by Cam Larson
"Hey, Billy. I didn’t get to ask you all of my questions this morning," I said. I pretended not to remember how he'd gotten belligerent with me earlier today. "Can I ask you a couple more?"
I could see his disgust for me in his eyes – although maybe it wasn't just me and he simply didn't like people in general. I tried not to push him, but just waited quietly.
"Whaddya want to know?" he finally said.
"I want to know if you know who could have caused John Collin’s death. We both know he wasn’t into drugs."
Ricky and Licorice Billy looked at each other. Ricky spoke first. "I told you before. John Collins isn't dead." He looked at Billy. "Tell her."
Billy’s look was one of complete surprise. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said to me. "John Collins is alive. I saw him just a few minutes ago, right here where we're standing now."
Billy looked over his shoulder. We three were the only ones here. Ricky had a smirk on his face, now that Billy had backed him up.
Okay, I thought. Two – or in this case, three – can play this game.
I turned to Licorice Billy. "Now – John Collins was the man whose place you claimed for your own outside Roasted Love. Correct?"
Both men looked at each other, and then burst into hoarse laughter. "That John was no John Collins, Miss Uptown," said Ricky.
They both turned abruptly and walked away from me, shaking their heads. I heard them laughing, even when Billy wiped his hand across his blackened mouth.
"Wait!" I cried. "I need to know what you're talking about. Who's – who's John Collins?"
Licorice Billy just waved his thick hand over his shoulder without looking back. Both men parted ways at the corner. Ricky continued across the broken street at a leisurely pace, until something caught his eye. Then he raised his head and practically started running towards a side alley, where he vanished.
I looked to see what caused him to panic. An ordinary-looking car pulled to the curb and stopped – and who should get out but the now-familiar DEA man. He started in Ricky's direction, but the scruffy dealer had had too much of a head start and was already gone.
I knew I should turn and take refuge in my car before the officer recognized me – but I was too late. He strode quickly in my direction and I had no choice but to stay where I was.
"Don’t tell me you do your grocery shopping down here." His tone was sarcastic.
"Don't tell me you don't wear your badge down here." I wasn't sure where I'd gotten the nerve to say that. At least my voice was brave, even though the rest of me was beginning to shake.
"I don't think you understand how it works, ma'am." His eyes were hard and glaring, and his words held a warning. "I told you I didn't want to see you down here again."
I wanted to tell him my thoughts on freedom in America, but decided it was smarter to just keep quiet. I walked back to my car, reminding myself not to come down here again.
At least, not without Thor.
Chapter Sixteen
I was still baffled by the way Licorice Billy and Ricky Thomas had laughed at me when I mentioned the name "John Collins." At Roasted Love, I found myself distracted when Lily gave me a couple of orders.
"I asked for a latte, Laila, not a cappuccino," said Lily. "What’s wrong with you today? You seem to be in another world."
"I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little distracted."
I quickly corrected my mistake and tried to focus on work. Every once in a while my eyes scanned the coffee house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Linda Henson and Ronald Larch. Neither one of them came in, but Daniel did. He had a small boutique shopping bag in his hand. Our eyes met and long strides brought him to the counter across from me.
"Laila, I brought you something I think you’ll like," he said. If his smile spread wider there would be nothing left of his handsome face. "I’ll grab a table. When you can, come on over."
"Now you've got me wondering," I said, and grinned back at him. There was one sure thing about Daniel: He knew how to lift my spirits.
But I wasn’t sure if I should say anything about Homeless John not being John Collins. If I did, I'd have to tell him how I'd found out.
I had quite a dilemma going on.
When I joined Daniel at the table, most of the customers had gone. There were only a couple of stragglers left. I knew that things would stay quiet for an hour or so before the next rush at around noon.
I sat across from Daniel while he sipped a latte and munched on a cheese scone. I wrapped my hands around a cup of espresso.
"I’m glad you could get a little break, Laila." His dark eyes shone in anticipation. "I picked up something for you this morning. I thought of you right away when I saw it."
He pushed the small bag toward me. I opened it, only to see a gift-wrapped box. "It’s not my birthday," I said. "What’s the occasion?"
"Does there have to be an occasion?" he said.
A movement outside caught my eye. I glanced past Daniel and saw Licorice Billy sauntering along the sidewalk. I sighed, and hoped he didn’t plan on sitting outside Roasted Love again.
As I watched, he bent over the trash can and I saw him pushing dirty cups and papers around. He pulled out a torn wrapper that held half a bagel.
I knew I should open my gift and thank Daniel for it. Instead, I said, "I found out something today."
"Really? What?"
"I found out that John’s last name wasn’t Collins."
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that Daniel’s happy mood had vanished. "Why are you spending all of your waking hours on this case? Even when I'm with you physically, you're never with me mentally. Just like right now." His dark eyes changed to a deeper black, and his face flushed red.
I tried to find the right words. "I’m sorry, Daniel. I just – I want so much to find out what really happened to John. I owe him that much. He can’t speak for himself now."
