Death's Echoes

by Penny Mickelbury

  “I packed my bags when I was there. I’ll go back and live with my parents . . . Boss, please don’t kick me out of the unit!”

  “If IA clears you, I have no reason to drop you, Jay. This unit will support and defend you until or unless we’re given a reason not to.”

  “Thanks, Boss,” he said, and he saluted and hurried across the room to Action Central, just as Eric arrived with arms extended, coffee in one hand, juice in the other. She grabbed the cup of juice first and swallowed it in one long, thirsty gulp.

  “There’s more where that came from,” Eric said. “The Phillipses, bless ’em, brought four gallons of the stuff.”

  “I’d marry them if I weren’t already spoken for,” Gianna said.

  “You’d have to get in line,” Eric said with a wide grin. “Behind me!” And in an unusual display of familiarity he slung an arm across her shoulders as they joined the crowd in Action Central. On one screen they watched the activity at the warehouse, which now included the girls being carried out on gurneys and loaded into the kind of ambulances Gianna had seen only on news reports of tragedies in other parts of the world. Gianna was whispering to Eric that they needed to replace the steel door of the warehouse when a cheer went up as on another screen Larry, Curly and Moe were led out of a nondescript ranch house in handcuffs and each put into the back seat of a Virginia State Police squad car. And an even louder cheer erupted as the Virginia Staties sealed the side door of the panel van with crime scene tape and Connally climbed into the driver’s seat. Was he on his way home? If so, they’d have the evidence needed to document the evil that had transpired in the Broad Street warehouse.

  Gianna approached another screen and pointed to it. “Do we know who he is, where he is?”

  “Yes, Boss,” several voices answered her.

  “Then go get him,” she said, grimly satisfied that the baby-raper who had blown their operation and then given them the finger soon would be in her custody. She took out her phone to call the Chief to learn if they could give real names to Larry, Curly, and Moe, and stop insulting three other fellas who made people laugh instead of cry.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Well if it isn’t JJZ! Where’s the Queen B? Somewhere making beautiful music with the lieutenant who can do no wrong, leaving you to do all the work?” Ian had spoken loudly enough that everyone within a ten-foot radius heard him, which, Joe thought, was his intention. To call the man clueless was to grossly understate. Joe stepped around him and headed for his desk. Mimi had stopped in the loo. He hoped Ian would vanish before she appeared, but it didn’t seem likely that would happen as Ian continued his high-decibel trash talking.

  “That guy is an idiot,” said Carolyn Warshawski, one of the weekend editors. “I don’t know why they keep him.”

  “The guy is an asshole,” said night editor Henry Smith, “and he’s still here only because his probationary period isn’t up yet. The Exec’ll let him get right up to the edge, let him think he’s got it made, then dump his dumb ass.”

  Carolyn looked at Henry, into rheumy eyes set deeply into sockets rimmed with equally deep wrinkles and bags, and knew that he was correct. He’d been around longer than most, including the Exec, and he knew how the place worked. “The sooner the better, Henry,” she said.

  “I just wish Patterson had been around to hear what he said, the little fuck. She’d have cleaned his clock and left the pieces on the floor.”

  Carolyn made a sound and Henry looked at her, then to where she was looking, to see Mimi headed toward them. Well, not really toward them as much as toward her desk, but they were in her path. So was Ian, but Mimi gave no indication that she saw him. She spoke to and nodded at several people along the way, and she was about to speak to Carolyn and Henry, both of whom she considered friends, when Ian spoke to her.

  “Patterson! A little afternoon delight with the lovely lieutenant?” he said, speaking even louder than he had before.

  “Oh, shit,” somebody muttered as Mimi stopped walking and stood as still as a post in cement.

  Ian apparently had no sense of peril because he kept talking. “Give me an hour with her and I’ll make her forget all about that wanna-be plastic dick you dykes use. Or is it rubber? I’ll slide nine inches of the real thing in her—”

  Mimi’s fist met his jaw with such speed and power that witnesses weren’t sure he’d been hit until he was spiraling backward, yelling at the top of his lungs, arms flailing in a futile attempt to grab and hold something to break his fall. Everyone who could have provided that cushion, that safety net for Ian, quickly moved out of the way, leaving the wall of army-green, old as dirt, metal file cabinets at the back of the room the only option. He hit them hard, and fell to the floor, hitting it just as hard.

