by Julie Cave
Here we go again, Dinah thought.
“This man claims to sell heroin to you,” she said, flatly.
Aubusson’s eyes bulged and he dug at the tie around his neck, as though it was suddenly too tight. “What?”
Elise repeated her words, while Aubusson cringed and looked around for any possibility of eavesdropping. Elise reprised her speech on not caring about the drugs, and caring only for accounting for the whereabouts of Simon on the day a murder occurred. “I don’t want to make your life difficult,” she finished. “But I can, if you decide not to help me.”
As addicts usually did, Aubusson wilted under the threat of being exposed. “Yes, I know him.”
“Did you see him last Monday?”
“Yes. At about ten.”
“What was the purpose of that meeting?”
“He delivered me some . . . you know. He dresses like a courier and brings it in a package. So the staff doesn’t get curious.”
“He was here for only a few minutes?”
“Yes.”
“Is it always Simon, or does he send someone else?”
“Always Simon. I wouldn’t buy from anyone else.”
Elise nodded and she and Dinah stood. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Aubusson.”
Tim Aubusson stood and looked uncomfortable. Finally, he stammered: “You’re not . . . will you . . . can I ask . . . please don’t tell anyone?”
Elise gave him a steady stare. “I won’t tell anyone, Mr. Aubusson. But if you think this secret will stay hidden forever, you are sadly mistaken. This drug will expose you sooner or later, and my suggestion is that you deal with it sooner before it destroys your life.”
Aubusson looked vastly relieved. “Thank you, Detective.”
Dinah knew that the addict in Aubusson had heard what he wanted to hear and discarded the rest. How long would it take before he found himself sitting amid the scraps of what used to be his life? Don’t wait until you hit rock bottom, like me. But she knew he would.
Elise had three others on her list to visit — a lawyer, a teacher with whom she’d once been in a book club, and a college student — and all three reiterated the same story. Simon had visited them last Monday, dressed as a courier, delivering a package of either heroin or cocaine. It had definitely been Simon. While Elise conducted the interviews, Dinah calculated the driving time and delivery time and decided Simon had indeed spent the best part of the day making his deliveries.
However, it didn’t completely clear him, either. Malia Shaw had been his first delivery; he would have had plenty of time and opportunity to kill her before continuing on his way.
The neighbors wouldn’t have noticed anything was amiss — Simon blended into that neighborhood like a fish belongs in the sea. His presence would have either gone ignored or unnoticed.
Dinah made a note to check with the neighbors, to see whether he’d gone back to Malia Shaw’s apartment that day.
They headed back to Main Street to grab a late lunch.
****
Chloe had spent the morning basically wishing for a natural disaster. An earthquake would be awesome. A tornado would do nicely. Anything that would take the attention of this miserable place away from her.
Overnight, the video of her jog around the track had gone viral and the entire school had seen it, and probably the entire town, and possibly the entire world. Though she pretended she didn’t care, the giggles, whispers, and taunts that had been directed at her wounded her deeply. Humiliation coiled in her belly like a snake.
Grace had spent the morning running defense, snapping at those who had laughed at her friend, challenging those who had taunted her, glaring at those who whispered behind their hands. Chloe was desperately grateful for her best friend, but she also knew that Grace could never truly understand the depths of her fear and hurt.
Grace was thin and willowy and good at gym class. The boys looked at Grace admiringly. Grace had feathery blonde hair that shone in the sunlight. Grace had perfect teeth and golden, tanned skin.
Not me, thought Chloe, as they sat down to lunch in the cafeteria. I’m fat and clumsy and terrible at gym class. The boys look at me with contempt. My hair is short and boring, my skin as white as milk, a face like a chipmunk.
It often puzzled Chloe: Grace could ditch her and be friends with Jessica Hunter. She could enjoy the trappings of popularity — the envy of the girls, the attention of the boys. She could attain the power that popularity could command in high school.
