by Cam Larson
"Did you know this man at all?"
I nodded. "I got to know him a little. He'd come inside the shop first thing in the morning and buy a cup of coffee whenever he had a little money, but pretty soon I just started giving him a cup and maybe a Danish. I didn't want to take his money."
The chief gave me a sympathetic smile.
"He'd drink his coffee and then talk for a little while – you know, telling some great stories about his life. All the customers knew him. Then he'd leave and go to wherever it was he spent his days."
"Do you know where he went, Laila?"
"No. I did always wonder, though. But I don't think he was going too far from our neighborhood in the Piazza. He was most always around again by nightfall."
"You said all the other customers knew him. What did they think of him?"
"Well, most of them liked him. He always sat at a little corner table across from the register. A few avoided him, but most just listened to his stories and some would give him a little money.
"He never caused us a problem. He never stayed long. He would just drink his hot coffee and tell a story or two." I looked up at the chief. "He was educated. Smart. Did you know that?"
Chief Hayes shook his head. "No. I'd never heard of this man until he was found dead."
"I think his last name might have been Collins, but I can't say for sure. Though I've been wondering – have you found any more information on him? Anything more about his family? I know he's got a brother, but he's – "
"I'm sorry, but I can't say anything more about the case. We're still investigating. All I can say is that we know he died of an overdose. It's easy for an addict to shoot up a little too much, or to get something that's stronger than what they're used to."
I shook my head vehemently. "But that's just it. John was not a drug addict. I'm sure of it. On – on the day he died, he'd talked to me about all the bad stuff he'd seen on the streets and how his brother went to prison on a drug charge. He never touched any drugs of any kind."
The chief looked at me like I was a little girl who just didn't understand. "Unless you're an expert, it can be very hard to tell whether somebody is on something or not. You only saw John for very short periods a few times a week. That wouldn't give you enough time to be sure."
"But he said – "
"Laila, the needle was still in his arm. The autopsy and toxicology reports are still pending, but I'm afraid there just isn't much doubt about what happened."
I closed my eyes.
"We’re stepping up our resources to combat the homeless and drug problems. So far, it's been concentrated in an older part of West River. We don't want it to show up here."
"Yeah. Not in Uptown." I remembered what the grungy dealer had said to me, but I wasn't about to mention that to the chief of police.
"Now, we can usually track down the source that provided the drugs, even though it could be almost anyone. It might be someone who works in the medical field and is addicted themselves, or somebody who goes outside West River to get dope to sell."
He leaned forward and smiled patiently. I knew he thought he was teaching me something. I didn’t let on that I knew where anyone could find drugs to buy in West River, and it had nothing to do with the medical field.
I stood up to leave. "But let me ask you a question," said the chief. "Did you ever see anyone talking to John?"
"Well, some of the customers would talk to him a little. They usually just said 'hi' and maybe gave him a dollar or two. But that's about all."
"You sure?"
I thought about it again. "There were a few who looked down on him, or tried to ignore him. But either way, I never saw anyone talk to him for very long."
Then I realized something. I didn’t know where he died. I knew it wasn’t in front of Roasted Love. "Where was he found?" I whispered.
"He was found in an alley on the rough side of the old downtown area. From what you told me about where he was spending his nights, I'm supposing he went back down there during the daytime."
"Okay. Thank you. I hope you find whoever – I hope you find out what happened."
"We will."
When I left the station, I had a lot to think about. The thing that stood out to me was why John would spend the night on the Piazza, in front of Roasted Love, and then walk all the way back downtown to spend his days.
Unless he hadn't been doing that at all, no matter what the Chief thought.
Chapter Seven
As I drove myself home, I tried to make sense of what I knew about John's death. Everyone, even the chief of police, seemed convinced that he was just another addict who'd died from an overdose of heroin. They were all, like, why are you surprised, Laila? That's what happens to most of them. We're not surprised one bit.
I had to admit that I didn't know much about how to recognize a heroin addict. But even so, I couldn't let go of the idea that John was not a drug addict and had not died of an overdose – at least, not an accidental overdose. Every time I saw John, he'd walked steady and his eyes were clear and his speech always made sense.
It had to be something else. It just had to be.
As I curled up on the sofa in my house drinking some very good hot chocolate with a hint of vanilla extract, Ronald Larch came to mind.
Larch sat in Roasted Love several times a week, usually hunched down over papers while drinking coffee. I'd heard that he was Calvin Carpenter’s campaign manager and liked to sit in coffee shops to do his work.
Well, with their attitude toward the homeless, those two were made for each other. Since John had been found dead, the campaign manager became more vocal with his opinions to anyone who would listen.
"But I'll bet he won't run down the homeless in our shop again, Thor," I said, talking to the dog at my feet. "Not after Walter called him out." I stirred the hot chocolate and thought about what I should do next. But for a moment, all I could see was John's kind face, with his mop of hair and large brown eye. I could only hope that he hadn't been frightened or in pain when he had died.
I closed my eyes.
