by A W Hartoin
“But this café thing was unusual or at least someone thought it was. I have to follow up.” I looked back at Daniel. “Who did you hear saying it?”
“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble,” he said.
“You didn’t tell me anything.” I crossed my heart.
“I heard Sergio Tarantina say it. He’s on student council.”
Daniel described the student council’s emergency meeting that was held right after Anton Thooft was shot. Everyone was in an uproar and trying to decide what to do. A teacher was dead and a moment of silence seemed appropriate, but he was a kidnapper. Before the meeting started when everyone was arriving, Sergio was telling people that he always knew Mr. Thooft was a freak and that he hung out with kids in cafés next to hotels. He made it sound like Anton was going into a hotel with a student, but he didn’t name any names, and then the meeting started. After that, the whole school knew and then the 4chan stuff broke on the news. It was crazy after that.
“Sergio talking about the café thing, that was the first time you heard it?” I asked.
“Yeah, but my friend Jordan already knew about it when I tried to tell him and he’s not on student council,” said Daniel.
“Is Jordan a freshman, too?”
“Sophomore. He was in Mr. Thooft’s seminar so he knew him better than me.”
“Who told Jordan?” Natalie asked.
Daniel shrugged.
“Can you ask him?” I asked.
He tried to wriggle out of it and I understood. Nobody wants to be the one who pointed the finger.
“It’s about who blackmailed Mr. Thooft,” I said. “It wasn’t his idea to hurt me. I deserve to know who’s it was.”
Daniel sunk back into the sofa, looking as though he’d like to sink inside the cushions. “Does it matter? He’s dead.”
“They aren’t,” I said. “Mr. Thooft died and they’re just walking around like they had nothing to do with his death. It’s not right. His sister wants to know who did this to him and me.”
“The adopted sister?” Natalie asked.
“Yes. She needs to find out. She loved him very much.”
Natalie got up and found Daniel’s phone, tossing it in his lap. “Call Jordan.”
“If Dad were here—”
“He’s not here. I’m here. I’m always here.” Natalie stood there, hands on hips and I saw the tough. That boy could not take her, even though he outweighed her by fifty pounds. “Call Jordan.”
Daniel called and the kid did a pretty good job of casually asking about the rumors. He used me. “My mom knows Mercy Watts.” “Do you think Mr. Thooft was really a freak?” That kind of thing. When he got off the phone, he said, “He heard it in pre-calc. Alison Fodor said it before class to her friend, Cameron.”
“Who was seen in the café?” I asked.
“She just said it happened.”
Natalie eyed her son. “That’s not enough. Call him back. Ask again.”
“No way. He was getting funny,” said Daniel. “I could tell.”
“It’s fine.” I leaned back and looked at the ceiling. So frustrating. It could be nothing. If the plants on Anton’s laptop came out of Berlin, I could be eating crab and Chuck wouldn’t clean a bathroom, probably ever.
“I hope I’m not barking up the wrong tree,” I said.
“Was there anything else?” Natalie asked.
“Just that it was in Sindelfingen,” said Daniel.
I sat bolt upright. “What was that?”
“Jordan said that Alison said the café was in Sindelfingen.”
Ding. Ding. Ding.
I held up a hand for a high-five. “Daniel, you are my favorite freshman.”
He blushed and asked, “Can I take a picture with you?”
“You can take twenty as long as you don’t post them until I’ve solved this.”
“Let’s not go overboard,” Natalie said. “I’ll take the pictures to keep them on the down-low.”
“My dad loves Double Black Diamond,” said Daniel. “Could you sign your cover?”
“Absolutely.”
I signed the album cover that Daniel’s dad had ordered in vinyl. He was an old-school rock fan. We took pictures and I showed him pictures of Mickey Stix and the gang. Daniel forgot all about high school allegiances and we ate well when Aaron brought out bulgogi, papaya salad, and these sweet little rice cakes made with a sticky syrup.
