Steve almost smiled when he remembered the nickname, hoping that it might break the tension and then ease him out the door on time. “Snake, isn’t it?”
Snake nodded and seemed to relax a bit. Steve opened a desk drawer, pulled out a file, and began flipping through the pages. As Steve scanned one form after another, Snake picked up a framed photograph of Steve with Laura and the kids from Steve’s desk.
“This your old lady?” Snake said, looking at Laura’s face intently.
Steve barely looked at Snake as he retrieved the photo and set it back on his desk and answered off-handedly, “Yeah, my family. The social worker, the doctor, and their two boys.”
Snake’s eyes opened wide.
Steve finally looked up from the paperwork. “You know, your mother missed her last two appointments with me, and I got a call from the disability office saying she had failed to show up there, too. There’s no phone number in the file so I couldn’t call to check.”
“There ain’t no phone, so there ain’t no number. But what dif do that make? There ain’t no hot water either. Look man, she’ll fill out the papers when she can.”
Steve dropped the file back into the drawer with a sigh. Then he stood up and said, “She has to file them on time, just like everyone else. She has to follow the rules. Tell your mother that if she wants, I can help her file a reinstatement application.”
Steve grabbed his coat off a hook on the wall and pulled it on. He leaned across his desk to offer his hand to Snake, but Snake refused to take it.
Steve shrugged. “I really have to go now.” He was out the door, buttoning his coat against the already dark and brutally cold January evening, when Snake burst out after him.
“What do you know about following rules? My mama busted herself up following rules, taking care of those old folks. You even know ’bout that she’s a nurse aide? She works hard, on double shifts ’cause nobody want to take care of them old people downtown. She works so hard she ruined her back. Then the rules say, you can’t lift, you can’t work. She keeps working, ‘course, had to work, pain or no pain. Then she starts taking meds, man, for the pain, cause she has to pick up the old folks and do her job.”
Snake stayed right beside Steve as he walked toward his car, and Steve stiffened as Snake leaned in close, almost shouting. Then Steve suddenly felt queasy, mentally measuring whether he would be able to defend himself. He picked up his pace.
“Hey, you ain’t listening. How’s she gonna do any forms when she’s laid up in the hospital?” Snake shouted. He grabbed Steve’s arm just as Steve reached the Falcon and started to unlock the driver’s side door.
A jolt of fear that ran up Steve’s arm as Snake latched onto it disappeared as quickly as it had come. It had never entered Steve’s mind that Leona might have a good reason for not meeting the deadline. A surge of embarrassment rushed through him followed by something else: compassion for his client. Something he felt less and less frequently since living in Detroit.
“Okay. What happened?” Steve asked.
Snake’s breathing slowed, and he let go of Steve’s arm. As he did Steve noticed the blue crescents outlining the young man’s hands and wondered if he had some kind of disease. Maybe he’d ask Laura if blue fingernails were a sign of something horrible. Distracted by the blue, he’d almost missed Snake’s response. “Car accident. She’ll be okay. They say she’ll be out soon.”
Steve opened the car door and said, “I’m glad. I really have to get over to the garage to pick up my car and get this one back to my wife, but I’ll call around tomorrow, explain the extenuating circumstances.”
“Now, man. She needs help now,” Snake shouted in Steve’s face. “You and your cars can just wait.”
Steve stood his ground. “You’re right,” he said. “Your mother does need help. She needs my help and I will make those calls tomorrow, when the disability office is open. Right now it’s closed. But she needs your help, too. If you got a job, she wouldn’t have to rely on the measly amount of money the city can give.”
Snake took a step back and Steve took that opportunity to slip into the station wagon. Before he closed the door, he added, “You did a good thing today, coming to see me for your mother’s sake, but you’re no helpless kid. You care so much about your mother, get yourself a job.” Steve yanked the car door shut, turned on the engine, and pulled out.
Snake watched the car pull away, the billowing clouds forming around the exhaust pipe. It was cold outside, that was for sure, but inside he was all heated up. This whitie blew him and his mama off as usual, Mr. Important Whitie and his yellow-haired doctor wife in that picture.
