by Jen Blood
“What’s that?” I looked up, waiting.
“He’s been dead seven years now. I watched them kill him in Africa.”
And she slipped out the door, leaving me alone with a photo of a ghost.
◊◊◊◊◊
I waited until the music was up again and Maisie had presumably been safely reunited with Wolf before I ventured out the library door. The stairwell looked out over a dimly lit great room, where a smattering of guests had found darkened corners for more intimate engagements. The bulk of the festivities, however, appeared to be outside. I set out again, intent on finding Solomon.
She and Johnny weren’t on the deck, though the party was still going strong there. I went up to the third floor, where six guys in rumpled button-up shirts played cards. A pot of chips worth more than I’d made last year was at the center of the table. I asked if anyone had seen Johnny, and they just looked at me blankly. I left them to their game.
If Wolf was with Maisie now, that meant Johnny had Solomon to himself. I didn’t like it—I should never have stayed away so long.
I went back down the stairs and started for the door to continue my search when I was intercepted by the same long-legged brunette who’d waved when Solomon and I first arrived.
“You look lost,” she said. Five other coeds in dripping wet bikinis drifted away but watched us from a distance.
“I’m looking for someone,” I said.
“Spunky little redhead, looks like she just fell off the turnip truck?”
“That’d be her.”
The girl nodded. “I’m Serena. I haven’t seen you here before.” She took a step closer. Normally I’m as susceptible to the charms of a tall, wet woman as the next guy, but tonight was that rare exception.
“Diggs,” I told her. “Can you tell me where I can find the redhead now?”
She looked genuinely disappointed that I was pushing the issue. “You sure you don’t want to play a little? Johnny said I’m here for whatever you need...”
I froze. “When did he say that?” Fear clenched a fist round my lower intestine.
“He didn’t—I mean...” She hedged, only now realizing she’d slipped up. “He just said maybe you could use some company.”
“Where is he?”
She didn’t answer. I grabbed her by the arm—too hard, I knew, but it got my point across. “Ow—Jesus, asshole, back off. They’re probably at the pool. Johnny’s got a little shack out there. My guess is he’s breaking your redhead in right about now.”
I ran flat out, down the stairs and out the front door. The pool was in the back of the house, surrounded by trees and greenery. There were a few people swimming, a few others lounging poolside. No sign of Johnny or Solomon. I asked a bleary-eyed guy in swim trunks where the pool house was, and he stared at me blankly for a second before he smiled.
“You mean the love shack?” He pointed off to the side, about fifty yards from the pool. I strode away without thanking him, without speaking, without breathing. How long had they been in there?
The door was open when I reached the little building, no bigger than a good-sized garden shed. I pushed it open further.
“Solomon?”
No answer. I went inside and looked around, but it was empty. Panic officially set in. I left the shack and ran farther along a stone path, until I caught sight of someone in a well-made white linen suit.
His back was to me, but the suit and his coal-black hair were a dead giveaway.
“Where’s Solomon?” I said. My voice was too low, tight and frosty. Johnny turned.
He was bleeding, holding a soaked cloth beneath his nose. The front of his jacket was stained red. I charged him. Three steps from pulverizing the prick, a big guy stepped out of the shadows to intercept me.
“Take it easy, sport,” the man said. He was short but built, his head shaved bald. Hispanic. He wore a gold hoop in one ear, jeans, and an expensive sports coat. The muscle. I tried to push past him, but made virtually no impact.
“Where the fuck is she?” I asked again, talking past the man.
“Bitch took off,” Johnny said. “I don’t know where.”
“Did you hurt her? If you did anything—”
“Why don’t we take a walk, find your friend,” the muscle said calmly. He gave me very little choice. Fear roared in my ears, a wash of guilt beneath it. He led me back past the pool and toward the house, my arm trapped in his python grip.
“Do you know if she’s all right?” I said.