Yet she chooses to hang out with a loser like me, lamented Chloe. It wouldn’t be forever, though. Eventually Grace would see that Chloe was dragging her down and would switch her allegiance to Jessica. Chloe wasn’t sure she could actually turn up to school every day if it weren’t for Grace. She had become such a target for Jessica and her minions that even the glee club kids and chess club kids avoided her.
Grace was one of those girls who everyone instinctively liked; she smiled easily, she was warm and caring, she always knew the right thing to say, and she was pretty. Everyone wanted to be friends with her. For some inexplicable reason, she chose to be friends with Chloe: loser of the century, she lamented.
It is enough for me to live in the heat of Grace’s radiance, to bask in her glory. I’ve learned to deal with the laughter and spiteful comments because I know that those girls are only jealous of her, and they know enough to vent their frustration at the planet in her orbit, rather than at the sun herself.
I can live with it because I get to be friends with her, and that’s all that matters to me. I’ve always measured my worth, found my identity in her. Caught in the morass of her beauty and power, I’ve never considered what would happen should I ever stand alone.
Suddenly, I’m struck by the desperation with which I need her. This perverse pride I’ve built up in being someone different is just a sham. It’s a devastating thought. One of the only reasons I’ve been able to deal with all the mockery is to tell myself that I have strength in knowing who I am. But I don’t — I don’t know who I am at all.
I’m only somebody because of her. And should I lose that distinction, what do I have? Nothing besides some bad color in my hair, chunky legs, and a pasty face, someone that everybody else hates.
The truth is, when I think about the fact that everybody hates me, it becomes pretty hard to like myself. If others can’t see anything in me to love, why would I?
“Oh no,” muttered Grace, snapping out of her reverie, Chloe looked up at her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Grace was looking over Chloe’s shoulder.
Chloe turned around and saw Jessica Hunter weaving through the cafeteria directly toward them.
Chloe felt dread rise in her, releasing a metallic taste into her mouth and making her head swim briefly.
She could feel Jessica’s presence, a dark shadow, a prescient malevolence.
“Do you really think you should be eating so much lunch, Chloe?” Jessica inquired, sickly sweet. “You know there are starving children in Africa who could use that food.”
There was predictable laughter from the minions.
“Why don’t you stop eating for a week and send the food you’d normally eat over to the starving children?” Jessica continued. “You could feed the whole of Ethiopia. And maybe you’d lose some of that disgusting weight.”
That doesn’t even make sense, thought Chloe. How would I send food? Bundle up sandwiches and mail them to Ethiopia?
She looked at her lunch tray and felt shame heat up her face like fire. She had served herself too much food. It was disgusting. She was disgusting.
“Are you going back to the track field to burn off some of that food this afternoon?” inquired Jessica.
More predictable laughter.
“Give it a rest, Jessica,” snapped Grace. “This is getting so boring.”
Jessica’s eyes flicked over to Grace, but paid no attention to her. Her quarrel wasn’t with Grace.
“Why aren’t you eat
ing, cow?” Jessica demanded. “Or is this your second helping?”
Chloe felt a strange compulsion to actually pick up her fork and eat, if only to make Jessica quit. Instead, she balled her hands into fists at her side and remained silently still. Her lack of reaction seemed to stir Jessica into a greater fury.
“I hate fat useless cows like you,” she snarled. She suddenly picked up Chloe’s lunch tray and dumped it into Chloe’s lap.
Chloe gasped — the macaroni and cheese was still piping hot. She jumped to her feet, sending the tray to the floor. Macaroni and cheese slid down her legs wetly, leaving behind yellow trails. The pasta shells lay curved like snail shells on her skirt. Chloe felt a heave of revulsion.
The whole cafeteria erupted into laughter, their mocking glee hanging heavily in the air. Chloe burst into tears and ran from the cafeteria, with Grace following her.
She heard the hoots and catcalls follow her as she fled. She couldn’t think of anything at all, except to escape this hateful place. She heard Grace calling after her, urgently, asking her to stop.
