by Chris Culver
I nodded. “That’s what my phone says.”
Vince slowly wrapped his hands around the fence’s crossbar. “I feel like I should get a tetanus shot for just visiting here.”
“Not a bad idea.”
Vince hopped the fence as I had, eyeing his surroundings warily. “Lead on.”
I walked for about a hundred feet, calling for Simon every five or six steps, but over the sound of the interstate and trains, there was no way he could have heard me. As I approached the spot at which my GPS said Simon was located, that pit in my stomach grew to the point that I couldn’t focus on much other than it. I couldn’t see my dog, but I could see a pile of cardboard beneath the bridge. I moved the top box aside and saw his paw sticking out, unmoving.
“Simon?” I asked, my voice wavering. The paw didn’t move, so I pushed aside more boxes until I could see his torso.
“I’m sorry,” said Vince, standing beside me. I knelt down and put my hand on my dog’s side. He didn’t stir, nor could I feel movement or any warmth through his fur. He had been dead for a while, long enough for the people who killed him to disappear. Intellectually, I knew he was just a dog, but over the years, he had become more than that. Even on my worst days, he was excited to see me when I came home and he was always willing to sit beside me when I needed him. A dog may not have the mental capacity to develop feelings for his owner, but I loved him and I was responsible for him. He was my friend, and he didn’t deserve to die alone in a drainage ditch.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, boy,” I said, placing my hand upon his unmoving rib cage.
“What do you want to do?” asked Vince.
I wanted to sit down and grieve for the loss of a friend, but I didn’t have time. I knelt down to one knee and reached my hands beneath him. “Find out who killed him.”
“What are you going to do about him now?”
“I’ll call my vet’s emergency line. Her clinic has a service that picks up and cremates dead pets.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Vince.
“I’m not going to leave him here,” I said.
Vince looked up at the bridge above. “You think he got up there and fell somehow?”
“And a bunch of boxes just happened to fall on him, too?”
Vince walked a few steps toward the fence separating the river from the surrounding properties. “Simon was a big dog. Would he get into a stranger’s car on his own?”
“Usually he’s shy, but he’d follow a stranger through the gates of Hell and back if that stranger gave him baby carrots.”
Vince nodded. “Who knew that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “My vet, me, Katherine. I don’t know who else.”
“Not many people, though,” said Vince.
“Not many people,” I confirmed.
Vince took a breath and looked at the boxes. “Would Tess know?”
“He was her dog before he was mine.”
“So that’s a yes,” said Vince. I nodded. He pointed to the boxes. “The one on top is a refrigerator box, and there’s a blanket beneath the bridge. I think this was somebody’s home.”
“You think he’s still around here?”
Vince put his hands on his hips and looked up and down the river. “I don’t see him, but it’s worth looking into.”
He was probably right, but I had to take care of my dog before I started anything else. Simon was heavy, but I refused help when Vince offered. For some reason, it felt important that I carried him alone.
“If you stay with Simon,” said Vince, upon reaching the park from which we set out. “I’m going to see if I can get something that might convince our homeless friend to talk.”
“Sure.”
Vince climbed over the fence and jogged back to his car. I couldn’t climb the fence with Simon in my arms, so I reached over instead and laid him on the ground as gently as I could. The fence left a rust stain on my shirt where the fabric touched, but I didn’t care. I left him there and took out my cell phone and called my vet’s emergency number. She gave me the number of a pet cremation service that would pick up his body, so I took him to the street, giving me a plausible explanation for his death. As I waited, I sat on the ground beside him to tell him goodbye.
The technicians from the cremation service arrived before Vince returned. They put Simon in a thick black body bag similar to the ones carried by the coroner’s office and secured him in the back of a van.
“Was he hit by a car?” asked the tech, a thin, middle-aged man with a big nose and hair like a tangled mass of copper electrical wires. I nodded, and he patted me on the shoulder, something he probably did to a lot of clients. “I’m sorry. We’ll take good care of him and deliver his ashes to your vet’s office.”
My voice wavered. “Thank you.”
He smiled before climbing into the driver’s seat of his van and leaving the park. I walked to a water fountain near the soccer fields and washed my hands and face as well as I could in the thin stream. I couldn’t help but think that this was how it would start. This was how Tess planned to even the score, by hurting or killing everyone I loved, one at a time. I had to stop her.
20
When Vince said he planned to get something to make our homeless witness talk, I’d expected him to run by a liquor store, which probably says more about me and my prejudices than the area’s homeless community. Instead, he drove by a grocery store and bought a can opener, a dozen cans of soup, two small flashlights, and a package of plastic spoons. We headed back to the river to find signs of our homeless witness, this time aided by the light and the knowledge of what we were searching for.
“You want to talk about Simon?” asked Vince.
“I don’t think there’s anything to say until we find out what happened to him.”
Vince grunted. “Ashley’s going to take this hard.”
I nodded. “I know, and I don’t know what I’ll tell her.”
