Crooked Numbers

by Tim O'Mara

  “We all need someone to keep the peace,” I said.

  Meghan smiled at that and kept on smiling.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Allison likes you. Maybe she’ll keep you around longer than the others.”

  I grinned back. “I’m not going to ask how many others.”

  “And I wouldn’t tell you. Just enjoy the ride.”

  “That was my plan all along.”

  “Smart man,” she said and went back to tending bar.

  A really smart man would’ve known how to get the lead detective on a murder case interested in talking to the bus driver who ran over his murder victim’s friend.

  “We’ll see about that,” I said to no one in particular.

  Chapter 13

  TOMORROW CAME QUICKER than I wanted it to. There’s a reason I don’t usually hang out late on school nights, and this morning my head reminded me why. I had two cups of coffee and three ibuprofens before heading off. By the time I got to my office, I was feeling better. After making sure the halls were clear after homeroom, I checked to see if Angel Rosario had made it to school. Outside his first-period class, I looked through the glass part of the door and saw Angel sitting in the first row. I knocked, stuck my head in, and asked the teacher if I could talk to Angel for a minute.

  “Your dad bring you to school today?” I asked, once outside the classroom.

  “Yeah,” Angel said, somewhat embarrassed.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “This’ll blow over soon enough, and things will get back to normal. Any kids give you a hard time?”

  “Not really. I got some looks in homeroom, but nobody said nothing.”

  “Good. Dad picking you up after school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If anybody gives you any grief, try to ignore it. If it gets bad, come to my office.” I watched as a pout crossed his face. “What is it, Angel?”

  “I don’t wanna be treated like a baby, that’s all. Dad taking me to school and picking me up. You telling me to come to your office if I get any shit.” He looked down at his feet. “I feel like a little kid.”

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “I understand, Angel. I do. You and your dad are in a bad situation right now, and we don’t want it to get any worse. Let’s just get through this week, okay?”

  He looked up, his eyes wet. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

  “All right,” I said. “Get back to class, and I’ll see you in the lunchroom.”

  “Okay, Mr. D.” He wiped his eyes. “Thanks.”

  He went back inside the classroom, and I returned to my office, where I spent the next hour and a half making phone calls and finishing up some paperwork. The last call I made was to Dennis Murcer. I got his voice mail and left a message asking him if he’d get back to me at his earliest convenience. I wanted to discuss the kid killed by the bus but didn’t want to leave that message on his machine. Just as well. It would probably be better if Allison asked him about it. I used that as an excuse to call her.

  “Allison Rogers.”

  “You get your quotes last night?” I asked.

  “After three hours of trying. What’s up?”

  Again, no small talk. “I just wanted to see if you had a chance to talk to Murcer yet about Paulie Sherman.”

  “Who?”

  “Paulie Sherman,” I repeated. “The skateboarder killed by the bus.”

  After a brief pause, she said, “Not yet, but I just made myself a note on it. I’ve been kinda busy with the basketball story. Turns out now the kid may have had a similar problem in high school. I have to track down some people who knew him back in the day and maybe head out to the Island. Why can’t these athletes keep it in their pants?”

  “Probably because no one ever told them they had to.”

  “Good point,” she said. “It seems the better you are at sports, the less you hear the word ‘no.’” Silence for a few seconds. “Let me get back to it, Ray. I’ll call Murcer later and let you know what he says.”

  “Any chance of finishing our date from last night?”

  “Have to get back to you on that one, too.”

  “So,” I said, “we’ll talk later?”

  “I’ll do my best. Let me get back to this piece, okay?”

  She hung up without saying good-bye. Okay. I went out to check the hallways, staircases, and bathrooms: all the places kids would be if they were not where they were supposed to be. All clear, so I went down to the cafeteria and waited for the first lunch period to begin. Exciting times.

  *

  The rest of the day passed without incident. After making sure most of the kids had left the building and were heading home, I went back inside to check my mailbox. I found a pink “While You Were Out” slip. When was I out? It seemed Elliot Finch had called me—how did he get this number?—and the message was that it was “important” I get back to him “ASAP.” I stepped over to the office phone and dialed the number on the slip. Elliot picked up after two rings.

  “Ray?” he said.

  “Yeah, Elliot. I’m returning your call. What’s so—”

  “Remember I told you that Douglas was friendly with Jack Quinn?”

  “Yeah, I remember. I met him outside the funeral home.”

  “Well,” he said, pausing for effect, “Jack is in the hospital.”

  “What? What happened?”

  “I do not have all the details, Ray. His sister posted a message on the Finch’s Landing site. Jack is a member, and he must have shared his password with her. Against the terms and conditions of the site.”

  “What did the message say, Elliot?”

  “Just that Jack is in the hospital, and we should pray for him. It would seem the Quinns are a religious family. I do not pray, Raymond.”

  “Me, neither,” I said. “Was Jack in school today?”

  “I did not see him, and we have some of the same classes. So I would have to say he was not in school today.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Do you know the sister?”

  “No. She is not a student here. I believe she goes to Dayton.”

  Right. That’s what Mr. Rivera had told me yesterday. “Did she say what hospital her brother’s in?”

