So it all came down to this. After all that thinkin’ and all that plannin’, hot rage, cold metal, and nowhere else to go.
In cap and gown, Laura stood in the midst of her family, struggling to appear interested in the fragmented tidbits of conversation while accepting congratulations and meeting her classmates’ guests as the kids ran among them.
“Laura, will you take Patrick?” Steve asked with some exasperation. “I’ve got to corral Kevin, the little menace.”
“I think this one belongs to you.” David stepped up behind the Nelson clan, Kevin in tow.
Laura froze at the sound of David’s voice behind her. Her heart pounded wildly, drumming into her ears. Certainly everyone could hear it.
“Dr. Monroe,” Steve said, “good to see you. Thanks for catching this little guy.” Steve reached for Kevin and whispered in his ear, “Go play with your Uncle Ted.” Steve then offered his hand to David, saying, “I thought your speech was truly inspiring. Almost made me want to go to med school.”
Laura finally turned around, holding Patrick over her left shoulder. She extended her hand to David, who held it for a long time. She managed to utter his name, yet she could not meet his eyes. Standing between Steve and David, she was completely unable to say anything else.
Mikey broke the silence as he approached with his sisters. “Dad, here’re the girls. I lost Stacy.”
“Mikey, this is Dr. Monroe?” Laura heard the tremble in her voice.
David reached out and shook Mikey’s hand. “I remember you, Mikey. Your favorite color is green and you’re an expert on cars.”
Mikey beamed. “I like red now.”
“He knows more about car models than I ever will,” Steve said. “Now, son, Kevin’s been looking for you. He’s over with Uncle Ted.”
Then Steve took each twin by the hand. “These are the babies you helped deliver,” he said to David.
“And they’re beautiful, absolutely beautiful.” David looked from one twin to the other several times, crouching and patting each girl on the head. “Nicole and Natalie, as I recall.”
Laura nodded.
“You don’t know how lucky you are to have such a beautiful family,” David looked quickly at Laura and then at Steve. “I’d give anything for this.”
“You haven’t met the newest member of the family,” Steve said. “Here’s Patrick. He’s eight-and-a-half months old. Kind of tired right now, but usually a bundle of energy.” To Laura, he said, “Listen, I’ll take the girls over to see Aunt Hazel. She wants pictures. She’s got some crazy idea about getting them into modeling.”
Laura smiled. “Okay, Steve.”
As Steve walked away, Laura turned so that David might see Patrick’s face. Holding her breath, she watched David’s expression change. At that instant, she knew. She could feel the outpouring of love for his son.
Without a word, David held out his arms. Patrick grabbed playfully for the colorful edge of David’s cape, obviously intrigued by the gold and crimson embroidery. Laura released the baby. Holding Patrick close to his heart, David struggled to find the right words to say to Laura, any words at all.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
The image of someone crouched in a clump of bushes at the edge of the crowd, grabbed Stacy’s attention. She sped toward the spot where Snake was hiding, dodging graduates and their families, oblivious to startled looks as she rushed by. She almost knocked the camera from the hands of a balding black man in a trim sports coat busily snapping photos of a tall, thin graduate with short curly hair. Moving quickly, Detective Reynolds thrust the camera into the hands of his surprised daughter as he turned and followed the racing young woman.
At the rear entrance to the courtyard, the bushes parted.
“Snake, don’t!” Stacy screamed.
With a steel gray pistol in hand, he took deliberate aim and fired into the crowd. Hearing Stacy’s voice, Snake straightened up and turned toward the narrow path that led from one corner of the yard to an open gate. People nearby who’d heard the shot began to back away, but Stacy was blocking his path, her arms grabbing at his shirt.
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Done it for you,” Snake snarled. Grabbing her, he pulled her forcefully through the fanning crowd. “Girl, you’re coming with me. Let’s go.”
“No,” she screamed. With a violent twist, Stacy lurched free of his grip.
In a flash, Snake thrust out his free arm to grab her, gun still smoking in his other hand.