“She’s in better shape than he is.” He looked at me, appraising me coolly as we approached the house. “You don’t let guppies swim with sharks. You look like a smart guy—nobody should have to tell you that kind of thing.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Get her and take her home. Don’t bring her back again. And if I were you, I’d steer clear myself. This might be your crowd, but it sure as hell ain’t hers.”
I thanked him. He left me at the door to the great room, bass still thumping through the house, my blood running hot now. Where the hell was she?
◊◊◊◊◊
I found her in the kitchen with a nearly empty plate of chocolate cake in front of her, a thin blanket around her shoulders. Unlike Johnny, she appeared unharmed. She and Mary Dsengani sat together at the table, talking companionably. Solomon looked up when I came in, and took in the wild look in my eye at a glance.
“I was just about to come find you,” she said.
“I bet.”
It wasn’t until I was closer that I realized the reason for the blanket: the front of her dress was torn. My vision went white.
“Don’t overreact. I’m fine.”
“The hell you are.”
“Completely unreasonable. I told you,” Solomon said to Mary, as though they’d already discussed this inevitability. She got up, removed the blanket from her shoulders, and folded it carefully to return to Mary.
“You can keep it,” Mary said.
“That’s all right,” Solomon said. “I’m okay. Thanks again, for everything. And I really am sorry about your sister.”
Before we left the kitchen, I took off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. When I touched her, I noticed the slightest tremor before she stepped away from me.
“Did you get anything good?” she asked. Solomon’s not known for her sunny disposition; unless she’d been sucking down helium, there was no way her voice should be that bright. She pushed the door open before I could ask any questions, or insist that she look me in the eye so I could assess for myself just what the damage might be.
“We’ll talk in the car,” I said.
It was shortly past midnight. The party had gotten louder. Wilder. I thought of Maisie trying to sleep in the midst of all that. Of what could have happened to Solomon, because I’d been stupid enough to agree to this. We were at the front door, my right hand on the doorknob and my left at the small of Solomon’s back, when a voice made me stop. I froze.
“Come back anytime, Red. I’m always up for another round.”
I whirled. Johnny leaned against the stair railing with a swollen nose and an affected smirk. Somewhere far off, I heard Solomon say my name. I ignored her.
This time, no one got there in time to stop me. I got two solid blows in, one to the gut, the other to his jaw, before all hell broke loose. Someone caught me hard in the temple—I couldn’t tell if it was Johnny or someone else—before Wolf had his arms wrapped around my chest as he muscled me out the door.
Solomon was already outside waiting. I shrugged out of his grip once we were safely out of the house.
“You got him?” Wolf asked her. He took in her state in a glance, and I knew he’d already figured out what had happened.
“Yeah,” she said. She grabbed my arm, tightening her grip when I tried to shrug her off. “I’ve got him. Come on. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 10
Neither of us spoke until we were back in the Jeep. I’d taken the time durin
g the walk to try and calm down, which basically amounted to me reminding myself in no uncertain terms what a bad idea it would be to turn around, go back in the house, and eviscerate Johnny Cole. Or at least try.
The Jeep was a classic, which meant rolling down the windows by hand and no automatic door locks. Once inside, I locked my door and then reached across Solomon to secure hers. Then, I took a deep breath and told myself that this wasn’t actually about me anymore.
“Are you okay?” I said, when I turned to look at her fully.
“I’m fine, Diggs—really. I was more worried about your reaction than anything that just happened with Johnny.”
“I’m sorry about this.”
“Please don’t make a big deal about it.” Her tone was cavalier, and her expression almost pulled it off. There was an underlying tremor in her voice that told me it was an act, though. I reconsidered going back inside to knock Johnny’s teeth out. “Seriously, Diggs. Don’t do anything,” she said. That mind-reading act she had going with me was getting old. “Just move on. What did you find out?”