“Whatever you say, give her a hug afterwards. She’ll be okay if she knows you’re not going anywhere.”
Except of course for the very real possibility that I’d be going to prison in the near-term future for lying under oath in a murder trial.
We walked maybe a quarter of a mile in darkness, flashing our lights at anything that moved. The concrete banks sloped up at a roughly forty-five degree angle, but thick vegetation spilled over the sides, creating vines that we could use as handholds if we needed to climb out quickly. Aside from the rats, Vince and I were alone, which didn’t surprise me. Last I heard, St. Louis had roughly two thousand homeless persons, most of whom lived either in shelters or clustered in parks near those shelters. No one could live in a dry riverbed long-term, though, which meant the homeless person we sought was likely just passing through.
We followed the river north to Hampton Avenue. The spillway hadn’t dried completely in parts, leaving fetid pools of water every hundred feet or so. In better economic conditions, the county probably would have sprayed down there to control the insect population, but given the current budgetary conditions, they didn’t even have the money to hire enough police officers to maintain their current force levels. Vermin control was considerably further down the list. I brushed my hands over my arms and neck periodically to knock away the flies. At least it wasn’t mosquito season.
About a hundred feet past the Hampton Avenue Bridge, Vince held up a hand and pointed his light at an evergreen bush on the side of the spillway. A second plant with thorny vines had grown through it and around it, smothering its host like the tentacles of an octopus. The leaves quivered ever so slightly.
“I know you’re back there,” said Vince. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to talk.”
“What do you want?”
It was the high-pitched, almost nasally voice of a girl.
“We want to talk,” I said, glancing at Vince. “We even brought a little food if you want it.”
“Twenty-five bucks.”
I looked at Vince and furrowed my brow before turning back to the bush. “You want me to give you twenty-five dollars?”
“That’s what it costs. I’m not giving it away.”
“Okay, then,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “What does the money get me?”
“That gets you off, however you want it.”
I stopped and slid my wallet back into my pocket. “We just want to talk. I can pay you for that, but we’re not here for sex.”
The bush shook again, and a young woman emerged. A clip held wavy brown hair from her face, exposing skin that likely wouldn’t see wrinkles for at least another decade. Her eyes drew my attention first. Pale blue and washed out, they belonged to someone who had seen too much of the world too soon and subsequently quit looking. Her jeans were frayed at the knees, and dirt caked arms so spindly they reminded me of the legs of a spider. Despite her attire and the filth of her home, I could feel her disdain for us even twenty feet away. There was strength there; I could see that even from where I stood. What she could have been had life been kinder to her, I didn’t know, but what I saw in front of me was a dead woman three years off.
“What do you want to know?” she asked.
“We brought some food,” I said, pointing to the bag Vince held. “It’s not much, but it’s yours.”
“I don’t need your food.”
Vince put the plastic sack on the ground. “We’re going to leave it for you anyway. If you don’t want it, you can give it to someone who needs it. Is that okay with you?”
She looked at the bag and nodded almost imperceptibly. “All right.”
“I used to be a police officer in the city,” said Vince. “I know somebody who works at a shelter for teenagers. If you want, I can call her. Her shelter will take you in for the night and let you get cleaned up. No strings, no sermons, no bullshit.”
“You used to be a cop,” she said. “What are you now?”
“I’m a private investigator. I work for a lawyer.”
She looked at me. “And what are you?”
“I’m just a guy. I write books, nothing special.”
She ran her eyes up and down me as if assessing my level of threat. “I don’t need help, ’specially not from you two.”
“We found a camp near the Arsenal Street Bridge,” said Vince. “Do you know it?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you live there?” he asked.
“I stayed there,” she said. “I don’t live nowhere.”
“We can help you,” I said. “We’ll get you somewhere safe if you want.”
“That’s what a lot of guys say,” she said.
“We mean it. We’re not here to hurt you,” I said. “Somebody broke into my house and killed my dog. He left his body at that camp. That’s why we’re here.”
“You got a house,” she said, looking at me with renewed interest. “That’s nice. I ain’t ever lived in a house.”
Vince stepped forward. “We can’t get you a house, and we can’t take you home, but we can get you a bed of your own. You won’t have to fight anybody for it, and you won’t have to do anything with anyone to get it. You say the word, I’ll make a call. You won’t even have to trust me. A couple of volunteers—women—will come down and pick you up. They’ll give you some food and take care of you.”
“And what do I have to do for your help?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” said Vince. “But we’d appreciate it if you talked to us.”
“I saw him and ran,” she said. “That’s all I got to tell you.”
“You saw who?” I asked.
“The guy carrying the dog. He had mean eyes, and I didn’t want any part of that.”
“What happened?” I asked.
She shrugged. “I saw him walking towards me, so I ran. That’s it.”
I started to ask something, but Vince held up a hand, stopping me. “Do you know what time this was?”
She tilted her head to the side and scowled. “Do I look like I got a watch?”
“Was the sun still up?” he asked.
“No. It was down, but not for too long.”