Stacy lost her balance as she tried to evade Snake’s grasp. Lurching forward, she hit the ground hard, biting her lip, tasting blood. As Snake bent to pick her up, she clutched his baggy pant leg, so that he too nearly fell. The crowd shrank back further as the gun flailed in the air.
“Get up, girl.” Snake tugged at Stacy to pull her upright. “We gotta get the fuck outta here. Now!”
Behind them footsteps pounded the ground and John Reynolds arrived breathing hard, his weapon out and ready. “Police! Drop the gun,” he shouted. “Drop it now. Out of the way, people!”
Snake let go of Stacy and stood up, pivoting as he did, such that the muzzle of Lonnie’s Glock directly faced Reynold’s chest.
For a fraction of a second Snake’s and Reynold’s weapons faced each, a stare of terror on each face.
Behind them, more heavy steps. Beneath them, Stacy too terrified to move. Surrounded by horrified onlookers, dropping to the ground.
Then the sharp “pop” of another gun being fired filled the air. Screams coming from everywhere.
Then Stacy heard a booming voice from behind, “John, you all right?”
“Holy shit! That you, Willard?”
The next instant, Stacy felt a crushing weight as Snake tumbled to the ground, clutching his chest, falling onto her. Frothy pink fluid bubbling from Snake’s open mouth mingled with the blood flowing freely from Stacy’s lip.
Terrified, Stacy struggled to get out from beneath Snake’s weight. Was he dead? She didn’t know, but her eyes widened in horror at the pool of blood expanding on the ground beneath them. From her position, she could see that Snake still clutched the gun.
“Help me!” Stacy tried to scream, but she had trouble catching her breath and it came out as a whimper. “Please, somebody get me out of here!”
Wriggling frantically, her heart pounding like it would burst, Stacy was able to free her right arm and shoulder, but Snake’s body still immobilized her. When she tried to push him off, she felt hot stickiness on her hand and retched, choking back the horrible vomit. Why wasn’t anybody helping her?
Then she recognized Detective Reynolds as he stepped up, and with a single kick knocked the gun out of Snake’s hand. Immediately he bent over and rolled Snake’s body to the side, releasing Stacy.
From behind them, Stacy heard the static of a radio.
“Detective Willard here.” The male voice was urgent and loud. “I need back up. There’s been a shooting. Send an ambulance and a supervisor, pronto.” He proceeded to give the address and exact location.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Detective Reynolds was saying, but Stacy was too scared to move. She stared at the gun the detective still held in one hand.
“Too many guns,” she stammered.
“Too true,” said Reynolds, glancing around before stuffing the gun under his belt and extending his hand. “Let me help you up.”
Stacy’s whole body shook with wracking sobs as she took the detective’s hand and stumbled to her feet.
Screams rose from the area of the courtyard where the Nelsons had been standing. After the first shot had been fired, dozens of people had dropped to the ground as others ran — pushing and shoving. Steve Nelson had pulled his sons down into the grass, shielding them with his body. Hazel Nelson threw herself down, too, encircling the twins with her arms. Panicked men and women shouted and ran. Laura had just lifted Patrick from David’s arms, her gaze locking with his.
David’s eyes were huge
. Patrick, this beautiful child, was his son. Still dazed by the realization that he’d been holding his own son, David hardly felt the bullet penetrate his chest but what was this searing sensation near his heart? Slowly, he slumped to his knees. He tried to speak. There were so many things he had to tell Laura. Would she reconsider? Could they raise their son together? Did she know how deeply he loved her?
Laura had ducked down, protectively covering Patrick as David fell backward onto the grass. The black embroidered robe initially obscured the dark red blood that spread rapidly, yet his eyes were still open, a small, contented smile on his face. It wasn’t until David’s blood-covered hand fell from his chest that Laura understood. Clutching the baby, she crawled toward him. “Get an ambulance!” she called out.
“No, David, please,” she moaned as one hand reached to touch his face.
“Our son,” David rasped. His eyes closed.
Laura could not see. Could not hear. She set Patrick down so she could hold David’s motionless body against hers. Leaning forward, she caressed him, her hair cascading over his face. As she pulled him to her she felt the warm pool of his blood expanding. What should she do? Keep him breathing, keep the heart pumping, start an intravenous, order blood transfusions: the ABCs of trauma. But this was all different. There was too much blood. He was dying. Dying in front of her.
