TV.’
