by Cam Larson
But the pretty blonde didn't stay around. She quickly got up and left, while Larch stayed at the table.
Now my curiosity was in overdrive. I'd recognized her and it sure seemed that she'd recognized me. But most intriguing of all, she and Larch apparently had a very cozy relationship with each other.
"Hey, Lily," I asked, "Do you know who that woman was with Larch?"
"I know her name is Linda Henson, but not much else," Lily said, as she grabbed a coffee pot and started filling a few white ceramic mugs. "I guess she’s one friend Larch manages to keep."
But I wanted more. "I’ve never seen her in here before. How do you know who she is?"
"We went to the same high school. She was always ‘the most this' and 'the most that,’ if you get my drift. She was real popular and managed to get herself elected Homecoming Queen." Lily picked up a couple of cappuccinos and scooped up two cheese scones. "I haven’t seen her in here recently. She used to come in sometimes, but not often."
I shook my head. "I don’t remember her at all," I said. Except for seeing her at the cemetery.
The rest of my shift moved at a fast pace. The crowds didn't slow down until around one in the afternoon. Finally, I took a break and went outside, intending to take a short walk down the alley behind the coffee house to get a minute of fresh air.
Then I had an idea. I took out my phone and dialed Carpenter’s headquarters. I only hoped that the barracuda who sat at the main desk was not the one who answered.
"Calvin Carpenter Headquarters," said that dreaded raspy voice. "How may I help you?"
"Um, hi. I'd like to speak with the councilman, please."
Her voice sounded like the final sweep of sandpaper on a worn desk. "He's in conference right now with his top campaigners. Please leave your name and a number. I will be sure to give it to him."
Carpenter could do better with a front woman. "How long will be in conference?"
"Oh, probably for at least another hour. We hope you intend to vote for him! He does have so many wonderful ideas for our community." She went on to talk about his position on a few of the most popular issues, not leaving out the homeless matter.
I thanked her for the information and hung up.
When I got off work, I drove to the Carpenter headquarters and headed for the side door. I hoped to get to Carpenter's office door without the barracuda noticing me.
The side door was unlocked. A young man in the hallway stood aside when I entered, stooping down to pick up a flyer that had fallen from a thick folder. The barracuda's back was to me and the phone was braced between her shoulder and her ear. I knocked on Carpenter's office door and was told to come in.
The councilman was thumbing through pages of a large spiraled calendar in front of him. He looked up and saw me, and actually grinned. "Laila! Glad you could make it during office hours."
Would he ever let me live that down? Probably not. I decided I should just be glad that he hadn't pressed charges.
"Come on in," Carpenter said. "I wanted to ask you to write down your ideas for me when it comes to the homeless and drug-related problems. I don’t have a lot of time right now, but I'll look at them later on. I have to be at a Lion’s Club meeting in half an hour."
"I’ll do that," I told him. "But right now, I have a question for you." He looked expectantly at me. "Is Ronald Larch involved with someone named Linda Henson?"
His pleasant expression changed to a frown. "Sorry, but that’s personal information. I don't get into the private matters of my staff. I don’t interfere unless it affects my campaign in some way."
A true politician. He'd evaded my direct question quite easily. "I'm only asking if they're an item."
He leaned back and studied me. "Well, you're nothing if not determined. I'm afraid you'll break in and start rifling through files again if I don't tell you, so here you go: He and Linda have been seen together off and on for several years."
I paused. "Isn’t Larch married?"
"He is, but in name only. And don’t ask for details because this is all the information I’m giving you. He's the best campaign manager I've ever had and I plan to keep him on board." He paused, and turned away from me to open a desk drawer. "Anything else?"
I knew I was being dismissed. The barracuda interrupted us and her raised eyebrows told me she wondered how I'd gotten past her. I stood up and smiled politely at the councilman. "Thanks for the info," I said, and left quickly by the side door.