“Move aside, let us through,” a firm voice commanded. Bystanders parted as Detective John Reynolds and a uniformed rescue squad pushed forward.
In front of the best surgeons in the world, many of whom David had trained and to whom he had dedicated his career, his life ebbed away. They found no pulse, faint and erratic respiratory efforts, massive blood loss.
He was lifted onto the gurney and moved toward the ambulance that would rush him to City Hospital Trauma Center, the center that he himself had developed. Laura, having picked up Patrick, stood back a few feet, soothing the squealing baby. Suddenly Steve was there, his arms around her, telling her everyone was safe. Sobs burst from her then, and Laura allowed Steve to comfort her, letting him believe that her tears were out of concern for her family.
“You all right?” Morris Willard asked Stacy. Wrapped in Reynolds’ sport coat, she rocked from side to side, staring at the green ambulance that held Snake’s dead body. Reynolds, a uniformed officer at his side, walked toward them just as Willard was about to offer Stacy a ride home.
“It’s okay, young lady. The officers over there have gotten in touch with your mother to let her know you’re okay. If you go with this officer, he’ll make sure you get home safely,” Reynolds said.
“Okay,” Stacy whispered. She began to remove the jacket, now stained with her blood and Snake’s blood, but Reynolds slipped it back up over her shoulders. “You keep it for now. I’ll come see you and your mother later.”
The detectives watched Stacy get into the patrol car in silence. Then Willard turned to Reynolds and pointed at his shirt. “Got no vest,” he commented. “First night out with you, the vest lecture. Ring a bell?”
“My daughter’s graduation. Is nothing sacred in this city?” Reynolds clapped Willard on the shoulder. “Think the vest woulda stopped that Glock?”
“Course it woulda stopped the bullet, that’s why they call it bulletproof.”
“If that’s your way of askin’ for my undyin’ gratitude, Willard, I’ll think about it. What the hell you doing here anyway?”
“Thought I’d keep tabs on Mr. Rogers, knowin’ that he just got outta jail. He hangs out with that Lonnie Greenwood. Remember the Nam vet in City Hospital? Fool got his dick shot off? My first case. Never did figure where the girlfriend got the gun or where it disappeared to. Anyway, back to Rogers. It dawned on me to check prints.”
“What prints?”
“Lookin’ for a match. From the Nelson house and the Roger’s kid’s. Now he’s got an arrest record.”
“And?”
“Bingo — a match. Now I’m kickin’ myself for not bringin’ the kid to the station on suspicion of assault. Was on my way to tell you after your daughter’s graduation. Drove by that Greenwood kid’s place. I don’t know why, hunch, maybe.”
“Go on, Willard. You’ve got my attention.”
“So comin’ out of his house is Mr. Rogers, here. I follow him in Greenwood’s car to the Jones house. He stays for a few minutes then I trail him over to Theodore. They tore down his paintings, by the way, the whole building. Then over here. Didn’t want to collar him on the Nelson assault till I discussed it with you.”
Reynolds nodded.
“Fuckin’ shame I got here too late for the good doctor.” Willard paused as a siren pierced the air. “Why do you think the punk wanted to kill Dr. Monroe?”
“We may never know,” said Reynolds as he pointed to the Glock, now sequestered in an evidence bag. “Where’d he get the gun?”
“Don’ know, probably from that Greenwood guy. I been watchin’ the old Alexandrine gang. I ever told you? My mama lives down there.”
Reynolds looked approvingly at Willard. “A cop who knows the streets is a better cop. You proved that today. Good work, Detective.”
“The girl,” Willard’s eyes followed the patrol car that had pulled out with Stacy in the back seat. “She knows Rogers, that’s obvious. Grew up in the ’hood. Poor kid.”
“Meaning?”
“Meanin’ he didn’t need a gun that night. She let him in, remember?”
Reynolds shook his head and frowned. “I’m not sayin’ you’re right or wrong, just that we can’t do a damn thing about it either way. The perp’s in that ambulance, dead. Why drag a young kid like that into a dead case? You’re gonna have beaucoup paperwork to fill out already. I suggest we tell it like it was here this afternoon, forget what might have happened that night at the Nelson house.”
