Dead End Street

by Sheila Connolly

“Good,” she said. Then she turned to Vee. “What’s your connection with Raheem Hill?”

  “He’s my cousin,” Vee said curtly, and stopped.

  One of Detective Hrivnak’s eyebrows twitched; apparently this was news to her. “You are aware that he is a drug dealer, with a criminal record?”

  “Yes, I am.” Vee stopped again. I was beginning to wonder if it would be legal to shake her with a police officer present.

  “Do you know that the police are looking to speak with Raheem Hill in connection with the shooting of your husband and the death of Cherisse Chapman last week?”

  That brought the first real reaction from Vee. She cleared her throat, fighting for self-control. Then she said more calmly, “I was not aware of that until Nell told me, a short time ago. I have had little contact with Raheem for years, by my choice, but my . . . relatives have kept me up to date on his activities.”

  “First cousin, is he?” When Vee nodded, the detective pressed on. “You grow up in North Philly?”

  Vee’s chin went up half an inch. “Yes, I did. I’ve never made a secret of that. I did well in school, got a scholarship to college, and never looked back. My parents are dead, and I have had little reason or desire to visit my old neighborhood.”

  “Huh,” Hrivnak said. “But you still know people there. You’re married to Tyrone Blakeney.”

  “Yes.”

  “He from the same neighborhood?”

  “Yes. He was a few years older than I was, so we didn’t meet when we were growing up. We met after college, when we were both working on a community project.”

  “You know the details of what happened last week, in your old neighborhood?”

  “Of course. Tyrone told me about it. In part that’s why I wanted to talk to Nell, to see if there was some way to make it up to her for what she stumbled into with Tyrone.”

  “Did you know Cherisse Chapman?”

  “Only by name. Tyrone had mentioned her, said that she worked for the City on abandoned properties. Why is it you think that Raheem had anything to do with that?”

  “We caught the guy who did the shooting, and we’re holding him for murder. He told the police that Raheem had hired him for the job.”

  Vee looked sincerely bewildered. “But why?”

  “We thought maybe you could tell us that.”

  “I have no idea,” Vee protested. “I mean, I know Tyrone spends time in that neighborhood, but he’s never said it was unsafe for him. I don’t think he’s made any enemies there—certainly no one who would want him dead. He doesn’t do drugs, and he doesn’t sell them. He’s trying to do something good there!”

  I broke into their dialogue. “Detective, Raheem said that Vee owed him, after what he did for her. Vee, does that mean anything to you?”

  “I have not seen the man in years. I have not called him, texted him, e-mailed him, or passed on a message through friends—nothing. I did not ask him to do anything for me. Nor would I. If he’s been trying to get in touch with me, I don’t know about it. Maybe he doesn’t have the right number. Maybe my secretary has been screening my calls.”

  “What about at home? He ever call you there?”

  “I don’t . . . think so. If he didn’t leave a message, I wouldn’t know. Maybe Tyrone has picked up? He’s in and out a lot. Or maybe the calls came to his office. But if he did hear from Raheem, he didn’t pass on any messages to me.”

  “Maybe he and Raheem have something going?” the detective asked.

  “Like what?” Vee said.

  “Maybe they’re cutting a deal to clear the drugs out of part of the neighborhood so your husband’s project can go forward?”

  Vee shook her head vehemently. “Tyrone doesn’t operate that way. He believes in law and order, even though that’s not always easy where he comes from, as I’m sure you know. I assume you’ve checked his record—he’s never been in trouble, right? Even a hint of trouble?”

  “No, he’s pretty squeaky clean,” Detective Hrivnak admitted. “Unless he’s real good at covering his tracks.”

  I was having trouble sitting still. Was there a point here? Would it come out before Christmas? “So what was Raheem talking about today, when he said he did something for Vee?”

  “I think we’d better have a chat with him and find out,” the detective said. “Problem is, we’ve had some trouble finding him. He moves around a lot. Can you help us with that, Ms. Blakeney?”