  The Exec had come out of his office at the sound of Ian’s yelling to find the newsroom staff surrounding Mimi Patterson, and cheering her. Nobody but Henry Smith was thinking—worrying—that it was likely that Mimi had broken either her hand or Ian’s jaw, and quite possibly both.

  “What the hell is going on?” the Exec thundered, and his eyes narrowed to slits as he looked toward the end of the room, where Ian was struggling to his feet. His eyes found the two editors who were present. He looked from one to the other, solid and reliable, the both of them. “Do you two know what happened out here?” And when both nodded in the affirmative, he ordered them into his office. It was a short conversation. He asked them to repeat what they’d heard, confirmed that they agreed about what they heard, asked them to type it up and have it to him within the hour, thanked and dismissed them. By the time Carolyn and Henry emerged from his office, Ian had made his way to the front of the room, rubbing his face and cursing all in his path.

  “You fuckers! You could’ve caught me! Why didn’t you?!”

  “Because you’re such a charming and polite fellow,” Joe Zemekis said. He’d come to stand close to Mimi in case Ian had retaliation on his mind, but he need not have worried.

  “My office, Wilson!” the Exec bellowed from his office door, and Ian looked almost pleased to answer the summons. He was about to sit down when the Exec snarled, “You are suspended, with pay. Report to HR immediately, which means get your sorry ass out of my office!” The Exec followed him to the door, waving away whatever it was Ian Wilson wanted to say for himself. “Straight to HR, and I mean that, do you understand me, Wilson?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ian Wilson had the good sense to respond.

  “Patterson!” the Exec yelled. “My office,” and the smirk almost returned to Ian Wilson’s face.

  “Hang tough, Patterson,” Zemekis whispered to Mimi as she followed the Exec into his office, having the good sense not to attempt to sit down though she very much wanted to. Her hand hurt like hell. She’d take whatever punishment was coming if it meant that she could go run her hand under a stream of cold water. Then she mentally corrected herself: She didn’t know what the punishment was for hitting another employee on company property. Shit, damn, and hellfire.

  “Carolyn and Henry told me what Wilson said to you. Crude little fucker, isn’t he? I don’t blame you for smacking him. Carolyn and Henry both said they’d have smacked him, too, if you hadn’t been so quick off the mark.” He looked at the right hand she was cradling in the left. “Hurts like hell, does it?”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered.

  “Go to medical and see the nurse. Find out if you broke anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said again, and waited to hear what her punishment was.

  “You want anything else, Patterson?”

  “Ah, no, sir.”

  “Then get outta my office and go do some work.” He sat down at his desk and picked up the sheets of some reporter’s story. Then he looked back at her. “You and Zemekis making any headway on that Sunset View thing?”

  “Yes, sir. We are.”

  He nodded. “Good. I’ll take a progress report whenever you have one,” he said, and returned his attention to the story he was readi
ng, dismissing her.

  The crowd outside his door had not diminished, and it presented one questioning face to her: What was her fate?

  She held out her hand. “I’m supposed to go see the nurse, see if I broke anything, then Zemekis and I are supposed to get back to work.”

  There was a cheer, a chorus of Atta Girls and Way to go Pattersons, a few claps on the shoulder, one hug, one kiss on the cheek, and several whispers in her ear that Weasel Boy had been suspended. Then they all drifted back to their desks, and Joe draped his arm across her shoulders. “I’ll go see the nurse with you.”

  She nodded her thanks, and they headed for the elevator. “Suppose I have broken my hand, Joe,” she started to say, but he cut her off like a meat cleaver through soft butter.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Patterson! I’m not writing that monster story by myself! You can type one-handed!”

  She had no intention of letting him write the story by himself though she did doubt that she could type one-handed. Of course, she’d never tried.