The doc from the hospital the day he visited Anthony. Stacy thought she was the one that Johnny saw in the emergency room, the one who messed up Anthony so bad. Johnny was the only one who’d know for sure. But Snake did know two new things: he knew who owned the black Falcon wagon that near hit him comin’ out of a parking lot the night Johnny was lyin’ dead just a block away; and he knew the name of the yellow-hair doctor he’d seen with Anthony.
Stomach growling, fingers drumming the steering wheel as he waited for a break in traffic, Steve suddenly remembered. During one of their sessions Leona Rogers mentioned that her son wanted to be an artist. He was working on some sort of outdoor art project instead of looking for a real job. Painting on a wall near the Art Museum. Steve realized that the blue color on Snake’s hands must be paint. Too bad the hotheaded kid had no sense of work ethic. For Steve, Leona had become a prototype in this society of matriarchs: undereducated; back breaking work for a pittance; an obstinate social welfare system; now more medical bills. No wonder he was becoming more and more disillusioned. How could he help these people?
Traffic started moving and Steve considered the more optimistic view. Maybe the Snake kid would make it out. Maybe he’d become a great artist. Right. More likely, Mr. Snake Rogers would end up in jail. Leona said he already used drugs.
As Steve approached the garage, he wondered what drove people to do what they did? Snake, painting? Laura, medicine? Obsessions that he could not comprehend. Once Laura had tried to explain to him that medicine was like a vocation. Like being a priest or a nun. Bullshit. She was a mother for God’s sake. Why wasn’t that enough? Why hadn’t he been honest with her about her ambitions from the beginning instead of telling her to go ahead when he’d really resented her decision.
Or was there something lacking in him? All he wanted was to be a good husband and father. A good provider and a stronger father than his own. That’s all that mattered to him. Sure, he wanted to do his job well, but if something better came along, he’d have no problem giving it up. Unlike Laura, there was no passion about what he did every day. He’d started college as a communications major. Why had he changed to social work? Because he wanted the security of knowing he’d always have a job. Well, it’s a good thing he had a job, because he had to pay all the bills, including a full-time babysitter so Laura could go to school.
As Steve parked Laura’s Falcon outside the shop, he breathed deeply. A smile played on his lips as Laura’s scent erased his irritability, and he envisioned his wife’s beautiful smile. Yes, despite it all, they were a great couple. Laura with her emerald green eyes, her golden hair. Together they’d made two beautiful kids: Mikey with Laura’s green eyes and Kevin’s blue, like his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Heavy snow had been falling steadily. By 6:00 p.m., five inches had accumulated. Snowplows were out on the main roads. The freeways should be clear, but the back streets would be a mess.
Laura and Susan both grimaced as they reached the heavy gray doors of the basic science building and looked out at the clogged, unplowed street. In the entranceway, Dr. Monroe stood talking to a man in an expensive cashmere coat.
“Hey, I know that guy,” Susan whispered.
“He looks familiar. Who is it?”
“Can’t put a name to him. Cripes, Laura,” Susan said, “it’s going to be tough d
riving in this.”
Laura nodded as she watched the pair of men shake hands and walk their separate ways. “Yeah. I wish we hadn’t stayed so long.”
“My fault for taking so long in micro lab.”
Laura glanced down at Susan’s thin black flats. “You wait here. I’ll go get the car. Okay if I leave my microscope here with you? It’s so darned heavy. I sure wish I’d finished my histology project so I didn’t have to lug this home tonight.” She shifted the pile of books she held in her arms.
“Of course. Go ahead,” Susan said glancing down at Laura’s feet. “Girl, you were smart to wear boots. Didn’t realize snow was in the forecast.”
“You had Dr. Will in your forecast. I want details on the ride home,” Laura called as she headed out the door.