  “I don’t exactly send the man Christmas cards,” she said. “I have no address for him.”

  “Yeah, but you know who his family is. They still there?”

  “Some,” Vee admitted.

  “Write down what you know, and we’ll check them out. He’s gotta live somewhere, even if he moves around.” Hrivnak pushed a pad and pen across the table toward Vee. Vee looked into space for a moment, then began writing.

  I glanced at James, who sat in rocklike silence. Okay, fine, this was not his game. I started musing out loud. “So somebody shoots at a car with Tyrone, Cherisse, and me sitting in it, in a lousy neighborhood. The police find the guy with the gun. He says Raheem hired him to do it. Raheem turns out to be related to Vee. Then Raheem shows up on Vee’s doorstep today and says she owes him because he did something for her. Vee says she hasn’t had contact with him for years. The shooting is really the only connecting link. I’m pretty sure I can say that Raheem wasn’t looking to get me. That leaves Tyrone or Cherisse or both. Am I on track here?”

  The detective nodded, looking amused. “Yeah, you’re doing great.”

  “Thank you. Vee here says her husband is a saint, although spouses have been known to hide things from each other. Well, let’s say as far as any criminal activities Tyrone is in the clear. You checked out Cherisse, you told me, and she’s exactly what she appeared to be—a nice middle-class girl from the burbs with a City job. Unless she had a serious drug habit that she hid very well, she would have no reason to cross paths with Raheem.”

  “ME says no drugs,” Hrivnak said.

  “So why would Raheem order a hit on the car?” I think by now everyone realized where this discussion was going. “Vee, I don’t exactly know you well, and you may find this question offensive, but was your husband having an affair with Cherisse?”

  It was almost physically painful to watch Vee’s brittle, carefully polished facade crumble. “I don’t know,” she whispered. Then in a stronger voice she added, “But I have to say I’ve wondered. They spent a lot of time together.”

  I thought for a moment that the detective was going to jump on that and run with it, but in the end she didn’t. We probably all knew what that kind of suspicion was like. At least in theory. I glanced at James, and he looked steadily back at me. I had a very hard time believing that he could ever cheat on me, but we hadn’t been together long. No way could I guess what kind of relationship Vee and Tyrone had.

  Detective Hrivnak actually looked kind of pleased. “Okay, then. Let’s go with Nell’s theory, and say those two were doing the deed. Let’s guess that Raheem found out—saw them somewhere they shouldn’t have been, or looking too cozy together. What would he do?”

  “You’re asking me?” Vee protested. “You think I have a clue how a drug-dealing lowlife would think? I have done everything in my power to separate myself from that whole poisonous environment. And things have only gotten worse there since I left that behind.”

  The detective cocked her head at Vee, with an expression of something like pity. “Maybe I’ve got a better idea. Say he’s a big man in his territory—it’s his home turf, he knows people there, he’s got family. You may think you cut your ties, but people know about you, where you come from, where you’ve gotten to. Maybe they’re happy for you, or maybe they think you’ve gotten too big for your designer britches. But to Raheem, you’re still family. He sees your man messing around with someone
who isn’t you—that’s an insult to family, and to him. So maybe he decides to do something about it. Kinda like defending the family honor, you know?”

  Vee was staring at her with a look of horror. “You’re suggesting that because my husband might have been involved with a colleague, Raheem might have decided to kill him? Or her? Did he mean to? Or was he trying to send a warning?”

  “Can’t say for sure. The guy he hired wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb. Maybe he misunderstood his instructions. Maybe he’s a lousy shot. Maybe he saw Ms. Pratt in the car and got rattled. And maybe it’s time I sent a car over to your house and your husband’s office to see if Raheem shows up looking for him, to finish the job.” With that she stood up abruptly and pulled out her phone, walking out into the hallway to make her calls.

  Leaving us sitting around the table like dummies. With a start, Vee started rummaging in her bag. “I’ve got to call Tyrone,” she said. She didn’t bother to move away, but hit a speed dial button. No answer, apparently. She hit another, and again there was no answer. A third button. No answer. Vee slumped in her chair, her hands shaking. “Oh God. He’s not picking up—not his cell, not at home—and nobody’s answering at the office. Where is he?”

