Gone by Morning

by Michele Weinstat Miller

  Lauren entered the hospital room, looking around and half smiling politely. Kathleen’s fear and pain settled. Her chest filled with an aching love for her only child. She could see Lauren as a baby just below the surface of her grown-woman face. The child she’d diapered and taught to walk and talked over everything with before their lives went to hell. Her heart keened with the pain of that loss, despite her new spark of hope for a future relationship. Lauren was claiming her enough to show up at the hospital.

  “You’re still an early riser?” Kathleen asked, hiding the fear she’d felt when the door opened. She didn’t want Lauren to see her initial panic and decide she wasn’t worth the risk of knowing. She remembered how vigilant Lauren had been as a child. She could only imagine what Lauren’s watchfulness had morphed into now that she was an adult.

  “Yes, up by dawn most days,” Lauren said.

  When Lauren was in elementary school, long before Kathleen began doing drugs, she would wake up before the alarm rang. She would sit quietly at the kitchen table, dressed for school, her teeth brushed, her Princess Leia backpack beside her chair. Kathleen would make her lunch while Lauren ate breakfast. Lauren would pack her lunch box into her perfectly organized backpack, as if she intuited that her life was about to go to hell and she needed to have everything in order.

  For the millionth time, Kathleen imagined how hard it must have been for Lauren when, one day, she realized her mother wouldn’t be coming out to make her breakfast or lunch anymore. How lonely had it been for her in the mornings? How long had it taken Lauren to stop expecting Kathleen to do those regular things? Weeks? Months? Kathleen had no recollection of how Lauren had reacted, because she hadn’t been mentally present in any meaningful way. The shame and guilt she felt about that washed over her in unbearable waves now that her daughter was standing in front of her.

  “Emily didn’t inherit the morning-person gene,” Lauren said. “I guess you’ve noticed.”

  “She doesn’t get enough sleep. But she’s up in time for whatever she has to do. She’s an impressive woman, your daughter. Perhaps it’s best that she’s not always ahead of the starter gun.”

  Lauren grimaced, then chuckled. “I’m proud of her.”

  “You did a great job with her—not that it’s my place to say.”

  “Thank you.” Lauren took a seat next to the bed. “Now that you’re fully awake, I was wondering what happened with the police.”

  “I told them I don’t know who it was or the motive, which is true. I doubt they believe me. They’ve got the organized crime unit on it. They think the shooting is connected to the arson. They probably think I owe money to loan sharks. I suspect they’re running themselves ragged tracking down every known loan shark. My lawyer won’t let me talk to them about the arson. I don’t know anything about it anyway, so I’m not inclined to talk to them about it. We’re discussing hiring a forensics expert to try to decipher what happened with my bank accounts.”

  “That sounds like a good plan.”

  “Lauren, is it possible for you to do one errand for me?”

  “What is it?” Lauren’s face folded in on itself. Suspicion. As if Kathleen were about to ask Lauren to cop drugs for her.

  Kathleen’s heart plummeted with disappointment at Lauren’s reaction.

  “You know how upset Emily is about Rusty,” Kathleen said.

  “Yes. Although I think it’s the least of our problems right now.”

  “I called Puppies-in-Prison. I bought the dog for Emily this morning. They take credit cards. Can you believe they wanted five thousand dollars? I paid by phone, but someone needs to pick him up.”

  Lauren’s eyes became tender. “Really? In the middle of all this?”

  “Especially in the middle of all this. We don’t know how this is going to turn out. And I had to buy Rusty before they put him up for adoption. I want it to be a surprise for Emily. She might balk about the money if the dog’s not right in front of her already.”

  “Okay,” Lauren said, seeming to warm to the idea, probably imagining how happy both Skye and Emily would be.

  Kathleen handed Lauren a scrap of paper with the director’s name and a phone number on it.

  Lauren looked down at it. “I’ll call them later.”

  They sat silently for a moment.

  “There is one other thing I wanted to talk to you about while we’re alone,” Lauren said. “About Dad.”