Trudging as fast as she could through the heavy snow, Laura found her car nearly obliterated by a blanket of white. She used her glove to wipe the snow off the lock to find the keyhole then managed to unlock the driver’s door and open it, sending white powder in all directions. Dumping her books onto the front seat, she reached for the snow scraper. Something seemed amiss. It was an eerie, unexplainable sensation.
Resolutely, Laura grabbed the scraper and trudged to the back of the wagon. She cleared the rear window as best she could while more snow fell. She saw a few other students in the nearly empty lot doing the same thing as she made her way to the front windshield, passenger side first. Finally reaching the driver’s side window, the scraper encountered something — a piece of cardboard lodged under the windshield wiper.
Laura reached for the cardboard. On one side, there was a faded Dole pineapple label. She turned it over and noticed some writing there but it was too dark to make out the words. Probably one of her classmates with a smart remark about last semester’s grades, she thought.
After pushing the bulky white snow from the doorframe, she got in and started the engine, setting the heater and defroster to high. She wondered what kind of message was scrawled on the cardboard scrap. A note for Susan from Will perhaps? She flipped on the overhead light, pulled off her gloves, and examined the soggy piece of cardboard. The ink was wet and runny, the words in red marker, disconcertingly reminding her of blood. Through the blur, the letters were crude but unmistakable. A wave of terror pulsed through her as she read, you can’t hide — killer bitch.
She froze. Just when she thought she was safe. Somebody must know. Laura sat immobilized as the car heater began to blow warm air, creating an arc of clear window in front of her. She now saw that there were no other cars close to hers. “Stay calm. Put the car in reverse, back out of this spot and pick up Susan,” she said aloud.
The falling snow had already obscured her rear view, but she was too scared to get out to brush the snow off the back window. She shifted the automatic transmission into reverse. Nothing happened. The station wagon did not move. She had expected some sliding on the icy surface underneath the accumulated snow. She’d grown up in Western Michigan where a few inches of snow was nothing, so why wasn’t anything happening? She almost floored the gas pedal. The car lurched.
Something was wrong. She checked the gauges. There was no blinking oil light, and the engine had started just fine. The gearshift mechanism seemed okay, and there was plenty of gas. She again put it in reverse but made no progress. Was it a flat? Remembering the threatening note, Laura started to get out of the car to check the tires. Just as quickly, she jerked the door closed.
She couldn’t just sit in the deserted parking lot. She slid her frozen hands back into her gloves. Cautiously, she again pushed open the driver’s side door. She’d already turned on the headlights, figuring she’d need some light to find out what was wrong. She stepped out, petrified that at any instant a retaliatory bullet would rip through her. She approached the rear wheel on the driver’s side and with her gloved hand brushed aside enough snow in order to look closely at the tire.
She’d been right. It was flat. She’d expected that the car would be listing to the left, but it wasn’t. Why not? Pushing away more snow, she checked the other rear tire. She leaned down and heard her own heart pound like a drum. The second tire was flat, too.
Rising abruptly, Laura made her way back to the driver’s door. Hastily brushing her gloves together to free them of snow, she reached inside, grabbed her purse and yanked the keys out of the ignition. She saw the pile of medical texts and her priceless class notes on the front seat but chose to leave them, not wanting to waste any time. She closed the door, locked it and rushed back toward the school. A few yards away, she allowed herself a furtive glance back toward her car. With a wave of dismay she realized that she’d left the headlights on. Two new tires would cost plenty. She did not want to risk having to purchase a new battery too. Turning back, she trudged as fast as she could to the parked car. Keys ready, she approached the door, opened it, and reached in to turn off the headlights. The cardboard note was lying on the floor of the front seat. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her coat pocket.
Susan was waiting just inside the heavy doors, trying to keep warm. Her expression turned to one of surprise as she saw Laura push through the big door.
“Geez, I am so sorry. I didn’t even see the car pull up,” she apologized. “Guess I was too preoccupied about stuff. I’ve got physiology lab tomorrow. We’re going to do cardiac stimulation experiments on a dog, and I’ve been chosen for the actual surgery.”