She wouldn’t say anything more until she was ready, I knew. And apart from the torn dress and that barely perceptible tremor, she really did look fine. Eventually, I nodded. I pulled the picture Maisie had given me from my back pocket and handed it to her.
“Take a look at this.”
She turned on the light while I started the Jeep, put it in drive, and got out of there. “You’re sure this is the guy?” she asked.
“He’s got both eyes and he’s about ten years younger, but apart from that... Yeah, I’m sure.”
The photo showed Charlene—a very pregnant Charlene—beside the man Maisie had said was her father. Undoubtedly the same man I’d seen on the pier and again in Lincoln Park: Jacob Deng. Beside Jacob and Charlene were two other young black women, and an African man in an elaborate costume of animal pelts and beads, his face painted pale white.
“Look at the girl beside Mary Dsengani,” I told Solomon.
She held the picture closer to the light, then lowered it to her lap. “Lisette?”
“I’m pretty sure, yeah. And there are some other problems with all this, too.”
I told her about what Maisie said about having seen the man in the photo being killed seven years ago.
“Okay... Yeah, that’s a little weird,” Solomon conceded. “But unless you think this guy really is a ghost, I’m thinking she just misread what she saw. I mean, she was what, five at the time? So she saw something heinous, Charlene told her for whatever reason that he was dead, and...that’s it. As far as she knows, it’s the truth.”
I’d come to the same conclusion.
“So... The three of them are in Sudan together, apparently,” Solomon summarized. “And they’re with Jacob Deng. What about the creepy guy in white face?”
I knew the answer to that one, at least. “Sefu Keita,” I said. One of the infamous men I’d just read about when researching the horrible things that happened to kids in Africa. “He’s a witchdoctor in Eastern Africa, supposedly incredibly powerful. He’s kidnapped dozens of kids over the years—he uses them for his ceremonies. Sells the body parts to the highest bidder in exchange for wealth and power.”
“And you think Charlene, Mary, and Lisette were three of those kids?” Solomon asked.
“It’s possible, but I’m not sure how they would have survived with him so long... Or how they would have been able to keep Maisie alive if she was born while they were with him.”
“Lisette left Africa in ’89, though,” she pointed out. “Mary, Charlene, and Maisie didn’t get out until ’94. It doesn’t really add up, does it? Why would she leave so much sooner than the rest of them?”
“I told you: Right now, all I’ve got is more questions. I just can’t figure out why Lisette would be so bent on making up a past or denying that she knew Mary and Charlene.”
“Considering what’s done to women over there, maybe she just didn’t want to broadcast her experience,” she said. “They did a study a while ago with African refugees here in the States, and found one hundred percent of them were suffering from some kind of significant trauma as a result of whatever happened to them over there. Physical trauma for a large percentage, but psychological for all—and the rate of rape, sexual assault, sexual mutilation... It’s huge. If Lisette was going into modeling, maybe that kind of history could have gotten in the way of the fantasy the agency was trying to sell. It could just be that they couldn’t figure out how to market the real Lisette Mandalay.”
“So, they created one instead,” I finished for her, doubt creeping into my tone.
“You don’t think that’s it?” she asked.
“It may be, partly. I don’t think it’s everything.”
Half an hour later, I pulled up in front of our building and parked the car, then turned to her again. A streetlight down the block cast a dim glow, but otherwise all was dark.
“What about you?” I asked. “Besides the obvious, did anything happen with Johnny? Did you find out anything?”
“He didn’t have much to say, really, but he took off for a little while and I talked to Hector—one of his thugs. Hector said Lisette never talks about her past, but he’s seen her whispering with Charlene before. Apparently, a couple of weeks ago there was some guy who came around to talk to her, and she got spooked. Wolf wanted to go after him, but Lisette told him to leave it alone.”
I thought immediately of the scarred man in the sketch, but Solomon shook her head when I suggested it.
“Hector described him as a white guy, maybe in his forties. Nice dresser. He said he’d seen the guy around before—so I kind of pushed him on that, trying to figure it out.” I waited for her to give me the rest of the story, since there was clearly one there.