Chloe didn’t stop. She ran and ran, out into the freezing wind, toward the school gates. She ran through them, down the street, realizing that Grace had stopped chasing her.
Still, the bitter taste of humiliation followed her, and she kept running, toward home. She was suddenly thankful that her mother worked during the day because it meant she could hide here for the rest of the afternoon.
Once the front door was closed and locked behind her, Chloe sagged against it and tried to catch her breath.
The freezing air had burnt her lungs with its cold fire, and it took some time before her breathing returned to normal. When it did, she walked on jelly legs to the kitchen. Grimly, she opened the freezer, looking for the tub of cookie dough ice cream. She took it out and ate the whole thing, straight from the tub, without stopping, barely breathing. When she had finished, sick guilt swept through her like a summer squall.
Upstairs, she leaned over the toilet, stuck her fingers down her throat and tried to make herself vomit. It took three or four attempts, but finally, she purged the ice cream from her stomach.
Chloe walked shakily to her bedroom and lay on her bed. Throwing up made her feel more calm and in control, despite the fact that her throat was burning. Staring out at the sky through her window, she dreamed of all the ways she would exact revenge on Jessica, if only she was brave enough.
When her mom came home that night and asked how her day had been, Chloe smiled and lied.
****
Neighborhoods like the one Malia Shaw had lived in took on a bunker-like effect when the sun had gone down. Doors and windows latched tightly, trying to ward off the danger that lurked in the streets under cover of darkness.
Unfortunately, it also meant that neighbors turned a blind eye to the various illegal activities that took place there, much to Elise’s frustration. Shadows retreated on street corners as she parked the car into the safety of the alleys. It was freezing tonight; a cold sleeting rain fell periodically, but it didn’t seem to dampen business.
Elise and Dinah had brought with them the human mountain, Deputy Peyton Hauser, to canvass the neighbors. First, they tried the one directly above Malia Shaw’s apartment.
The door opened a crack, and a fearful brown eye peered through. The light inside the apartment seemed almost as gloomy as the night in which Elise and Dinah stood.
Elise pushed her gold shield up to the crack. “I’m Detective Jones,” she said. “I’d like to ask a few questions about the woman who lived below you.”
The door opened slightly farther to reveal a tall woman with a worn face. “Is that the one who died?” she asked, her eyes darting around with fear.
“Yes. What is your name?”
“Yelena Damascus,” she said. “I didn’t know her.”
“You didn’t speak to her much?”
Yelena shook her head. She had beautifully fine facial features with tired eyes.
“Did you notice anything about her that you thought unusual?”
Yelena Damascus gave a grin. “You spend much time here, Detective? Everythin’ around here is unusual. Listen, I know what she was. She was a junkie, right?”
“Yes. I’m more interested in the day she died — last Monday. Do you recall anything unusual on that particular day?”
Yelena shook her head again. “No, but I was workin’. You want to know the only thin’ I noticed with her?”
“Sure.”
“She had visitors — only two of ’em. Two guys used to come round all the time.”
Dinah showed her the mug shot of Simon. “Was this one of the men?”
“Yup. That was one of ’em.”
“What did the other one look like?”
“More upper class than what we’re used to.” Damascus grinned. “I used to see him and think, he’s slummin’ again. He was a white boy, tall, dark hair, pretty broad.”
Dinah wished she had a picture of Angus Whitehall — it was a pretty good description of him.
“You didn’t recognize him at all?” she asked.
Yelena shook her head. “Nope.”
Dinah had a sudden idea. While Elise kept talking, Dinah took out her phone and began to Google.
“How often were these two guys at the apartment downstairs?” Elise asked.
“That skinny one . . . maybe once or twice a week?” Yelena guessed. “The rich lookin’ guy, maybe . . . once a week. But look, I’m workin’ every day, so I mighta missed him if he came during the day.”
“Did you ever hear any shouting or fighting from downstairs?”