  “New York–Presbyterian,” Finch said. “On the other side of Central Park. Why do you want to know that?”

  “I’m going to call the detective in charge of Dougie’s case. He needs to know another person associated with Dougie is … I don’t know … in trouble?”

  Elliot was silent for a few seconds. “You are right, Ray. It does seem statistically improbable that three friends from the same school have all had … trouble in a short period of time. The odds of that are…”

  “Pretty long, Elliot. Thanks for calling.”

  “Will you let me know if you find out anything?”

  “Sure. I’ll call you later.”

  I hung up and immediately called Murcer. Again I got his voice mail and asked him to call me as soon as he could. This time I mentioned Paulie Sherman and Jack Quinn. I wasn’t sure when Allison would get the chance to call him, and I wanted him on this as soon as possible. He could yell at me for playing cop as much as he wanted. I just hoped he believed, as I did, that these three friends and their problems were worth looking into. Sometimes it’s all about seeing the connections. If he needed help, I was more than willing to make that happen.

  My day was over, so I went to my office. I started filing an online suspension report, all the while thinking about Jack Quinn and what might have put him in the hospital. I could wait for Murcer to find out and share the information with me, but I didn’t think he’d do that. I could call Allison back, but she’d already told me how swamped she was. My third option was to head back across the river and visit the hospital myself. Which was the one I chose.

  *

  Less than an hour later, I was standing outside New York–Presbyterian, trying to figure out a way to get up to Jack Quinn’s room and find out what was going on. It wasn�
�t like I could just walk into his room and look at his chart. The nurses and doctors certainly were not going to give me any information, and security at the front desk seemed pretty tight. I realized I hadn’t thought this trip out completely and was about to cut my losses and go home, when I saw a teenage girl with a blond ponytail exit the building. She was dressed only in a long-sleeve T-shirt that read DAYTON VOLLEYBALL, jeans, and white sneakers. She didn’t seem to realize or care how cold it was. She stepped over to the bushes and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her front pocket. After she lit up and took a few deep drags, she pulled a cell phone out of another pocket. It didn’t take long before she started talking, loud enough for me to hear.

  “Hey, it’s me,” she said as she pulled her ponytail around her neck for a scarf. “No, they won’t know anything more until he stabilizes.” She listened for a while. “That’s what they think, but they had to do a blood test to be sure.” Pause. “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me if he was.” Another pause. “Okay, I’ll call you later. Bye.”

  She hung up the phone and slipped it back into her pocket. After she took another pull from her cigarette, she noticed me looking at her. I decided to take a chance.

  “Excuse me,” I said as I walked over to her. She was taller than I’d expected. “Are you Jack Quinn’s sister?”

  She gave me a long look through bloodshot eyes. “Who the hell are you?”

  I stopped a few feet away from where she stood. “My name’s Raymond Donne. I was a … friend of Douglas Lee.”

  “Dougie?” she said. She took another drag, dropped the cigarette to the ground, and stepped on it. “What do you mean, you were a friend of Dougie’s?” She slurred the last part of the sentence.

  “His old teacher, actually,” I admitted. “You knew Dougie, right?”

  “He was good friends with my brother.”

  “How is Jack, by the way?”

  She gave me another look that made me think she was deciding whether to keep this conversation going. Her eyes told me she hadn’t slept much. After a few seconds, she said, “He’s … stable. How did you know he was here? Why are you here?”

  Good questions.

  “Elliot Finch called me,” I said, as if that were enough to explain my presence. “You posted a message on his website?”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, her tone a bit more unsure now. Confused. I wondered if she was on something, or just tired. “I forgot about that.”

  “Do you need to sit down?” I asked.

  She rubbed her eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “Honestly?” I said.

  “No,” she said, her red eyes doing their best to stay focused. “Lie to me.”

  “I don’t know. I know Jack was good friends with Dougie, and when I heard he was in the hospital…”

  “Hey,” she said. “You’re that guy from the paper the other day.” She smiled as she made the connection. “Used to be a cop, helped save that kid a couple of years ago. Dougie told us about you.”

  “How well did you know Dougie?”

  “He,” she said slowly, almost like she was drunk, “was my brother’s best friend. So that’s how well I knew him.”

  “I heard you were his girlfriend,” I said. “Alexis, right?”

  “I was not his girlfriend, Mr. Raymond. He was my brother’s best friend and we were friendly … but not romantic friendly. Who told you we were boyfriend–girlfriend?”

  “Maybe I misheard. Sorry.”

  “Yeah, you should be. Maybe you misheard.” She was having a little difficulty standing up now. “You misheard.”

  I stepped closer. “Do you need to sit, Alexis? You seem a little … out of it.”

  “You’d be out of it, too, if it was your brother upstairs with tubes coming out of his arms. I got no sleep last night, so I took a little something to help me through. I’m not sure it’s working.”

  “What did you take, Alexis?”

  “God,” she said. “You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?”

  I took another chance and touched her elbow. When she didn’t shrug me off, I said, “Why don’t we grab a seat on the bench over there?” I thought about taking her inside, but thought she needed the air. “I think whatever you took is starting to kick in.”