  Kathleen braced herself, her emotions churning at the fraught discussion ahead.

  Lauren took a deep breath. “Before he died, when he went to rehab, you had … men in. I figured out pretty quickly what was going on.”

  Kathleen nodded, not denying the ugly fact.

  “Dad had issues, but at least he was loyal. You betrayed him and put me at risk, and he wasn’t there to protect me. I hated you for that.”

  Kathleen forced herself to ask, afraid, “Did anything happen to you?”

  Lauren shook her head. “Still, why did you do it? You stole the last vestige of family from me.”

  Kathleen took a breath. “I have no excuse. I loved your father, but I deeply resented him too. I don’t want to diminish your memory of him, because he wasn’t a bad man. He had an illness. He was sick; we both were. But I was so angry that he brought the addict lifestyle to our home and marriage. I take responsibility. I didn’t have to try crack, and neither of us realized the addiction would take hold after only one time. But, after that, I wasn’t in my right mind. When he went to rehab, he left me with no money, a raging addiction, nearly constant hallucinations, and I was very, very angry. Resentment and addiction are a combustible combination.”

  “I know that,” Lauren said quietly.

  “I am so, so sorry you lived through that, and for everything else that happened. I have never been able to forgive myself.” Wiping away tears, afraid of what Lauren might say, Kathleen added, “I know I don’t deserve it … I can’t fully make up for it, but I hope you’ll let me try.”

  The door flew open and Kathleen stiffened, Lauren’s chair screeching as she stood in surprise.

  CHAPTER

  62

  HE FOUND HIS guy in East Harlem, better known as El Barrio until whites and Chinese took over much of it and forgot the old name. At East 116th Street, he entered a cuchifritos restaurant that kept up with the rising rents only because the restaurant owner had bought the entire building when East Harlem property was cheap. Thirty years later and the restaurant still served up fried and stewed Puerto Rican delicacies like pig ears in rich tomato sauce. It was surprisingly good stuff.

  The air smelled thickly of tomato sauce, cilantro, and boiling grease. The fry cook, a hairnet covering his black hair and ponytail, looked up at the man when he walked in the door. Teardrop tattoos dripped from the fry cook’s eye down his cheek—each one representing a murder. The tears condemned him to a life on the Street, if not prison. Stupid.

  The fry cook raised an eyebrow when he saw the man. He chucked his forehead toward a door at the back of the narrow place, then leaned over to say something to the short, pudgy woman next to him, who took over the cooking.

  The man followed the cook down an aisle that separated two rows of Formica tables, past wooden doors that said Damas and Caballeros, and out a screen door. In a cemented-over backyard area lined with garbage bins, the fry cook stopped and lit a cigarette.

  The cook inhaled deep smoke and exhaled, signaling the man closer with the hand that held the cigarette. He murmured next to the man’s ear, “Twenty thousand now, twenty thousand after.”

  “You need to make it a sexual assault. We need a motive. Just don’t enter her or it will trace back to you. Make it an attempted sexual assault.” He handed the fry cook a copy of Emily’s LinkedIn profile page with her photo. “It should be fun. I wish I could do it myself.”

  The fry cook studied the photo. “Forty thousand now. Forty thousand after.”

  The man felt anger gathering like fast clouds during a Caribbea
n rainy season. He didn’t like the guy trying to take charge of the deal. He didn’t like being on the short end when it came to power. He didn’t give a fuck how many people this guy had killed. His jaw quivered with outrage. “What are you talking about?”

  The fry cook’s lips were so close, the man could feel the heat of his breath. “White girl. Young. Pretty. She’s not in the Life. That means more heat. And more money.” He paused. “Deal or no deal?”

  * * *

  Emily backed noisily through the door to Kathleen’s hospital room, her arms full of a flower-and-balloon arrangement. Hospital staff had put a DO NOT ENTER sign on the door and kept it closed at Lauren’s request the night before, in case any reporters showed up. Relieved at seeing Kathleen bright eyed and talking to her mother, Emily grinned.