“No,” said Yelena. “That poor girl . . . she was quiet. Some days, so quiet I wondered if she . . . you know, was dead.” The woman suddenly looked sorrowful.
“Did the woman downstairs ever talk to you, tell you anything about herself?”
“Nope. We said hello maybe once or twice on the stairs. That’s it. We all got problems round here, you know. We keep to ourselves.”
Bingo. Dinah found it. On the website of the Ten Mile Hollow local newspaper, she had found a picture of Angus Whitehall. It was a clipping of Angus taken over last Christmas, standing in front of the Nativity scene outside his church.
“Was that the second man you saw come to visit Malia Shaw?” she asked, holding up her phone.
Yelena squinted and looked hard for a few moments. “Yeah . . . I think it is.”
Elise looked at Dinah, her eyebrows raised. “Nice work.”
She thanked Yelena for her time, and she and Dinah trudged down the stairs to the basement apartment. The door there was opened by a young white man, a baby fussing on his hip. The smell of chili wafted through the door. “Help you?” he asked.
Elise showed him her badge and introduced herself, noting the gang tattoo on his forearm. He seemed wary, but not alarmed by her presence.
“What’s your name?”
“Hank,” he said, shortly. “This is Maria.” He waved in the direction of the kitchen.
“I want to ask you a few questions about the woman who lived above you,” Elise said, as a young woman appeared from the tiny kitchen, a dishtowel in her hands. “Did you ever speak with her?”
“No, but we just moved here,” said Hank. “Like, a month ago.”
“She didn’t come out much,” offered Maria.
“Did you notice anything unusual about her?”
Hank shrugged. “We knew she was usin’,” he said. “Ain’t hard to figger that out.”
“Her dealer, he tried to hustle us,” added Maria. “Tried to sell us some stuff.”
Elise showed them the picture of Simon. “This guy?”
“Yeah.” Hank snorted in contempt. “I know what that stuff does to you. Told him we weren’t interested.”
“Did any other visitors ever show up?”
Hank shrugged. “I didn’t see anyone.”
“I did,” said Maria. “I’m stuck here with the baby all day. I saw a
nother guy come by all the time.”
Dinah showed the woman the picture of Angus Whitehall on her phone.
“Yup, he the one,” said Maria.
“How often did he come by?” Elise asked.
“Probably twice a week,” said Maria. “Sometimes during the day, sometimes at night.”
“Did you hear any shouting or fighting coming from the apartment?”
“No,” said Maria. “It was always quiet there.”
Hank nodded his agreement.
“What about last Monday? Do you remember if either of these guys came by last Monday?”
Hank shrugged, but Maria looked thoughtful. “I was home,” she said, thinking aloud. “Oh, yeah. I remember last Monday because little Rafael here was teething. I was up and down all night and day with him.” She swatted the baby affectionately. “I seen both of them here that day.”
Dinah felt a surge of hope. “Really? Do you remember what time?”
“That skinny guy, her dealer, right? He came during the morning,” said Maria. “About seven or seven thirty, I think? The other guy came later, about an hour after that. I remember because I had just fed Raf his snack and I was watching TV. I saw this guy come up the stairs. He was wearing a nice black coat. I remember thinking it was a fine coat.”
“How long was he there?” Dinah pressed.
“A while. Half an hour?”
Dinah exchanged a glance with Elise. This is getting mysterious-er and mysterious-er. Elise thanked the young couple for their time and they walked back to the car, both deep in thought.
Why are you lying to us, Angus? What are you hiding?
Chapter 6
The phone call from the medical examiner’s office in Norfolk came just as Elise and Dinah had arrived in the office the following morning. “I thought you’d be interested to know,” said Dr. Walker on speakerphone, cheery as ever. Dinah wondered if the man ever had a bad mood.
“What’s that?” Elise asked.
“The DNA scraped from underneath the victim’s fingernails and the dark hairs found in the victim’s apartment? They match; it’s the same DNA. Whoever left hair in her apartment also left skin underneath her nails.”