"No, he can’t." Daniel’s voice was pitched lower and his tone was even. "But I’m here, and he's gone forever. What about us?"
I just looked at him, feeling pulled in two directions at once. He was right – yes – but did I have to choose between Daniel and solving a mystery?
He waited for my answer. I looked down, and noticed that his knuckles were white where he gripped the mug.
"I’m starting to think you only stick with me for information I can get for you." Hurt and anger mixed in his dark eyes.
I looked up at that. "Oh, no, no, no way," I said. "You are very important to me, Daniel. I don’t want to lose you. And I’m not just 'using' you when I ask for help. No way."
I reached for his hand, even as he still held onto the mug. "It’s just that I liked John, and now he can’t tell anybody what happened to him. I feel kind of – kind of responsible, I guess, since I was just about his only friend." I sighed, and tried to smile. "I hope you understand."
I expected him to soften and maybe smile at me. But instead, Daniel abruptly stood up. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then decided not to.
Then he turned around and walked out of Roasted Love. The bell on the door jangled like crazy as he left.
Lily raised her eyebrows at him, and then looked at me. I ignored her and slowly opened the gift Daniel had left for me. Tears burned my eyes when I saw that it was a white ceramic coffee mug with a handle in the shape of a heart.
I got up and told Jacob that I needed some fresh air, and then slipped out for a short walk in the quiet alley. There were only four customers in the shop and I knew Lily could easily handle them.
While I paced, I let the tears flow. I couldn’t lose Daniel, but that was the road I was on if I kept up with my self-appointed mission to solve Homeless John's murder.
The battle raged through me again. I told myself that I had to think of Daniel and make him a priority. Men needed attention and you couldn't neglect them. I could still work on John’s case. Just not as much. Probably. Okay.
I lifted the edge
of my apron and wiped the tears off my face. When I went back in, I finished the repairs by dabbing a light layer of powder around my eyes. Changing aprons, I returned to help Lily. I was grateful that she didn’t mention what she'd witnessed earlier.
# # #
After work, I made plans to mend the growing rift between Daniel and me. I knew I'd have to make a huge effort to get back on track with him. I got home and took care of Thor first, making sure he got a good run, and then I headed for the small specialty bakery at the edge of my neighborhood.
I knew they made one of Daniel’s favorite foods – something he called a "Cornish pasty." Personally, I didn’t much care for it. A pasty was thick dough wrapped around a dense mixture of potatoes, ground beef, and pork. The heavy cream and butter inside always proved a little much for me, too, but tonight I was determined to eat every bite with him.
I purchased two large pasties, even though one by itself was enough for an entire meal. I threw in a couple of Waldorf salads in hopes they would offset some of the heaviness of the rich pasties.
I rang the outside bell to Daniel's brownstone apartment. He buzzed open the door so I could enter the building. When I got to his personal door, it was sitting partly open – much to my relief. At least he wasn’t going to keep me out.
Walking inside, I set the bags of food on his kitchen table. "Daniel, I feel terrible about the way things were left between us this morning. I really am sorry I upset you."
A slow grin edged onto his face, and it widened when he got a whiff of the food. Without a word, he opened the bags and arranged everything on plates.
Once we sat down to eat, he finally spoke. "Laila – I understand the drive you have when it comes to your pursuit of justice. My concern is your safety. I know you came to be friends with John. It's got to be hard to find out one day that someone you considered a friend has been murdered. I get that, too."
His teeth sank into the golden-brown crust of the pasty, and he reached for a napkin to catch the butter that dripped from his mouth.
He watched me cut a piece with a knife, and I heard the familiar chuckle. "You're the only person I know who eats pasties with a fork." Then he cocked his head. "Come to think of it, I didn’t know you liked them."
I smiled sweetly at him, hoping that at any moment it would dawn on him why I was eating the loaded pastry that I'd never liked before. I hoped he understood it was a part of my peace offering.
Eventually we finished our dinner, and Daniel told me he had something to show me. I followed him back to the living room and he handed me a folder. On top of it was a small box.
"You can have the folder if you promise to take this pepper spray with you on your little investigative treks."
"I will take it with me. I promise."
Then I saw that the tab on the folder read Steven Wilkins. "Oh! Is this about John’s brother?" Instantly I remembered how Ricky Thomas and Licorice Billy had laughed at me when I mentioned John Collins. "Does this mean that John and Steven have different last names?"
"I don’t know about that. I thought you told me you knew John’s last name."
"Well, I thought I did, but now I'm not so sure. I thought it was Collins, but maybe they were actually half-brothers and had two different fathers."
"Or one of them may have changed his last name at some point," said Daniel.
I opened the folder. It contained the arrest report on Steven. It stated that he'd been suspected of dealing cocaine, and when an undercover cop offered to buy from him he'd tried to hide a pretty big stash – plenty big enough to get nailed for distributing – and he remained in Maxfield Prison.
I jumped up and kissed Daniel. "Does that kiss mean you're going to Maxfield Prison?" he asked.
"That kiss means that I love you. The information in the folder means I want to see Steven Wilkins as soon as possible."