# # #
Daniel and I had a dinner date planned for later in the evening, grilling steaks on his back deck. That’s what I loved about his brownstone: Every unit had its own balcony-like deck. His building backed up to more brownstones that all looked the same.
"Wait until you get here to feed Thor," said Daniel, talking to me on my cell as I drove over.
"Can I bring anything?"
"Uh, got any steak sauce? I didn’t know I was out until now."
"I'm not surprised you're out. You use enough to smother all taste of meat. Me, I want pure steak. Not sauce saturation."
He sighed, but I could hear the humor in it. "You know what kind I like, right?"
"Of course. I'll stop and get it."
After a quick stop at the nearest grocery, Thor and I were at Daniel’s door. I heard Benji Junior yipping with excitement. "Come on in," said Daniel, pulling open the door and then leaning down to give me a kiss. "The dog food bowls are filled, so that should keep them happy."
I followed him to the kitchen, and caught the aroma of steaks grilling out on the balcony. "That sure smells good!"
"You bet. Hey, get the salads from the fridge, would you, and meet me outside."
Thor and Benji were left inside to eat and then play their own games. We settled in at the small wrought iron table out on the patio and Daniel slapped a sizzling steak onto my plate.
"I have a question for you, Daniel," I began, as we dug in.
He shrugged. "Ask away."
I paused for just a moment. "Do you know – do you know a woman named Linda Henson?"
"Well, I think I know who she is. What about her?" He concentrated on cutting up his nice thick rib eye. He took a close look at it and then doused it with more steak sauce.
"Do you know her connection with Ronald Larch?"
"Scuttlebutt is that they're in an affair, and have been for a long time."
"Yeah, I was pretty sure about that part." But suddenly I recalled Walter Schubert’s remark to Larch in the coffee house a few days before. "Daniel – is Linda Henson connected in any way to John, the homeless man?"
He glanced up at me. "Well – you might not believe this, but I've heard she was once married to him."
That got my attention. "Uh – that gorgeous blonde was married to Homeless John?"
"Was married. That's the word around the station. I guess it was right after she got out of high school. He was some years older than she was, but not many guys could resist Linda Henson."
I hardly knew what to say.
"But it’s all just rumor."
I could only shake my head. "Now, let me get this straight. Ronald Larch has a thing going with John’s ex-wife?" I just sat there, blinking. "That’s a pretty good stretch, going from the most popular girl in school to being the ex-wife of a guy who died homeless on the street."
Daniel nodded. "Yeah, it does seem pretty weird. All I know is that when Larch became Carpenter’s campaign manager, some things about Linda started surfacing around town. I don’t know how many connected Homeless John to Linda, though. Their divorce happened quite a few years back. I don't think they were married for long."
"What kinds of things surfaced?"
"Oh, mainly that Larch is still married and carrying on an affair with Linda. Rumors also say his wife doesn’t seem to care. I believe there's money on her side."
"Did you know, at the time of John’s death, that he and Linda had been married at one time?"
He shrugged. "To be honest, Laila, I did
n’t think about it. The other day some of the other EMTs were talking about Councilman Carpenter's vendetta against the homeless. John’s name came up in connection with that, and then somebody mentioned about him and Linda being married a long time ago. That's all I know. "He looked up at me. "What made you ask about her?"
"I saw her at John’s funeral. At the graveside, but at a distance. Then she tried to get to her car before anybody could get close to her.
"Then I saw her and Larch just this morning at Roasted Love. She got in a hurry again when she saw me looking at her and ran like a rabbit."
"So – she seems to know you?"
"Sure seems like, it, yeah. And – I have to wonder if she's connected to John’s murder somehow."
Daniel looked thoughtful. "If Linda was at his burial, she must still have some feelings for him. Otherwise, why would she have gone out of her way to be there? It doesn't make much sense for her to kill him and then go to his funeral. She'd just draw attention to herself."
The devil’s advocate was at it again. Worst of all, he had a valid point.