Willard nodded. “Simplify the paperwork and make life much more pleasant for that sweet Jones girl. She’s been through enough.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Saint Paul’s Catholic Church on Lake Shore Drive in Grosse Pointe was filled to overflowing the following Wednesday. Faculty from University Medical School and staff from City Hospital filed in through the huge doors and jammed the center aisle lined with floral sprays. Hushed tones expressed the shock that this could have happened to such a young, vibrant man at the peak of professional success.
Laura was there, settled into one of the back pews. Upon learning that David had died in the ambulance before even arriving at his beloved hospital, she had made two decisions. First, she would not go to Florida the next day as planned. Her family would, taking all the kids but Patrick; she would remain in Detroit with her son to attend David’s funeral. There was so much distraction with all the relatives here that Laura’s contrived excuse, finalizing some record-keeping details at the hospital, sounded plausible.
The truth was that Laura desperately needed time alone. Alone, except for David’s child. Patrick would remember nothing, of course, but Laura would know that Patrick had been at his father’s funeral.
That much she could do for David.
The second decision Laura made was to call Nick Monroe, David’s brother. During their first dinner in Montreal, when Laura and David discussed what was important to them in life, he’d told her about being raised as a Catholic. Because of Cynthia, he’d had a Presbyterian wedding, thus ending his Catholicism. But he did tell Laura that he wanted to return to his religion.
Laura identified herself to Nick only as “Laura, a friend.” No last name. She pleaded with Nick to prevail against Cynthia in making David’s funeral arrangements.
“My sister-in-law can be a very difficult woman. Very used to getting her way,” Nick bluntly replied. “Certainly Cynthia won’t allow it. Maybe David did tell you he wanted to return to the church, I’m a devout Catholic myself, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Final arrangements are Cynthia’s responsibility. I’m sorry. It really is too bad.”
Laura persisted. “Then threaten her
with exposure.” She apologized before continuing on, telling Nick about Cynthia’s relationship with Ruth. “Blatant exposure would make her change her mind, if she is truly that socially conscious.”
Nick Monroe hesitated. “David told me about Cynthia, but a threat like that. I don’t know.”
“Please think about it.” The passion in Laura’s voice was impossible to ignore. “I can only tell you how sincerely David wanted this. It’s the only thing that you’ll be able to do for your brother ever again.” And the only thing I can ever do for him, she echoed silently.
Laura’s words had prevailed. David’s wish was honored.
The Sacred Heart Seminary Church, like nearly every other building in the neighborhood, had suffered damage during the riots. Located on Linwood and Chicago, the most obvious difference to this Catholic church from others was that its Jesus, lying in the manger outside, was now black, its ivory skin tone painted over during the riots. Inside the church, the sober congregation listened to the priest speak of forgiveness and healing. He bemoaned Ray Roger’s lost innocence and the loss of an entire generation of young black men to the war, to the riots, and to rage.
Her eyes clear and dry, she was clean for good, Leona Rogers sat with her two young children in the first row, only a few feet away from the open casket where Snake lay. Nearby was a handmade poster displaying a photo of Snake’s mural and copies of the newspaper article that had touted Snake as a promising young urban artist.
Several rows back, Stacy sat with her mama and younger sisters. Sister Mary Agnes and Sister Portia held rosary beads. Stacy had not said much since the graduation ceremony, not to Lucy, nor to John Reynolds or Morris Willard, both of whom had shown up on Alexandrine Avenue to check on Stacy later that day. What could she say? That she’d lost her last connection to her brothers? Snake had been so faithful to Johnny. Life had betrayed him. She had betrayed him.
As the priest led the small band of mourners in “Rock of Ages,” tears started to trickle down Stacy’s face, and she rose to leave. Lucy nodded an “okay” at her, seeming to agree that Stacy didn’t belong here, not at this funeral, not in this neighborhood. Just a few more days and Lucy would have her family moved to their own little house just off Hamilton Avenue in Highland Park.
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