Then I forced myself to keep thinking, and focused on my little adventure in the Skid Row part of West River. I shivered when I remembered the anger on the face of the man I had talked to – and he hadn't been angry at me, but at John.
That puzzled me. Maybe everybody else was right, and there were two sides to the homeless man known as John. Maybe I really had only seen his good side.
I picked up my phone and pulled up Daniel’s number. It rang a couple of times and then he answered.
" – lo?"
I laughed. "You in the middle of eating something?"
"Oh, hi, Laila. Sorry! I had just taken a bite of coleslaw when you called."
"Want me to call back?"
"Oh, no, no. I'm done with dinner."
"Well, then, how about coming over here for dessert? I've got a few raspberry scones sitting on my counter." Jacob generously allowed us to take leftovers home from Roasted Love, and I knew that he took day-old goodies to the pantry at a local church a few times a week.
"That sounds like a good finish to coleslaw and chili," said Daniel. "See you in a minute."
Thor got up and trotted to the door even before the bell rang, and he was very happy when I opened the door to find Daniel and Benji there. In a moment the dogs were playing together in the yard while Daniel and I got settled in my living room with hot chocolate and raspberry scones.
I jumped right into talking about John’s murder investigation. Daniel listened patiently, and then set his cup down when I told him about Ronald Larch’s comments in the coffee house – about how he'd said that John being dead was "one less homeless bum around our town."
"Yeah. I think Larch is Calvin Carpenter’s campaign manager," said Daniel. I nodded. "That would explain his outlook on the homeless issue. Carpenter isn’t timid about expressing his views to the world, and his manager would naturally be on his side."
"I agree on that part,
" I said. "But what I'm wondering now is how Ronald Larch knew John – at least, outside of Roasted Love. If he did know him."
"Well, West River isn’t all that big. They could have crossed paths at any time. But I don't think it was anything personal. Larch wants any and all homeless types cleared out of town."
"Yeah. And I guess there won't be any more news about what exactly happened to John until the autopsy report comes out."
"That's right. And the toxicology. But Laila, there's really no doubt that he died of an overdose."
I set down my hot chocolate. "No. He didn't. I’m sure of it. Don't ask me how I know that. I just do."
Daniel sighed. "Laila, you need to let it go. Think about it: How well did you really know John?"
I sat up and looked straight at him. "Well, I saw him most every day – "
"Yes. You saw him on most mornings, on the days you were working, when he came in for his coffee."
I started to speak, but Daniel went on talking. "Now, think about how many people come into Roasted Love whom you only know by sight, or maybe through short conversations. Do you think you really know them?"
A red flush of anger and embarrassment spread from my neck to my forehead. I could feel it. "Okay. You're right about the casual customers. But that's not what John was. He actually talked about his life to me and to the other people. He told me about the tough times he and his brother had as kids. And about some crazy stuff he did in college. Things like that. The other customers don't talk to me like that."
Daniel fell silent. Arguments between us were rare, but it looked like tonight would be one of those exceptions. He had his opinion about what had happened to John and I had mine, and we were equally stubborn. Neither of us said anything for a moment.
Then he sighed, and reached for my hand. "Laila, the world of drug addicts is not one to be played around with. Let the police do their job, okay? You might think that you knew John well, but let me ask you – do you even know his last name?"
"A drug dealer told me his last name was Collins." Too late, I realized I'd just told Daniel something I hadn’t planned on saying.
"What?" I'd never seen him look so startled. "What are you talking about?" Before I could answer, he sat up very straight. "Don’t tell me you went down to the rough side of town trying to play amateur detective!"
When I said nothing, he set his jaw and then got to his feet. "Keep out of it, Laila, or you'll end up just like your friend John. I mean it. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."
He walked to the patio door and called the dogs inside. Daniel picked up Benji and then the two of them were gone. The last vision I had of Daniel was one of someone who was on the edge of exploding. I'd never seen him so angry.
After the door slammed shut, an awful silence hung in the air.
Thor walked over to me. He appeared baffled by the sudden disappearance of both of his friends.
I put my arms around Thor's neck and leaned against his shoulder for comfort, as a horrible thought raced through my mind. What if I lost Daniel over all of this?
My heart sank at the thought. He was my anchor most of the time. We had a history between us and our relationship was based on trust and respect. Tonight, I had let that crumble. It was my fault and I knew I'd have to give Daniel time to cool off.
Looking for the nearest distraction, I reached for the TV remote control. And wouldn't you know it – the first thing I saw on the screen was one of Calvin Carpenter’s campaign ads.
He'd chosen his favorite subject for the ad, and went on and on about the dangers of homelessness and drug abuse in West River. He sure seemed to have a one-track agenda. He made it sound as if the city of West River was overrun with people who lived on the streets and used drugs.
Before I'd met John, I didn’t know anyone who didn’t have a bed to sleep in at night. Carpenter’s approach sure did the trick of scaring the people of our town about the homeless.