Chapter Fifteen
Even though I didn’t like keeping secrets from Daniel, I knew I couldn't tell him that I was still going down to the rough side of town. But when I arrived at Roasted Love early the next morning, it looked like the rough side of town was now coming to me.
A scruffy-looking man sat against the wall outside the coffee house, right in the spot where Homeless John used to sleep. As I got closer, I saw that he had sticks of red licorice in his hands. A package of black candy stuck out from his tattered shirt pocket.
This could only be Licorice Billy, who apparently had decided to make John’s former spot his own.
I took a good look at him before I got out of my car. He was shorter than John and his hair was streaked with grey. His ragged facial hair formed a scraggly beard that touched the base of his neck.
By his random hand gestures and barely moving lips, he seemed to be participating in an ongoing conversation with himself. Every few seconds he used his middle finger to greet passersby in a way that wasn't usually seen in the Piazza.
I decided to go into Roasted Love through the kitchen. I wasn’t ready to face Licorice Billy at this point.
When I walked in, I went straight to my boss. "Jacob, did you see that homeless man sitting outside the shop?"
"I saw him. I don’t know what to do at this point," said Jacob. "John was one thing. He never caused any trouble. This one definitely isn’t John. I'm thinking I've only got one option and that's to have the cops move him away from my business for good."
I could see that Jacob was torn. His sympathy for the less fortunate battled with concern for Roasted Love – his livelihood. I saw his dilemma, but at the same time I wanted to talk to Licorice Billy first.
"Yeah, I can understand if we need to call the cops. But do you mind if I take a bagel out to him first?"
Jacob hesitated, but then nodded. "Okay. But just one."
I filled a take-out cup with black coffee, got a bagel, and spread a little butter on it. Then I took them out to our new resident.
He stayed sitting down and quickly took the coffee and bagel from me. He never said a word but just started on the coffee first, gulping down the hot beverage. "Do you mind if I talk with you?" I asked him.
He glanced at the bagel and at the empty cup of coffee before he responded.
"Suit yourself," he said, in the roughest, most gravelly voice I'd ever heard. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Do you know what happened to John?"
He took a big bite of the bagel. "He’s dead, if that’s what you mean." No emotion of any kind showed on his face.
"I heard you and John used to fight. What did you fight about?"
Billy peered inside the empty coffee cup and then crushed it with one hand. I saw that his fingernails were caked with permanent dirt. He made a motion as if to throw it onto the sidewalk, but I raised my hand to stop him. "I wouldn’t advise that," I said.
He pushed himself up from the concrete wall, heaved himself to his feet, and then ambled to the trash container a few feet away. I noticed that he was several inches shorter than my own five foot six.
"Yeah, we used to fight," he said. "I was here before John was. This was my spot to begin with. I picked the best spot after I saw there were shops selling food here. It’s better to get leftover food than to pick through a dumpster."
Billy glanced up and down the street, and then looked at me again. "John and I argued a lot about it." He snickered. "I guess he won. At least, for a little while."
I didn’t remember this man ever sitting outside of Roasted Love, but it could have been before I'd started work here. "You do know the cops have to make you move along if you're – if you're just hanging out for too long."
I couldn’t bring myself to use the words homeless or street people. Even Licorice Billy was a human being and deserved some consideration. "Were you around when John died?"
"No. I don’t even know when it happened. I mean, I don’t know what time of the day or night he died. I have to hurry every night to get a bed at the shelter. They don’t let us in until seven. If I want a bed, I have to be there early." I resisted the urge to tell him to wipe his dripping black mouth. "I stay until morning when they kick us all out again."
"I see. Um, tell me – why would you rather sleep on the concrete instead of a bed?"
"The shelter's got better beds than the sidewalks. But it's noisy all night long. Hard to sleep there, too. Sometimes I stay there. Sometimes I don't."
He shuffled his feet. "If I don't stay at the shelter, I get moved all night by the police. A person can’t sleep when the cops come around every hour or so. I think they get a big kick out of harassing us."