The boys were hesitant but loved the food. They loved Moe even more. He told them he was a sniper and started teaching them techniques for their games. He slayed apparently and the boys were very impressed.
“I don’t know how I feel about this,” said Natalie.
“That is a constant theme in my life,” I said.
“I don’t blame you. That attack just happened and here you are.”
“Somebody had to do it and the case is closed for the cops stateside.”
“What about the Polizei?” she asked.
I picked up another rice cake and said, “A crime committed by an American in America isn’t their problem.”
“But Thooft was here when he was blackmailed.”
“Yes, and there is an open investigation, but nobody cares very much. He was an American that’s now dead. They did interview everyone and search. Nothing turned up.”
“Where do you go from here?” Natalie asked.
“Sherri La Roche,” I said.
“Mrs. La Roche is freaking out,” said Daniel. “I think she quit teaching.”
“She didn’t quit,” said Natalie. “She took some sick time until Christmas break. They were close, she and Thooft, and it hit her hard.”
“Do you know her well?” I asked.
“Pretty well. We volunteer at the Thrift shop together sometimes. She’s a sweetheart.”
“Have you talked to her about it?”
Natalie had taken over a casserole so Sherri wouldn’t have to cook and described Anton’s best friend as shattered and in denial. She said it was a mistake. He didn’t do it. Couldn’t be him. He’d been murdered. But a few days later, Natalie picked up her dish and Sherri had given in to the truth. The video from the surveillance cameras showing him heading for me and then driving away convinced her. Some jerk posted a picture taken of me while I was still in the trunk and that put the nail in the coffin so to speak. Sherri was close to hysterical and people had been pointing fingers on a local Facebook group. How didn’t she know? Was she in on it? Pretty horrible stuff.
“I’ve heard of no links to her,” I said.
“You’d know?” Natalie asked.
“I would. My guys have been all up in Anton’s communications. Nothing but normal friend stuff going on or we’d be all over it. I do need to talk to her.”
Natalie got up and grabbed a second bottle of wine. “Do you have to? She’s…really upset.”
“I understand, but she knew him best. I can’t ignore that.”
“If people find out, they’ll think she really did have information. That Incel stuff. People really think he was one.”
“They’re going to find out,” I said. “I won’t make it public, but things have a way of coming out. It’s just the way it is.”
“She’s very depressed. My lieutenant lives next door to her. He said they can hear her sobbing through the walls.”
“I’ll try to be as gentle as I can, but,” a flash of anger went through me “I’m the one he knocked out and threw in a trunk. If I can deal, she can, too.”
“I…I…I’m so sorry. I forgot who I was talking to.” Natalie turned pink and her freckles stood out in sharp contrast.
I leaned back in my chair and threw back my wine.
“She’s still recovering from her head injury,” said Grandma. “It’s been difficult.”
“And there’s the arm,” said Moe. “Mercy gets to talk to whoever she wants.”
Natalie nodded. “I completely agree, but you might run into a problem with Sherri.”
�
�What’s that?” I asked, feeling my temperature go back down.
“Her husband. Crabby Keith.”
“Oh, yeah. Mr. McWilliams mentioned him. He won’t let me near her?”
Natalie opened the wine and poured me a generous glug. “I have no idea. He’s just crabby and doesn’t like people to come over. She wanted to hold a book club at the apartment once and he put a stop to that.”
“Dad didn’t want you to have your knitting group here,” Daniel pointed out.
“He’s super crabby when he’s on shift,” said Marcus, the middle son.
The five-year-old, Tommy, raised his hand. “He’s crabby when he has to do the dishes.”
“Dad hates dishes,” said Daniel.
“He’s crabbier when he has to clean,” said Marcus.
The boys went on to argue about their father’s least favorite things as Natalie watched with surprise. Like most parents, she seemed shocked that the kids knew the score. Mom was surprised that I kept track of how many birthdays and holidays that Dad missed because there was a case, like somehow I didn’t notice the empty Dad chair on Christmas morning. I’m not an idiot and neither were her kids.
