“Nope. You sure can’t,” Knuckles said with another laugh as they headed out the sliding doors.
And that left just me and Jay and my zillion questions, none of which I’m sure he wanted to answer if he was feeling anything like I had when Coop had been arrested. But I decided to do some research into this gang Jay had mentioned. I wasn’t sure how to go about it. Did they just put gang sign information out on the Internet or was that unlikely?
Google and I had become good friends as of late, so I typed in tic-tac-toe plus Minneapolis plus gangs into my phone and let ’er rip.
My eyes widened as I scrolled. There were numerous articles to choose from about a rash of gang-related murders in a housing project in South Minneapolis, dubbed the tic-tac-toe murders due to the signs tattooed on the gang members’ wrists. I looked for a reputable source, something Stevie said was very important due to the state of the Internet and shoddy reporting these days.
I guess I’d never considered Minnesota a place with gangs. I mean, New York and LA, yes, but Minnesota? Where everyone said “you betcha” and it was as cold as Antarctica? But clearly, based on the number of articles, they did indeed exist there. I’d spent too many years in the convent, obviously. I was too sheltered.
I scrolled to the Minneapolis Herald and began to read about a night five years ago, in the winter of 2013, when multiple arrests were made after a two-year investigation into the gangs known as Young Money (or YM) and Blood Squad (or BS). Young Money being the bunch using the tic-tac-toe tattoo to represent their gang sign.
The charges against YM read like a laundry list of crimes. Narcotics distribution, narcotics conspiracy, arms dealing, racketeering, and the murder of nine people from the rival gang, Blood Squad, and one BS family member—a Diego Santino, the twelve-year-old brother of the leader of Blood Squad, Matias Santino.
As I read, still finding no mention of Higgs at all, my heart ached for Diego Santino, caught up in the crossfire during a turf war at a South Minneapolis housing project. The picture of this handsome young child with chocolate-brown hair and brown eyes made me close my own eyes and scrunch them tight.
He’d been so young…
And then I remembered, Higgs probably wouldn’t be named, would he? Not if he’d been in deep cover with this gang.
As I read the retelling of that night from an innocent bystander who had hidden behind a pickup truck during the crossfire, my heart pounded. Apparently, Diego had tried to stop his brother Matias from engaging with the rival gang and was recklessly gunned down.
Heaven in all its mercy, how awful.
Jay happened to glance over at my phone, his eyes boring holes into the side of my head. “I figured you’d look it up.”
Holding up the phone, I ignored the tone that said “back off” and asked, “So is this what Higgs was involved in?”
“You really should ask him. He can tell you better than I can,” he answered. Though, Jay didn’t say it with any anger or even flippantly, he simply stated a fact with a tone that said, “respect my wish to stay out of this.” But gone was the friendly demeanor, replaced by a terse glance.
So Higgs had a past, one I’m sure gave him nightmares. One that would give me nightmares, and I hadn’t even experienced it. I can’t imagine the pain he must have suffered seeing a twelve-year-old die.
But if he’d been undercover, and there was no mention of him in any of the articles—in fact, when I googled his name, he came up as the owner of the Peach Street shelter—then how had someone from the Blood Squad found him and possibly framed him? Because I was more certain than ever that’s what this arrest was about. He was being framed. But why?
Did he have something to do with the death of Diego Santino? The article said the boy was caught in the crossfire. Maybe it was Higgs’s bullet that had killed Diego? Surely an accident if that was the case, right?
But there was no definitive answer to my question. Ballistics determined the bullet came from a gun that remained unidentifiable due to the fact that every gang member carried the same gun. A cheap .38.
But then, wouldn’t the Minneapolis police department protect their undercover officers by relocating them? Was that why Higgs had moved here to Portland? What was the protocol for something like this?
“Hey, Jay,” I muttered. “How long has Higgs been here in Cobbler Cove?”
“Four years, I think. He opened the shelter, and I came to work with him about a year ago. So yeah. Four or so.”
The timeline made sense. Maybe it had taken that long for the BS gang member to locate him?
Was it Matias Santino who’d killed Fergus to frame Higgs because he blamed him for his brother’s death? How could he, if no one had determined who fired the shot?
But as I read more of the article, I saw Matias was doing life in federal prison for other related charges aside from the murders that night. There was no mention of any remaining members of BS still at large, and the only person left of Matias’s family was his mother, Iris, who, at the time of the article, had been ill with cancer. Still, could there be someone else, someone who’d gotten away from the Blood Squad who wanted revenge?
I had to know. I don’t know why, or what compelled me, but I had to know. This was no longer about the store being caught up in this, or the delay in getting in there to renovate.
My gut just said I needed to help Higgs. I’d felt nothing up until this point but skepticism for him, and a little fear, if I were honest. But now? Now something burned in the pit of my belly, and I needed to figure out what.
As I sat pressed arm to arm with Jay, I began to wonder how long he’d known Higgs and the background of their friendship.
“You know, how rude of me, but I never did ask what your role is at the shelter, Jay? Do you work with the men directly?”
But he shook his head. “Not as hands-on as Higgs, no. I do the books, hunt down charitable donations, fundraise. That kind of thing.”
“Does Higgs rent from Fergus, too?”
“Nope. The shelter was bought and paid for by donations. Higgs owns it.”
“Do you know anyone else who rented from him? Any of the other shops on our street, maybe?”