  I didn’t think saying that he could be lying dead at home or in an alley somewhere would help the situation.

  CHAPTER 26

  Hrivnak returned quickly. “Cars are on their way to your place and his office. You reach him, Mrs. Blakeney?”

  “No. Do you think he’s in trouble?”

  “Could be. Or maybe he stopped for a quart of milk. Or a drink in a bar.”

  “He doesn’t drink,” Vee said absently. “You sure about this . . . affair?”

  “Of course I’m not. But you seem to think it’s possible. He’s the only one who’s sure, and he may not want to admit it. How’s his mood been lately?”

  “No different . . . that I noticed. I mean, he didn’t complain about how his work was going, not that there have been any major successes or anything lately. He was excited about talking with Nell here. He thought that adding the history piece could make the project more appealing.” Vee turned to me. “I know you didn’t spend much time together, Nell, but did you notice anything between them?”

  I recalled that one poignant touch to Cherisse’s cheek, when it was clear she was dead. I decided not to share it; I could have misunderstood it. “No, but as you say, we weren’t together for long, and we talked business. Nothing personal.” Their conduct with me had been unquestionably professional, so that wasn’t a lie.

  “Now that you’ve seen Raheem, Nell,” the detective interrupted, “you think he was in the car?”

  I shook my head. “I told you before, I was in the backseat and didn’t have a clear view. I wasn’t paying any attention to a passing car, at least not until Cherisse pointed out that she’d seen it go by before.” Obviously she had more street smarts than I did. “Both driver’s-side windows were open, but all I really saw was the gun in the hand of the guy in back, and I ducked fast. I could tell the guys were black, and they didn’t have pink hair or colorful clothes on, but that was about it. I wish I could help more. Did you find the car?”

  “Still looking. Shooter didn’t have it when we picked him up, said he ditched it somewhere. Nothing registered in his name, although that doesn’t mean squat around there.”

  “May we go?” Vee asked.

  Detective Hrivnak studied her for a moment. “Go where?”

  “Home, I suppose. To wait for Tyrone, or . . . to hear from you. Will there be police waiting outside, if Raheem does decide to come by?”

  The detective looked uncertain. “I’ve got good reason to ask them to check to see if Tyrone is there, but if he isn’t, or if Tyrone is but he chooses not to open the door, there’s not much more I can do. I can’t commit a police vehicle to keep watch based on a vague suspicion, since the department thinks this case is pretty much closed, at least until this Raheem guy popped up today. Sorry, but you’re on your own. Keep your cell phone handy and call if you see anything suspicious.”

  “And Tyrone?”

  “Lady, he’s a big boy. Either he comes home on his own, or he calls you, or we find him . . .” She realized what she had been about to say and bit off her words. “Again, we can’t go searching for him—we don’t have the resources. He’s not even missing, officially. If you hear from him, call us.”

  “Call you, or nine-one-one?” I asked suddenly.

  Hrivnak sighed. “Nine-one-one would be faster. Damn, I’d really like to sit down and actually eat dinner once in a while. But don’t do anything stupid, you all. This guy Raheem is nothing but trouble.” She stood up. “I’m out of here.”

  We trailed after her to the front door, and I let her out, then stood there, uncertain. Vee spoke first. “I should go home, wait for Tyrone.”

  James and I exchanged glances, and I gave him a small nod. Telepathy? Not exactly, but I was pretty sure I knew what he was thinking. “We’ll go with you, Vee,” James said. “You shouldn’t be home alone. I’ll give you a ride, and if Tyrone is there, we’ll be on our way.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Vee protested.

  “Vee, a short drive out of our way is vastly preferable to hearing that Raheem found you,” I said. “Or Tyrone. Let’s go.”

  Vee did not argue any further.