“I’m getting that your husband might be crabby,” I said.
Natalie sighed and took a big gulp of wine. “Aren’t they all?”
“Ace isn’t crabby,” said Grandma. “Of course, I’ve barely seen him for fifty years, so I’m not sure I’d know.”
We looked at Moe, who laughed. “Women as a species decided I’m not the marrying kind.”
“What about Chuck?” Natalie asked. “He was never crabby with me, but people change.”
“Who’s Chuck?” Daniel asked.
“He’s Mercy’s boyfriend.”
“How do you know him?”
“We used to date and were engaged for a while before I met your dad,” said Natalie, offhandedly. “So is Chuck crabby?”
Used to date? Engaged?
“Uh…not usually,” I said.
“He was crabbier when The Blues were playing. Can’t interrupt hockey. Does he still watch hockey?”
My stomach twisted up into a knot. “He’s been working a lot.”
“Now baseball you can interrupt, but he still watched it. Football was somewhere between the two. It depended on the team. Luke doesn’t watch sports over here. We can’t get them in real-time.”
“Maybe that’s why he’s crabby,” said Daniel.
“Dad needs sports,” said Marcus.
“The Watts men don’t usually go in for sports,” said Grandma.
Moe got himself more wine. “But he’s not really a Watts, is he?”
“He’s not?” Daniel asked.
“He’s adopted,” said Natalie. “Mercy’s uncle adopted him when he married Chuck’s mother.”
“You’re cousins?” Marcus asked. “Gross.”
“We’re not blood-related,” I said. “Chuck’s mom was married to my uncle less than two years. She divorced him and married someone else pretty quick. Watts was Chuck’s third last name and he refused to change it when the next husband came along.”
“At least you were only cousins for a little while,” Moe said.
“Sixteen months,” said Grandma. “I could not stand that woman. I knew she’d divorce Rupert. She divorces everyone.”
“How many marriages is she on now?”
“Five?” Natalie asked me.
Somebody is pretty up to date.
I nodded and she got solemn. “He didn’t tell you about me, did he?”
“No, he did not,” I said.
Grandma sucked her lips and Moe made a grumbling sound like a roll of thunder.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” said Natalie quickly. “We only went out for a while.”
“Through all the sports seasons,” I said. “And got engaged.”
“Well, yes.”
“And he was enlisted and you were an officer, correct?”
“Dude,” said Marcus. “Can you do that?”
Natalie stood up and started clearing the table. Ah, the old mom trick for avoiding things. Start cleaning. “We weren’t in the same chain of command.”
My phone buzzed and it was Chuck. I wanted to bite the screen. The man sent me to his old girlfriend and didn’t tell me. Natalie was in the know and I wasn’t.
“That’s Sherri,” I said. “I’m going over.”
“Right now?” Grandma asked.
“No time like the present.”
“She’s okay?” Natalie asked doubtfully.
I composed a quick message to Sherri and pressed send. I hoped she was ready for a visit because I was in no mood to be put off. “I guess we’ll see.”
I got up and Moe did, too. “Alright. Here we go.”
“Here I go,” I said. “You stay here. The boys need more sniper lessons.”
The boys loudly concurred.
“I told Fats I’d watch your back,” he said. “Don’t even try to Fi—”
“We’re on an Army installation,” I said. “It doesn’t get much safer.”
Moe went to come around the table. “I’m sticking to the plan.”
Grandma grabbed his arm and said, “She’s fine, Moe. Let her do her job.”
“Janine,” he started to say, but she cut him off.
“Aaron’s got dessert, don’t you Aaron?” she asked.
On cue, Aaron bolted to his feet and trotted into the kitchen.
Moe took the hint and asked, “What is he making?”
“Some kind of fluffy Japanese pancake.”
Everyone got distracted by pancakes and I grabbed my coat. Grandma gave me an understanding nod as I bolted out the door. I don’t know where I was going, but I was going fast.