Then I turned to him. "But that will have to wait. Right now, I want to spend this evening with you. I need you in my life, Daniel."
He gave me a bear hug and held me close. Things were right between us again.
Chapter Seventeen
When I arrived at Maxfield Correctional Facility, I didn’t know what to expect. I signed in and soon found myself facing Steven Wilkins, who sat behind the thick glass staring at me.
There was no doubt he was John’s brother. The resemblance couldn’t be missed. He picked up his telephone receiver and I picked up mine.
"I saw you at John’s funeral," he said. "I take it you were a friend of his?"
I told him how I came to know his brother. "He was quite a storyteller. And once, he talked to me about you. I know he was worried about you."
Steven glanced down, and then met my eyes again. "Yeah, I know he worried about me. It was because of John that I finally got off drugs. Once I made it through the withdrawal, I felt better. I actually started making plans for some kind of future."
"Okay," I said. "But if that’s the case – how did you end up in here?"
"I know I sound like a liar – or like someone who will say anything to get out of this place – but I swear, the drugs they found weren’t mine." Steven shook his head. "I lived in a small apartment at the edge of downtown. Someone must have planted the cocaine there. I definitely was not using, or selling, at that time."
I thought about his words before I responded. I trusted what John had told me about his brother. ""Do you have enemies? I mean, is there somebody who could have planted it there without you knowing it?"
The look on his face was one of confusion, as if he continued to search for the answer to that. "I got no enemies – at least not that I know of. I lived on the streets like John did, for a long time."
But the next thing he said really threw me off. "John talked me into helping him in get people off drugs. He wanted to clean up the drug dealers and teach the homeless people downtown how to have better lives.
"I walked around with him all day long, talking to people. I used myself as an example of how it could be done. I even had a part-time job at the shelter, fixing things and cleaning up after everybody got kicked out in the morning.
"I didn’t get a lot of money for it, but they let me eat there. The one in charge, William, found a cheap apartment for me and after a few months of working at the shelter I had enough to pay the rent. It was pretty shabby, but at least I was off the streets. And John was proud of me."
His voice trembled just a little, and he took a deep breath. "I miss him more than anyone. He was the only family who cared about me."
I tried to smile. "He was a good guy. And I'm sorry he's gone, too." Then I got to the real reason why I was here. "Do you know of a guy named Calvin Carpenter? The city councilman?"
Steven looked up. "Yeah. Well, I've heard of him. John hated him, because he was sure this guy would stop at nothing to get rid of all the homeless in West River."
"What about Licorice Billy? Do you know him?"
"Yeah. I know him. He used to argue with John a lot over my brother’s favorite spot at night. You already know he liked staying in front of that coffee house you work at.
"But Billy liked to argue about everything. Everything was about him and what he wanted." Steven looked closely at me. "I tried to get John to move in with me once I had that apartment, but he wouldn't. He said he was fine where he was and didn't need to take up my space." He shook his head. "But I guess he would have been on the streets again anyway, once I was in here."
I frowned. "If John wanted the homeless to have better lives, it seems like he would have set the example by moving in with you when he had the chance."
Steven just shook his head again. "Yeah, that's what I thought, too. But John said he wanted to stay on the streets to show the homeless guys that he was with them – that he understood what they were going through. Those were his words."
He shrugged. "Billy's an okay guy once you get to know him. Sometimes he'd try to help us on the streets when we met people who were strung out. He eats that black li
corice to distract himself from using. And yeah, he can be rude when he wants to be." He laughed a little. "To be honest, he’s rude most of the time."
"What about that dealer, Ricky Thomas?" I asked. "Do you know him?"
Steven's mouth twisted. "Ricky’s another subject all together. He sells for a living. He was the one who got me hooked to begin with and I was glad to see the last of him, even if it meant I had to be in here.
"Of course, Ricky didn’t like it that I was clean. He threatened me once that if I didn’t leave his customers alone, I'd be sorry."
"Do you think he was the one who planted the drugs in your apartment?"
"No. I don’t think that at all. He didn't like it that we tried to get some of his customers to stop using, but the truth was he had plenty of business. And John and I usually met people outside the shelter and talked to them there anyway."
I thought for a moment. "Tell me – what was John really like? I’m thinking that maybe I only saw his best side."
"Well... " He hesitated, and I could see that he didn't want to say anything bad about his brother. "He could be pretty tough when he was on a mission. He didn’t mind laying it all out for the people he tried to save."
"Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt John?"
He sighed. "I don't really know. He upset some people when he talked to them about a better life and started pushing them about it. On the other hand, I don’t think John died by shooting up heroin. He absolutely was not on drugs. I've seen enough people who are to know the difference."
Steven’s jaw set in a tight line. "I don’t know who did that to him. I wish I did."
He started to speak again, but clamped his mouth shut.
"What do you want to say?" I asked.
He looked at me closely, as if trying to decide how much he could trust me. Then he made his decision.
"John told me once that he felt like someone was on his tail. He didn’t know who or why. He talked to me about it, but I never picked up on anyone doing that."