“And?” I finally prompted.
“And, I came up with a name.” She paused again. I counted the passing seconds until she gave up. “You’re no fun, you know that? What’s the point in having a big reveal if you refuse to act tantalized by it?”
“I’m tantalized, all right? Who was the white guy who spooked Lisette?”
“Bobby Davies,” she said.
The name hung there for a couple of seconds, while I tried to figure out what the hell Bobby Davies had to do with any of this.
“Bobby Davies, the local city councilman throwing the fundraiser for Rick Foster,” I clarified.
“The one and only.”
“Huh,” was the best I could come up with for that one. “And Hector didn’t know what they’d talked about that got Lisette so upset?”
She shook her head. “Nope. But she was apparently pretty freaked out about it. She told Davies to leave her alone, never to speak to her again. And,” she hesitated, studying me for a second, “Hector says she told the guy there was no way he could ever make up for what he’d done, so he should stop trying.”
Long shadows fell outside. They were having a party across the street, the sweet smell of weed and cigarette smoke hanging in the air. I thought of Jacob Deng following us into the park the night before; all the ways I was leaving Solomon vulnerable by pulling her into this, particularly since I didn’t even know what this was.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“He brought me up to hang with the high-stakes guys—that was definitely educational. Did you see them? They looked like a bunch of extras from Goodfellas. Wannabes, mostly.”
“Did you play?”
“Of course.”
“You win?”
She grinned. “What do you think? Just gave them the big eyes and the, ‘What’s this game called again?’ and that was it. We’ve got rent this month, anyway. I think me taking those idiots is what got Johnny all hot and bothered in the first place.”
Silence fell yet again, heavier now at the reminder.
“I really am sorry, Sol.”
“Why?” she said impatiently. “It’s not like you’re the one who did it. Relax, Diggs. It’s not a big deal.�
�
“Well, it feels like a big deal to me.”
“It was stupid. I’m more embarrassed than anything—everything was going great, people around most of the time. And then, bam, all of a sudden everybody just kind of vanishes and he shoves me in that friggin’ shack. It was my fault, not yours. Stop looking so damn guilty.”
I turned to face her in the darkness of the Jeep, the streetlight casting a dim glow on our little paved world. “Listen to me, okay? Because this is important, and I’m only going to say it once.” I waited until I knew I had her attention before I spoke again.
“This wasn’t your fault. Right? This was Johnny, not you. You did a great job tonight—there’s no way I ever would have gotten all I did if you weren’t there to keep Johnny distracted. It never should have ended the way it did, but it could’ve happened to anybody. You did me proud tonight, Sol. Buzz will be beaming tomorrow when he hears.”
She ducked her head, never easy with compliments. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
◊◊◊◊◊
Half an hour later, I was in the kitchen when Solomon emerged from the bathroom with her hair wet and her skin scrubbed pink, her dress replaced with my Pink Floyd t-shirt.
“Do you think there’s a reason whoever did this chose Charlene first?” she asked as she came through the door. “Or why they chose to leave her on that particular pier?”
“I’m not sure. This woman over at Applewood Farms said Charlene was supposedly meeting someone in one of the warehouses there. So maybe they tricked her, killed her there...”
“And then staged her on the pier?” she asked.
“It seems weird to me too,” I admitted. “Everything else about the way they prepared the body seemed pretty specific. Ritualistic. Did Mary say anything to you about Johnny?”
“Like what?”
“We know he’s capable of violence. And obviously he knew Charlene. Maybe...”
“Maybe what? He’s the killer? I don’t know, it doesn’t really seem like his style. He barely had the patience to unbutton his fly with me, so gutting someone seems like a lot of trouble he wouldn’t be up for.” She fell silent at the look on my face. “Okay, too soon. Clearly we won’t be looking back and laughing about this tonight. Moving on.”