Sherri answered me after I had wandered around the housing area for ten minutes. She was polite but not enthusiastic. It took some back and forth to convince her that I didn’t blame her and I wasn’t coming over to yell. I did want to yell, just not at her. I was trying to talk to a reluctant Sherri and Chuck kept pinging me. I was right on the edge of sending him the middle finger emoji when Sherri gave in and sent directions to her apartment.
Five minutes later, I was in more stairwell housing on the other side of the post and knocking on a door that had an enormous Grinch Christmas wreath. It was adorable and I wondered if it was a kind of warning about the husband within.
The door opened a narrow five inches and a blond woman with eyes so swollen that she could barely see me through the slits looked out. “Hi.”
“I’m Mercy. Is it okay if I ask you some questions?” I asked.
“Okay.” She didn’t open the door and it was flipping freezing. I didn’t know thirty degrees could be so cold.
“Well, I wanted to ask about Anton’s demeanor before he flew to the States. Was he nervous? Did he say anything about what he was doing?”
“No.”
“Was he particularly close to any students?”
“No.”
“Were you aware of any financial issues that he had?”
“No.”
This is going well.
“Anton repeatedly took money out of an ATM in Sindelfingen. Were you ever with him when he did that?”
“No.”
Breathe. You’re not angry. You’re a detective, dammit.
“Did he spend much time in Sindelfingen?” I asked.
“No.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sherri!” a man bellowed behind Sherri and she jumped a foot. “Open the damn door and let her in.”
“I can’t—”
Sherri didn’t get a choice. The door was wrenched out of her hand and thrown open to reveal a man so muscular and wide he probably had to turn sideways to get out the door.
“Come in, Miss Watts. Let’s get ’er done,” he said, waving me past his startled wife. “I’m Keith, by the way.”
Keith led me into a living room that was a carbon copy of Natalie’s. They even had the same curtains. I sat down and h
e turned off the TV. Sherri hovered by the door, wringing her hands and sniffing.
“How are you doing, Miss Watts?” Keith asked gruffly. “You look better.”
“Still getting headaches, but I’m a lot better. Thanks for asking.”
“No problem.” Keith looked at his wife.
Sherri took a step back and said, “I don’t think I can.”
Every muscle in Keith’s huge arms tensed. “You have been crying for two goddamn weeks. It didn’t happen to you. It happened to her. Stop crying, get in here, and answer her fucking questions.”
She shook her head. “I’m upset.”
“You’re upset? That asshole friend of yours knocked this girl out and threw her in a trunk and she’s not fucking crying. She just wants to ask you some questions.”
“Dr. Roberts said—”
“Dr. Roberts needs to pull his head out of his ass. You’re not the victim. You knew the guy for a year and he was a murderer.”
“Anton was not a murderer!”
“Oh, yeah? What do you think they were going to do with her? Take her to Euro Disney and buy her Mickey ears?”
“It’s Disneyland Paris!” yelled Sherri.
“That’s what you think is important?” Keith jolted to his feet. “I can’t do it. I have to…I have to leave.” He left, left without a coat and slamming the door so hard I’m surprised it stayed on the hinges.
Sherri and I stared at each other. She didn’t move. I didn’t move. I knew one thing. I wasn’t leaving.
“Can you—”
I cut her off. “No. Just sit down and suck it up. It won’t be a nightmare, I promise, and I know nightmares. You can trust me on that.”
Sherri came over, keeping as far from me as possible, like I might spit acid at her or something. “What do you want to know?”
“Let me tell you what I know first.” I ran down everything I had, putting particular emphasis on Anton being blackmailed and his attempt to forestall the inevitable. I made him sound innocent. He wasn’t. At some point, he chose protecting himself over me, but it didn’t matter. Sherri needed to hear how much he was a victim, so I told her that and it loosened her tongue. She told me everything about him and I have to admit he sounded pretty great. A fun guy to travel with. Great teacher. Interested in cooking. Anton Thooft was the closest friend Sherri had made in twenty years of military assignments. Her grief was real and I did feel for her. I really did, but I still needed information.