  “You’re awake!” She put down the flowers on the windowsill. “Do you remember us visiting yesterday?”

  “It’s hazy.”

  “I was worried.” Emily kissed the older woman on the cheek. “Are you in pain?” she asked as she pulled up a chair on the side of the bed opposite her mother.

  “Not so bad. They gave me a lot of pain meds last night. I was grateful for it, but I told them to cut the narcotics down today. I need all my senses about me.” Kathleen shifted uncomfortably in the bed. “Even though it is a bit painful.”

  “We need to talk about next steps,” Emily added gently. “Are you up to it?”

  “Yes, okay,” Kathleen said, although she sounded doubtful.

  “Here’s the deal.” Emily sat at the edge of her chair. “We need to figure out how to keep you safe, we need to know who Client 13 is, and I have to go to Angela’s house.”

  Emily’s eyes felt gritty, but adrenaline and caffeine had beaten back the fatigue. She’d been up half the night trying to figure things out. Thankfully, she had figured one thing out: she needed to treat this insane situation like a work project. She had to take the reins and deal with it methodically, gather all the available information, and make a plan. You were either a leader or a victim at times like this.

  “First off, I’m not looking to steamroll the team here.” Emily ignored Lauren’s raised eyebrows at the mention of a “team.” “But I’m going to get the baby bracelets. It would have been better if you were with me, Kathleen, but it’s not necessary. We can’t wait to get the full story about the adoption of Sharon’s baby. That’s the first order of business. Once we put together an indisputable picture of the truth that we can provide to the cops, we’ll be able to hand them a new suspect. They’re not going to remove their claws from your neck until they have somebody else to grab. We have to get to the bottom of this story. Maybe they’ll even try to protect you then.”

  Emily could see the openness in Kathleen’s face, but Lauren was clearly skeptical.

  Emily turned to her mother. “Until we can bring this to the cops through normal channels, we need to keep control of any evidence we gather that might exonerate Kathleen. She has to have an airtight explanation for everything going on, because the way I see it at this point, the cops will shoot down anything we say that pokes holes in their case against her. They have a sweet case with Kathleen as the defendant and will never willingly admit that was a mistake.”

  “Emily, can I say something?” Kathleen said.

  Emily leaned back in her chair. “Sure.”

  “I don’t know that I can allow you to take this risk on my behalf. I would never forgive myself if you or Skye became collateral damage.”

  “I agree,” Lauren said.

  “Hector has Skye tonight,” Emily said, prepared for this objection. “Hector’s mom can keep her for a couple more nights if needed. Skye had been doing fine with family. And nobody connected to the killer is going to know I’m asking questions. Why would they?”

  Lauren began to object.

  “Mom, you always said, ‘If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything,’ ” Emily said. “And with Kathleen in the hospital, whoever the bad guys are will probably be lulled into thinking they’ve got nothing to worry about from her. It’s good that Kathleen is off their radar for a bit. It will give me a chance to get ahead of this.” Emily glanced at the closed door to the room, then back at Lauren and Kathleen. “We really need to hire a private security guard for that door, just in case. It’s crazy that anyone can just walk in here.”

  Before Kathleen or Lauren could answer, the door opened. The tall doctor in surgical blues entered, a crowd of residents following.

  “Good morning,” he said with a jolly bedside manner. “Are you ready to go home?”

  CHAPTER

  63

  FREDDY WAS CHUNKY—“HEALTHY,” his abuela called it, making it sound like a good thing when he knew there wasn’t a damn thing good about it. Still, he had to love ‘uela for always having a way of making him feel better about himself. And being fat was good for one thing: it made people underestimate him. He didn’t stand out at all now, watching the apartment building where his target was staying.

  He sat in a double-parked car on Bennett Avenue. Gnarly old trees canopied the block of six-story apartment buildings. He was barely worth noticing on a street where plenty of Dominicans lived. He sat in a line of double-parked cars, all of them except his waiting for alternate-side parking to end. Freddy wasn’t the only driver sitting in his car, so his car didn’t stand out. He felt cloaked in an invisibility blanket by his innocuous looks.