“You didn’t miss anything. We’ve got a problem,” Laura said.
“What kind of problem?”
“I’ve got two flat tires. The car won’t move. God, Steve’ll flip. His car was just in for repairs yesterday. Now this.” “Oh, no, that’s awful. I’ll call my dad. He should still be at the precinct. Maybe he can swing by and pick us up.”
Laura panicked. A ride home with Detective Reynolds after their recent conversation? She managed what she hoped was a civil reply. “Nah, don’t bother him. I’ll get in touch with Steve. He can pack up the kids and drive down to get us. Then tomorrow, once the lot is plowed, he can come down and change the tires.”
“Laura, that’s silly. In this weather? It’ll take forever. Here, you watch our stuff. I’m calling my dad. The station is all of five minutes away.” Not waiting for an answer, she headed for the pay phones in the hallway.
Laura waited anxiously, her hand wrapped around the damp piece of cardboard in her pocket.
When she returned, Susan smiled. “Dad is on his way. Caught him as he was leaving,” she explained. “He’ll be here in a few minutes, just enough time for me to run for a candy bar at the vending machines. Can I get you one?”
Laura started to tremble. “No thanks. I’ll wait here.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, the detective pulled up in a dark blue Pontiac. To Laura, it looked like the perfect unmarked police car, and her palms began to perspire inside her gloves. He certainly wouldn’t question her again about that night in front of his own daughter, would he?
Laura loaded her wooden microscope box into the back seat and climbed in beside it as Susan hopped up front with her dad.
“Hello, detective,” Laura began, “it’s nice to see you again.”
“Same, Mrs. Nelson,” he responded politely, turning around to meet her gaze. “Sorry about your car. Flat tire?”
Laura nodded briefly and looked away.
“Not one but two flats, Dad.” Susan added. “Can you believe it?”
“I wanted to get in touch with Steve, but Susan insisted on calling you first. Anyway, thanks for picking us up.”
“Anything for my most favorite daughter and her friend,” he replied. “I’m glad you two caught me in time. The roads are really getting treacherous.”
“Dad, I’m your only daughter,” Susan said. She gave her father a generous smile and turned to face Laura. “And, Dad, how about ‘Laura’? ‘Mrs. Nelson’ sounds way too formal.”
Laura nodded and tried to smile as Detective Reynolds glanced back before h
eading toward the student parking lot rather than the entrance ramp to the Chrysler Expressway.
“Okay, then, Laura. I just want to take a look at your car.” Reynolds had pulled into the parking lot, his heavy-duty snow tires rolling easily over the snow. “Where is it?”
“Oh, don’t go to any trouble,” Laura responded hastily. “I must’ve run over some broken glass. It’s all over the place.”
“Just take a minute. I want to make sure nothing else is going on here. I assured Dean Burke some months back that my uniformed men would continue to patrol the area around the med school carefully, and I intend to keep my word.” He had slowed to a crawl, the snow crunching beneath the tires.
“It’s the small station wagon over there,” Laura managed. She pointed to one of the four snow-covered vehicles still left in the lot.
Laura shivered. She had read enough detective novels to imagine him deciphering the clues that must be all around, and said a silent prayer that he would not notice anything amiss.
John Reynolds slipped on a knit cap and got out of the car. Shining his flashlight around the ground, he then moved the beam methodically over the hood and to the left front tire and then along the driver’s side to the rear tire. Carefully, he walked around the entire car. Laura began to panic as she watched him pay particular attention to the two front tires, pushing aside the heavy wet snow with his gloves and boots. Then, he shone the penetrating light directly into the car, checking the driver’s side lock. Circling once more, he directed the beam onto the ground around the car. Would there be footprints other than hers? Laura had not even looked, but then, the falling snow would have obliterated them. Right? She squeezed her eyes shut, not daring to look. Then she felt a spray of snow as Detective Reynolds opened the driver’s door of the sedan. He stuck his head in, turning to Laura in the back seat.
Shadow of Death Page 15