I kept my arms folded across my chest. "I have to tell you, Billy – I don't think you'll be able to stay here every night unless you clear out before daylight. Having someone sleep outside of the coffee house doesn’t go over well with the customers."
He glared at me, and I saw his lip curl. "No one seemed to mind when John was here," he said. He finished his breakfast bagel and wiped the crumbs from his mouth with the back of his stained stubby hand. Then he reached in his pocket for a stick of the black licorice and jammed it between his chipped and yellowed teeth.
"Billy, the cops always made John move along, too. Now – let me ask you something. Did John say anything to you before he died?"
Several customers walked towards the door of Roasted Love, and they all stared at me and the shabby little man I was talking to. I saw them frown at us and then whisper to each other.
Licorice Billy threw them an obscene gesture, and then got back to me and my question. "Naw. All he ever talked about was his brother, Steven. He hammered away about how much he wanted to help him. I think his brother was into drugs."
He tried to grin, but black liquid dribbled from his mouth. I had to look away.
In a moment, Billy's gaze returned to the early morning bustle on the street. I wondered what he thought about ordinary people who had real purpose in their lives. I knew I was looking at night and day when I compared Billy to the people heading to work.
I tried to ask him more questions, but he chose to clam up. I was persistent, but he started getting agitated and talking louder and louder to the voices that only he could hear.
At that point, I thanked him for his help and quickly returned to Roasted Love.
# # #
I headed for Jacob, who was in the kitchen pulling bagels and cream cheese from the refrigerator.
"Jacob – you're right. He's not like John, who I think was just down on his luck. Billy is – well, crazy. He talks to people who aren't there. And he flipped off a group of customers as they walked up to our door."
That last one got him to look up at me. "Okay. That's it. I’m going to have to get the cops on this. I can't let somebody run off the customers and destroy our business."
"Yeah. I understand
." I knew Jacob was right. I stood by and waited while he dialed the precinct house.
While he waited for someone to answer, he called to me over his shoulder. "Laila – as bad as I sound, please don’t hand out any more food to him. Okay?"
I nodded. "Okay."
This was difficult. I didn't want to sweep homelessness under the rug and ignore it like so many tried to do, but at the same time – when it came to Billy’s threats and possible genuine mental illness, there was just no other answer. We all depended on income from Roasted Love, Jacob most of all.
Then I began to wonder why that scruffy dealer Ricky Thomas had sent me to find Licorice Billy. Crazy old Billy wasn't any help at all when it came to the mystery of John’s death, but there was a small nagging thought at the back of my brain.
Had Billy killed John over the sleeping spot in front of Roasted Love? I hoped not, but stranger things had happened, I was sure. I wished Daniel was on board with me. It would be sure help to talk this over with him and figure it out.
I looked out the window as the cop on the beat arrived. He pulled Billy up from the sidewalk and made him stand there. The exchange was not pleasant, but Licorice Billy finally shuffled off down the street and the cop got in his car and left.
I grabbed a broom from the kitchen and went out to sweep the whole front sidewalk. Working away with the broom, I kept my eyes on the homeless man until I saw him turn the corner. Satisfied, I went back inside and got back to work.
Yet, I still couldn't figure out why Ricky Thomas had suggested I meet up with Licorice Billy. They both knew something about John's death, but I couldn't imagine what it was.
# # #
I was off at mid-afternoon, and I got right in my car and drove straight down to Skid Row. I was just passing the grocery store with the bars on it when I saw Billy and Ricky standing right next to each other.
I swung into the parking lot and pulled into a space. The right front wheel of my car came to rest in a hole in the cracked and broken asphalt. I stuffed my small purse under the front seat and put my cell phone in my jeans pocket.
Both men looked in my direction as I approached. Licorice Billy looked as if he was ready to make a run for it. Ricky reached for his friend's dirty sleeve and spoke to him in a low tone, and then both of them stood waiting for me.