  A wiry kid waited anxiously next to him in the passenger seat. Junior was six inches shorter than Freddy and had a baby face that made it hard for him to get into R-rated movies unless others from the gang went with him. It would be the kid’s first kill. Freddy was the backup, because they couldn’t chance Junior choking on his first gig. Cesar had already said they weren’t going to try to make it look like an attempted rape. That was too much trouble, and it only gave cover to the client while making their gang look like animals. Cesar didn’t want nobody thinking they couldn’t get a girl without taking it. He said they’d get their money either way.

  Freddy’s eyes narrowed as he saw their target get out of a blue car that stopped in front of the building he was watching. The young woman looked around when she got out, at least a little wary.

  “That’s her,” Freddy said.

  Junior leaned on his door, pulling a nine-mil out of his jacket. He held it flush against his thigh, where he would hold it low until he was right next to her. The kid seemed ready, Freddy thought, and he was ready himself. His was the first car in the line of double-parked cars. He’d be out of there in an instant once the kid popped her, before her people even realized what had happened.

  A woman in her late forties exited the driver’s side. Dark hair, athletic body for a woman her age. He recognized her from 181st Street. She lived in an apartment over the Groom Team barbershop. Oh, damn. Puzzle pieces clicked in Freddy’s head. He peered at the older and younger woman.

  He clutched Junior’s arm, getting a handful of jacket. “Wait a minute, wait a minute.”

  The kid looked back, his eyes jacked open with adrenaline. “What the fuck? She’s gonna go in the building!”

  “Wait.” Freddy raised his voice, afraid Junior would escape his grip. If he thought Freddy was punking out, Junior would get the job done with or without his groom. This was his big break. Freddy pulled out a burner phone and speed-dialed the last call on it. The phone had been set up that way for quick, untraceable access.

  “Yo,” Cesar answered. Freddy could hear the roiling of a deep fryer in the background.

  “I didn’t realize who the woman was until I seen her in person, plus with her mother. She looks different all grown up now. But she’s the girl who used to live on One Eighty-One. Hector’s girl.”

  Freddy and Cesar had both gone to elementary school—kindergarten through sixth grade—with Hector. Hector wasn’t one of them. He’d always played it straight, never juggled product, never joined the gang after it got organized when Freddy and
Cesar were in prison. But they’d all grown up in the hood together. Hector was a geek, fo’ sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t their friend. He would stop by to spend a few minutes at the corner with them if he saw them when he came out of the subway. He’d have a plate of food at Freddy’s mother’s house from time to time, and vice versa. Hector’s mother and little sisters always welcomed Freddy in their home, although Freddy rarely went anymore. They never knew the worst things he’d done, but he stayed away. He didn’t deserve to be welcome there. He kept the bad stuff from Hector too. Hector wouldn’t want to know.

  He had no idea whether Hector was still going out with the woman they were assigned to kill, but he knew Hector had loved her when they were in high school, and he was pretty sure they’d had a baby together. Freddy could never cross his friend that way, kill his baby’s mother. He didn’t think Cesar would either. He hoped.

  “Cesar, yo, this shit is out of the question.”

  Freddy held tight to Junior’s sleeve, making sure he didn’t charge out and kill the woman while Freddy listened to what Cesar had to say.

  CHAPTER

  64

  KATHLEEN WAS WOBBLY when she walked from the car to the glass door of the apartment building. Emily knew Kathleen wouldn’t let Emily help her too much, but Emily stayed close just in case. The doctor had said that by the time a person hit sixty-five, a good diet, healthy weight, and exercise could make a twenty-year difference in a person’s biological age, and Kathleen was in great shape. Still, Emily worried that Kathleen’s injuries had taken more out of her than they could see, the way a broken hip could age old people, making them timid and frail far beyond the physical damage.