  I locked up after arming the alarm, and we crossed the street to the parking lot, without seeing any large angry black men. James retrieved the car, and we set off for Vee’s home, with me providing directions. It might have been faster to walk, but we arrived there in under half an hour, and actually found a parking space on the same block. After James had turned off the engine, we sat in silence for a long moment, scanning the scene. Everything looked normal. There were a few people coming and going, but they looked like they belonged there, and Vee didn’t seem alarmed.

  “Thank you for the ride. I’ll be fine from here,” she said, gathering up her coat and bag.

  “We’ll come in and make sure everything is all right,” James said in a level voice that didn’t allow for any argument. I wasn’t about to protest.

  I expected Vee to argue, but she gave in quickly. “Fine.”

  We straggled out of the car and walked to her front door. She had her keys at the ready and opened it quickly. James lingered behind for a moment, in serious-agent mode, checking the street again. I didn’t interfere.

  “Tyrone?” Vee called out. No answer. Since it was now full dark and there were no lights on, it seemed unlikely that anyone was home. The house had that peculiar stillness that signaled emptiness. Unless, of course, Raheem had gotten here before us. No, Nell, don’t go there.

  Vee strode ahead of us toward the back, turning on lights as she went, her slender heels clicking on the polished wood floors. James followed more slowly, watching, listening. It would have been a treat to observe him operating in professional mode, but right now I was as nervous as a cat, expecting to see an armed thug or two or three jump out from behind the furniture. Or maybe I wouldn’t see it, if it was a bullet that came first.

  Vee came back from what must be the kitchen and shook her head, answering the unasked question. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Wine?”

  “No, thanks,” James answered for us. “You want me to check upstairs?”

  “We’ll go together,” Vee said, and led the way.

  I was left alone downstairs. Part of me wanted to tag along with Vee and James, but that would be childish. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse, made sure it was on, and slipped it into my pocket. Just in case. Then I walked into the living room, which ran the depth of the house, with a dining area at the rear, opening onto the kitchen. Having met Vee, I studied the furnishings and artworks on the walls. All very nice: not too showy, but good quality. Somehow Vee had achieved a room that proved how far she had com
e and how well she was doing now. It was a pleasant home.

  There were framed photographs lined up along a mantelpiece, and I moved closer to study them. No childhood photos. A couple of inexpensive studio pictures of older people—parents, no doubt. A wedding picture for Vee and Tyrone, with Vee looking uncomfortable and Tyrone beaming. Ten years ago, had Vee said?

  James and Vee were still upstairs when I heard a noise at the front door. At least I didn’t shriek out loud, but I backed carefully down the hall so I could conceal myself in the kitchen, out of sight. Was it cowardly of me to leave Vee and James exposed to whatever lay on the other side? No way to warn them quickly without alerting whoever was outside, and James was the one with the gun, not me.

  I heard a key in the lock. The door swung inward, and a voice called out, “Vee? You home?”

  I slumped against the kitchen wall: Tyrone. I quickly returned to the hall, at the same time that Vee and James came down the stairs. Poor Tyrone looked baffled by the crowd: his wife, me, and a stranger in a suit. “What’s going on?” he said.

  Vee advanced on him and gave him a solid kiss and a hug. “That’s for not being dead. Now you’ve got to convince me I shouldn’t kill you.”

  “Vee, what the hell is happening here? Nell, nice to see you again, but damned if I know what you’re doing in my living room right now. And who’s this guy?” He looked at James, still a step or two higher on the stairs.

  James came down quickly. “Special Agent James Morrison, with the FBI. I’m with Nell.” As if that explained anything.

  “Why are you here?” Tyrone demanded.

  “Why the hell haven’t you been answering your phone, Ty?” Vee demanded.

  “Battery ran down. What’s it matter?”

  James spoke first. “The police have been trying to reach you. Raheem Hill accosted your wife on Market Street after she left her office today, and Nell was with her.”

  Tyrone looked at Vee. “Raheem?”

  “Do you know him?” James asked.

  “Mostly by reputation. Not the kind of guy you mess with. What the hell did he want?”