“Was there enough light to see his face?”
The girl brushed a lock of oily brown hair from her face and over her shoulder. “Maybe, I don’t know.”
Vince simply nodded. “That’s okay. I think you might be surprised at everything you remember, though. Could you tell if he was white, or black, or Hispanic, maybe?”
“He was a black guy. He was big.”
“Big as in fat?” asked Vince, extending his arms in front of him as if he were a pregnant woman rubbing her belly.
“Nah, he was big, like a football player. Not fat.”
“Okay, that’s helpful,” said Vince. “See, look at all you remember. Did you see his clothes?”
“He wore black. I couldn’t see them well.”
“How about his face?” asked Vince. “Did you see that?”
She hesitated “Yeah. He got a scar on his cheek, like something cut him. His eyes were yellow.”
Vince looked at me, and I nodded. It seemed Moses Tarawally was no longer content simply sending Katherine pictures.
“Was he alone?” he asked.
The girl started to say something, but then shook her head no. “No, he had a woman with him.”
“A woman?” I asked, already dreading what she was going to say next.
“Yeah, a woman. She had blonde hair. Real pretty.”
From the description, it could have been almost anyone, but I knew who it was. Moses played a role, certainly, but he was just a lackey. Tess was the shot caller. The kiss in the parking lot, the pictures to Katherine, the breakin at my house, everything had been part of her setup.
“Okay,” said Vince. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help. Do you want me to call my friend in the shelter now? She’ll take care of you.”
“I’ve been in enough shelters.”
“Here, then,” said Vince, reaching for his wallet. I thought he was going to give her some money—and I’m sure she did too by the way her eyes widened and the smile lit her lips—but instead, he pulled out a business card. “This has my phone number on it. If you change your mind, give me a call. I’ll put you in touch with Sister Theresa.” He knelt and put that card inside the bag of food. “I’m just going to leave this here. There’s a package of plastic spoons and a can opener inside, too.”
She harrumphed and turned her head, and Vince and I both started backing off. We couldn’t give her much help, but at least she wouldn’t go hungry that night. When we were about fifty feet away and she hadn’t followed us, we turned and started back toward Vince’s car. Neither of us said anything until we were out of earshot, and even then, we spoke quietly.
“You want to talk about Tess now?” asked Vince.
My hands balled into fists at my side. “Not really.”
“How about Moses Tarawally?”
My mouth opened, but I couldn’t form words at first. “He’s just as dangerous as he was before. Nothing’s changed.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?”
I looked at the unkempt weeds, at the flies buzzing around pools of stagnant water, at the long, straight ditch in front of us. We were alone.
“If Moses wanted to hurt me, he could have. He didn’t, which means he had a good reason not to. Until we figure what he really wants, I can’t say how much of a threat he is.”
Vince stared at me. “I had no idea your balls were that big.”
I looked at him and forced myself to grin. “Your ex-wife said something similar to me once.”
“This is serious, Steven. You don’t want this guy after you.”
I nodded and felt my lips go straight and flat. “I know, but there’s not much use worrying about him if I can’t do anything about him. We’ll deal with him when we can. Let’s just get out of here.”
“Sure.”
When we got back to the car,
we climbed inside without saying another word and drove back to Webster Groves, where Vince parked in front of my house.
“You staying here tonight?”
“For now. I think Tess might have left me a surprise in the cold-air return duct in my bedroom.”
“Oh?” asked Vince.
“Yeah. The grate was loose earlier.”
“You want me to go in with you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This is between the two of us. If I need you, I’ll give you a call.”
“If you change your mind about staying at my house, my guest room is open. You’ve got a key; just don’t wake up the kid. He gets cranky.”
Vince didn’t actually have a child, or even a significant other with whom to have a child; instead, he had a Scottish terrier named Felix to whom he had given complete run of the house.
“Thank you,” I said. “I needed your help tonight, and you came through. I don’t know how many people would have done that. You’re a good friend.”
“Just remember that next time one of my ex-girlfriends comes back from the dead and breaks into my house.”
Normally, I might have laughed at that; I couldn’t find anything to laugh about tonight, though, so I simply nodded. “I’ll do that.”
21
He drove off, and I walked around the exterior of my home, looking to make sure my windows were still intact and that no one had kicked in any of my other doors. After deciding that the place looked secure, I walked inside again but stopped in the kitchen. Katherine and I bought that house three years ago, and nearly every time I came home in those three years, someone—Simon, Katherine, Ashley—had greeted me. The quiet emptiness now magnified the melancholy that had been developing inside me.
Before leaving the kitchen, I grabbed a footstool and turned on the front hall lights. The first time I had laid eyes on my house, I fell in love with it. I think Katherine did, too. Our realtor warned us not to do that, but we couldn’t help it; it fit us. It had character, room to expand, great schools, and a fantastic yard for Simon, everything we had wanted. Before we had even finished the tour, I had already started imagining myself teaching my kids how to throw a baseball in the backyard.