  Gianna had agreed that Mimi could talk to Sonia Alvarez, Virgie Barrett and Alfreda Tompkins, and to the cops keeping watch over them—Linda Lopez, Alice Long and Bobby Gilliam. The cops were decidedly less than happy about the arrangement but they were under orders, and Mimi watched their demeanor shift as they saw how their charges responded to Mimi. They met at Virgie’s, as much because she was the one who had initiated the original contact as because she had no police officer living with her. When she opened the door, she grabbed Mimi and pulled her into a long, warm embrace, which didn’t really surprise her. The fact that Sonia and Alfreda followed suit did, however. She knew that Sonia was grateful for Linda’s presence, but she’d had no sense that Alfreda had any strong feelings for her, positively or negatively.

  “Come on in, Ms. Patterson! We’re so glad to see you!” Virgie enthused, ushering her into the living room and over to the armchair that clearly was the prime seat in the room. “And I hope you brought your appetite ’cause we’ve got food!”

  Mimi stopped halfway down to sitting to take a look into the dining room. If tables really could groan under the weight of copious amounts of food, as she’d read, then this one should be yelling “uncle!” “That’s an awful lot of food,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as ravenous as the sight of the food-laden table made her.

  “You ever seen Bobby Gilliam eat?” Alice Long queried, not at all in jest.

  “Hey!” Bobby exclaimed as laughter erupted. Apparently they’d all seen Bobby eat.

  “I appreciate you all taking the time to see me,” Mimi said. “I wanted to check in with you, to follow up, to see how you’re doing, to make sure the cops aren’t eating you out of house and home.” And she was as relieved to see that the cops joined in the laughter as she was to see that all the women looked so much better than when she’d last seen them. They no longer looked stressed and worried and frightened and fearful. They no longer looked hopeless and helpless, and Mimi hoped that was because they no longer felt that way.

  “By the way, Patterson, what happened to your hand?” Everybody no doubt had noticed the lightweight cast she wore, but it was Alice who asked the question.

  “She probably punched somebody,” Bobby said playfully. Then his expression changed when he looked closely at her. “Shit! You really did punch somebody, didn’t you? Who?”

  Sonia Alvarez looked appalled. “Reporters can punch people?”

  “Only if they really need punching,” Alice said with a sly grin. “So?”

  “I’ll bet it was that jerk she works with, the one the Boss threw out of Mrs. Ali’s room,” Linda offered with way too much insight. “What did he do?”

  “He said something I didn’t like about somebody I do like.”

  “Then I hope you broke his jaw,” Bobby said. “Good on ya, Patterson. Oohrah.”

  Sonia Alvarez jumped to her feet. “You a Marine, Detective Gilliam?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, and he knew in that moment that a cop had raped the wife of a Marine who’d given his life in the service of his country. Two dirty cops in the same place was too much—Mimi could see it all over his face, could see it in his body. She wondered if she should tell Gianna and let her get Gilliam out of there before he killed somebody. He saw her looking at him, reading her thoughts as if they were displayed on a screen on her forehead. He gave her a slight nod. “I’m good,” he said, and headed for the table. “I assume we’re supposed to eat all this food,” he said, and began loading a plate.

  Alice came to stand beside her and asked in a low voice, “Does the Boss know?” And when Mimi shook her head, “She won’t hear it from us. And I hope you at least left a mark if you didn’t break his jaw.”

  “He’ll feel it for a while,” Mimi said with a small smile, which netted her an “attagirl” from Alice who she knew, from Gianna, was one tough cop. If Alice had hit Weasel Boy he almost certainly would have a broken jaw as well as a few loose teeth. The thought comforted her.

  The food was good and Mimi ate a lot of it, grateful that there either was another vegetarian in the room or that lots of people liked guacamole, beans and rice, and salads with every vegetable on the planet thrown in just to make it interesting. The conversation was spirited and wide-ranging and Mimi found it interesting that when Sonia, Virgie, and Alfreda talked about their lives, it was before the circumstances that had brought Mimi to their door, and when they discussed their husbands, even if the discussion brought tears, it was without the despair Mimi had first heard from them. Was it just because they now felt safe, or was there something else at play? The only topic that was off limits was Alfreda’s sons. Even when Sonia and Virgie spoke of their children, nobody mentioned the Tompkins boys. It was as if they no longer or never had existed. Something within Mimi desperately wanted to raise the issue, but some other place within her—her higher self, perhaps?—prevented it. Hoping for encouragement from Bobby Gilliam, she sought his gaze, but he was obviously and intently avoiding the eye contact she sought, which let her know that a one-on-one chat with Detective Gilliam definitely was in order.