  “It’s about time,” she said, allowing me to lead her over.

  When we got to the bench, she grabbed the iron armrest, turned around, and slowly sat down.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Now I feel better.”

  “Is there anyone here who can take you home?” I asked, standing above her. “Your mother or your father maybe?”

  “Don’t know where my mom is,” she said, not even trying to keep her eyes open now. “Daddy’s upstairs with Jack. Told him I was going out for some air. I don’t think he’s gonna wanna leave Jack and take me home.”

  “Does he know you took … some medication?”

  “No. It’s one of my mom’s pills, and I just took it. I do it all the time, when I need something to get me through.” She smiled real big now, proud of herself. “They never count their pills, Mr. Raymond.”

  How nice for you. “Is there someone I can call who can come and get you?”

  “I can’t leave,” she said. “My brother’s up there in intensive … I need to be here.”

  “You need to get some sleep, Alexis. And not outside on a bench.”

  “Well, whattaya gonna do, huh?”

  This girl was full of good questions. I wished I had some answers. And then one came to me. “Can I borrow your cell, Alexis? I need to make a call.”

  She reached into her front pocket and pulled out her phone. When she handed it to me, she didn’t let go. “Who ya gonna call?”

  “It’ll be a surprise.”

  She opened her eyes and thought about it. “Okay.”

  I took the phone and tapped at the screen until I brought up the names and numbers of her most recent calls. The name “Daddy” showed up. I scrolled down and pressed the DIAL button. He picked up after three rings.

  “Yes, Alexis,” he said. “What is it now?”

  “Mr. Quinn,” I said. “My name’s Raymond Donne and—”

  “What the hell are you doing with my daughter’s phone? Where’s Alexis?”

  “We’re right outside the main entrance to the hospital. Your daughter’s about to pass out on a bench.”

  “What the hell do you mean, she’s ‘about to pass out’?”

  “She told me she took one of your wife’s pills. It’s obviously starting to work, and I think you should come down and get her, sir.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “Put her on the damn phone, will you?”

  I looked down at the man’s daughter. Her chin was on her chest.

  “She’s in no condition to speak right now, Mr. Quinn. I really think you need to get down here right away and get her some help.”

  Silence from the other end, and then, “Okay. I’ll be right down.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “And bring her coat.” He’d already hung up. I reached over and gently shook Alexis’s arm. “Your dad’s coming to get you.”

  “Uh-oh,” she mumbled. “I’m in major trouble now.”

  I took my jacket off and draped it over her shoulders. I stuck my hands in my pants pockets and hoped her dad would get here soon. Two minutes later, the front doors to the hospital opened, and a man in a dark blue suit came out. Judging by the redness of his face and the girls’ coat he was clutching, this was Alexis’s dad.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Alexis?” he said as he came over to the bench. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is?” When his daughter didn’t answer, he looked at me. “You’re the man who called?”

  “Yes,” I said, handing him his daughter’s phone. “Raymond Donne.”

  He took the phone and put it into his pocket. “John Quinn. That your jacket?”

  “Yes. I thought she needed it more than I did at the moment.”

  H
e shook his head and rubbed his eyes, much like his daughter had done a few minutes ago. “Thank you, Mr. Donne. I’m sorry you got involved in this.”

  “Not a problem,” I said. “Any idea what she took?”

  He looked down at his daughter. “If what you said is correct, more than likely one of my wife’s antianxiety pills. They can have a sedating effect.”

  “Alexis mentioned that. How’s your son?”

  He gave me a quizzical look. “How do you know about my son?”

  “Alexis told me,” I lied. “She said he’s in ICU.”

  “Alexis,” he said, “talks too much.” He offered me his hand, and I took it. “Thank you, Mr. Donne. I’m only glad my daughter ran into someone … responsible.”

  This was clearly not the first time he’d received this kind of phone call. “You’re welcome,” I said. “You’ll take her home?”

  “I have someone coming to do that, yes. My son needs me here. She”—he looked down at Alexis again—“just needs to sleep this off.” He handed me my jacket and put her coat over her shoulders.

  She’s going to need more than sleep, I thought. I put my jacket on.

  “Good luck, Mr. Quinn.”

  He gave me a weak smile. “Thanks.” He then sat down and put his arm around his daughter. “I didn’t ask, sorry. Are you visiting someone in the hospital?”

  “No,” I said. “I just happened to be passing by.”

  “And aren’t you glad you did.”

  I smiled at the forced humor. “Good-bye, Mr. Quinn.”

  “Good-bye, Mr. Donne.”

  Alexis stirred. “He’s a teacher, Daddy,” she said. “He’s Dougie’s old teacher.”

  Mr. Quinn gave me an odd look. “What’s that, sweetie?”

  “He’s. A. Teacher.” She sounded drunk again. “He knew Dougie.”

  With his arm still around his daughter, but his eyes firmly on mine, he said, “Is this true, Mr. Donne?”

  Unable to come up with a quick lie, I just said, “Yes.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “You said you were just passing by, and now it turns out you knew one of my son’s best friends?” He paused for a few seconds as he processed this new information. “What the hell are you doing here?”