It was true that I'd felt fear when I'd talked to that drug dealer downtown. It didn’t take Councilman Calvin Carpenter to put that feeling inside of me. But it wasn’t as if I had to live down there. I could choose to go back there for more information, or choose not to.
I turned the TV off. A decision had to be made. Either I could keep my relationship with Daniel intact, or risk losing him if I returned to Skid Row to get the truth about John’s life.
As the evening stretched on, I waited for Daniel to call me. I wanted things to be good between us again and I was sure he did, too.
But no call came.
I lay down in my bed and closed my eyes. Once I got more information, I'd be able to convince Daniel that I was right about John’s death. But I knew, even as a tear formed in the corner of my eye, that there would be no more discussion of John's murder with Daniel.
Chapter Eight
It was my day to come in early at Roasted Love, and I got there right when my boss, Jacob, got there. We greeted each other and got right to work prepping for the morning rush.
I was glad to keep busy, and it looked like we would be nice and busy today. It was chilly and damp and a light rain was beginning to fall from the grey skies. Perfect coffee weather.
"You look like you could use a little extra caffeine yourself," said Jacob, and handed me my favorite espresso.
I sure needed something strong today, and this would do the trick. "Thanks. I’m okay. I just stayed up a little late last night.." I smiled at Jacob, and he winked at me. Then I realized what he thought I'd said. "Oh, no, no! I didn't mean – "
"Don't worry about it, Laila," he said, chuckling. "Just get that French roast going, will you?"
Pretty soon, the first three customers of the day walked into the coffee house. As the bell on the door jangled, I glanced back to see Gary Inman, along with two men I didn’t know, taking their seats at a table for four.
I knew Gary worked in construction and presumed the other two did as well. All three of them appeared a lot more awake than I felt.
"Morning, Laila," said Gary.
"Good morning," I said. "I’m surprised you’re working today, with all this rain."
"Oh, we’re doing inside work on the new office building going up a block north of here," he said. I took their orders for French toast and bagels and then returned to the kitchen to give the orders to Jacob.
In a moment I was back at their tables with two espressos for the unknown men and a latte for Gary. "This is Michael and Kevin. Drywall guys."
"Nice to meet you. Let me know if you need anything."
More patrons came in, and I turned to greet them. Most worked in shops along the Piazza and they were regulars. I tuned into the moods of the people around me, and felt a little better. The other folks made the day a little less cloudy.
Then the bell jingled again and I saw Councilman Calvin Carpenter and his campaign manager Ronald Larch walk in.
Larch wouldn't look at me, but Carpenter acted as if we were old friends. My fake smile didn’t reach my eyes.
Lily, my server, arrived, and I took over at the espresso machine. Eddie clocked in next and he and Jacob stayed busy turning out bagels, scones and rolls as fast as people ordered them.
"If some of these customers don’t move out, we won’t have room for the latecomers," said Lily.
"Rainy days seem to hold them in here longer than usual," I said. "They probably don’t want to face the downpour any sooner than they have to."
Looking out the window at the grayness of the sky and the fog, I remembered watching John huddle under the eaves of Roasted Love in rain. He would wait there until our crowd thinned out and then slip inside for a little shelter.
Today, of course, no one was out there.
Eventually the Councilman and his manager finished their morning dose of caffeine and came to the register. Lily was busy, so I checked them out. Again, Larch acted like I wasn't there. On their way out, I heard Carpenter voice his appreciation that he didn’t have to walk around some "h
omeless heap" any longer to get in and out of Roasted Love.
The door jingled shut behind them. And then I had an idea.
This time, it had nothing to do with going back to the seedy downtown neighborhood. No, this time I wanted to learn more about Councilman Carpenter.
More than anything, I wanted to find out how he planned to deal with the issues that he thought plagued the city – namely, the homeless and the drug
addicts.
My having to come in early to work proved to be a good thing. It gave me all day long to think about how to approach the councilman for answers, and by the end of my shift I had things in place. At 3:00 I clocked out and left for his campaign office.
The sun was out and the air was cool and refreshed by the rain. I drove with a renewed determination.
# # #
Carpenter’s headquarters were in a rented one-story building that had once housed a large bookstore. The building was well-kept and the small narrow yard in front of it had been mowed recently before the rains. It ran parallel to a sidewalk that was smooth and flat, unlike the old downtown's cracked and uneven walks.
The entire front of the building was all windows.. No one could miss the large poster that took up one full glass frame. "Campaign Headquarters of Councilman Calvin Carpenter" it proudly proclaimed, to all who passed by.
Through all that glass, I could see several people who appeared to be running from one desk to another. Calvin Carpenter’s campaign was in full force with just three weeks remaining until Election Day.
I walked inside and headed towards a woman sitting at a desk in the center of the spacious room. Behind her were five doors that I presumed led to offices, one of which had to belong to the esteemed candidate.
It was sure a busy place. Aides ran back and forth, most of them talking on cell phones. There were even a few old-school landline phones ringing on the desks. Someone ran a copier in a far corner, and a shredding machine worked non-stop beside it. I saw long tables on the far right wall where workers collated all those copies.