  “I do have some information to share with you,” Mimi said when everybody had finished second helpings and had their eyes on the desserts. “No hard facts right now, but I think that will change soon because my colleague, Joe Zemekis, is on his way to Pennsylvania—”

  “The crash!” Virgie Barrett exclaimed. “He’s going to find out what happened!”

  Mimi was nodding. “We think so,” she said.

  Virgie was weeping in earnest. “All this time nobody would tell us anything!” Sonia and Alfreda moved in close and put their arm around her and held her close, and that’s when another piece fell into place for Mimi. In addition to the fact of feeling safer, these women also felt that they mattered, that somebody cared enough about what was happening to them to do something about it.

  “Are you doing interviews this evening, Ms. Patterson?” Linda Lopez asked.

  Mimi shook her head. “I didn’t come here to write a story. I came for exactly the reason I said, for the reason I gave Lieutenant Maglione. I wanted to see how you all were doing.”

  Sonia’s phone rang then. She answered, listened for about three seconds, hung up, looked at Alfreda and said, “That Dexter is trying to break into your back door.”

  Bobby Gilliam was on his feet and halfway out the door. “I’ve got the back!” he said to Alice, who was right behind him and headed, Mimi knew, for Alfreda’s front door.

  “Watch here,” Alice said to Linda as she followed Bobby out. Linda Lopez triple-locked the front door and hurried to check the locks on the back door. She dimmed the lights and ordered everyone away from the windows.

  “That son of a bitch!” Alfreda spat the words from her mouth as if they were poison, and rage creased her face. Sonia and Virgie, too, registered only anger at the news of Dexter Davis’s violation. No trace was evident of the beaten-down resignation and fear that had marked these
women when Mimi first met them.

  She stood up. She needed to find out what was happening at Virgie’s, but Linda’s raised hand and quiet, calm voice stopped her. “Please, Ms. Patterson. We don’t know if he’s alone,” she said. What she didn’t say was that DD’s arrival at the back door might be a diversion or a setup, which was why they were sitting away from the front door in semi-darkness. Dexter Davis was truly a bad guy who had proven that he’d do anything to get his way. So, would he try to go in the back door and wait for her, or somebody like her, to open the front door? Sure he would. Mimi sat back down. Phil Diaz could be outside, waiting to rush Sonia Alvarez’s door. Or perhaps she’d been reading too many mystery novels. Then the “truth is stranger than fiction” reality smacked her upside the head and she remembered why she was there. Dexter Davis was a cop, a dirty cop, and three other cops whom she knew well were at that moment risking their lives to keep her safe, and she was the one who had put them at risk. Round and round. The shit cycle just kept going round and round.

  Two slow knocks at the front door, followed by three rapid ones. Linda opened it and Alice, gun in hand, entered. “All clear,” she said. “I think Bobby threw Davis down the back stairs. At least that’s what it sounded like. It also sounded like a car was waiting for him and it burned rubber on the way out. I got make, model, and partial plate. Nothing unusual in the front parking lot except for your vehicle,” Alice finished, looking directly at Mimi. Just in time she stopped herself from asking Alice how she knew what kind of car she drove. She and Gianna co-owned the damn thing.

  Mimi stood up. She had to get out of there right now! She’d planned to have private talks with each of the cops to gain some insight into their respective charges, but that would have to wait. “Is it OK if I leave?”

  “If you can wait until Bobby returns, that would be great,” Alice said, “then I’ll walk you to your car.” It wasn’t a request, so Mimi sat back down as Alice tucked the gun into the back waistband of her slacks and pulled her shirt down over it, but she kept her back to the door while Linda remained across the room within easy reach of Sonia, Virgie, and Alfreda. Mimi hadn’t seen Linda’s weapon but she knew it was there.