Crowley still hadn’t sent me the names of the people he leased to, and I wondered if I wouldn’t have to hoof it door to door in order to find out.
“I don’t. My focus is mostly on the shelter and nothing else.”
Admirable indeed. I didn’t know what else to say to ease his worry, so I touched on a neutral topic. “Well, when things settle down, I’d like to get more involved in my free time and volunteer.”
His smile was vague. “Higgs will be glad to hear it. You can never have enough volunteers.”
“How long have you guys been friends?”
“Since college. How about you and Coop?”
Since my possession? No. I couldn’t say that. “About a year now,” I answered instead.
He looked at the door they’d led Higgs behind to question him, and sighed. “What could possibly be taking so long? It feels like hours. Doesn’t it feel like hours?”
Waiting for something like this felt like an eternity. I could sympathize. But I was in for a penny, in for a pound. I wasn’t going anywhere until we knew what was happening with Higgs.
But we didn’t have to wait very long for our answer. Detective Primrose swished out into the waiting area, her eyes taking in both of us with a mixture of sympathy and something else I couldn’t identify.
She came to stand before us, her arms crossing over her chest, her dark blue skirt and blazer covered in white lint. “Miss Lavender.”
I gulped. Her tone sounded just like Sister Anne Margaret’s. That tone meant I was in for a scolding. “Detective Primrose.”
“Funny you and your friend should be in the middle of this, init?”
Uh-oh. I fisted my hands together. “Funny as in ha-ha. Or funny as in ironic?”
She eyeballed me from behind her owl-like glasses. “Maybe a little
of both, love. I did some detecting, because I’m jolly good at it, and what do you suppose I discovered about you, Miss Lavender?”
I licked my lips. “That I like long walks on the beach, red wine over white, and foosball?”
“You like foosball?”
I sighed and rolled my eyes in mock irritation. “Well, yeah. But I suppose you consider that a sin, coming from England and all that rugby.”
She fought a smirk. “I found out that not too long ago, you were embroiled in another murder with, and this ought to make you laugh, another one of your landlords. Funny that, eh?”
I winced. “Honest to goodness, we’re a pox on landlords.”
She rolled her tongue along the inside of her cheek. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you both have such a solid alibi.”
I wiped my palms on my thighs. “You know what they say about good things.”
“What do they say, Miss Lavender?”
“They come in small packages?”
Detective Primrose sighed, indicating we were done sparring for today. “Listen up. You two might as well go on home,” she said, her tone even and somber.
“What’s happening, Tansy?” Jay asked, rising from the chair to run a hand through his sandy-blond locks, his eyes full of worry.
Her gaze pierced his. “You’re not going to like it, mate.”
My stomach took that nosedive again, but I stood up, too, my legs shaky. “What’s happening?”
Just then, Higgs’s lawyer shot out the door, his stout legs carrying him to where we stood. “Let’s go,” he ordered curtly, giving Detective Primrose a glance that was none too happy.
“Wait!” I ordered, making everyone turn around. “What’s going on? What’s happening and where’s Higgs?”
Pensky’s face, round and lightly tanned, went sour. “Hoping we can get him bail. He’s officially been charged with the murder of Fergus McDuff.”
Chapter 11
“Trixie?”
“Yes, Coop?”
She put a hand on my arm and squeezed, something else she rarely does—touch people, that is. Yet, these last couple of days, she’d been hugging and shaking hands like there was no tomorrow.
I wondered where that was coming from. I wondered if it was genuine or she was doing it because it’s what she saw other people do. But her hand on my arm meant something. It meant she wanted me to truly hear her.
“We can’t let Higgs go to jail. He’s innocent. I know he’s telling the truth. I. Know.”
I pulled into a parking spot at the bank where only three days ago we’d opened an account, and turned to look at her.
She didn’t look like she’d slept in a meat locker—unlike me. I had dark shadows under my eyes and my skin was pale from a long night of trying to make sense of this—all the while trying to comfort Coop, who was in knots about Higgs’s arrest. But Coop looked as though she’d stepped off the pages of Vogue in her leggings and slim-fitting zippered jacket in hot pink and black.
The only good news we had was the store would be clear for us to move into in the next two days or so. But everything else was as horrible as horrible could get. Higgs was in jail, waiting on a hearing to see if he’d get bail, and Jay was in a tizzy trying to come up with the money, because Pensky had assured him bail wouldn’t be cheap due to the severity of the charges.
Though, according to Jay, Higgs had property and a house in Minnesota he could use as collateral. I don’t know how bail works, but that information had appeared to satisfy his lawyer who was, at this very minute, filing papers to expedite Higgs’s bail hearing. If you listened to Pensky, with Higgs’s squeaky-clean record and his former job as a police officer, making bail should be easier than the norm.
And I truly hoped that was the case. I’d even gone back to the scene of my dumpster attack, hoping to find a clue, but I’d come up dry.
I patted Coop’s hand, making her let go of my arm. “I know you do, Coop.”
“But do you know, Trixie Lavender? Do you know in your heart? Do you believe Cross Higglesworth is innocent?”
Sighing, I gripped the steering wheel. Did I?
Because it sure as heck wasn’t looking good for Higgs. Not at all. After a second sweep of the store, they’d found a strand of what they believed was Higgs’s hair.
That, combined with the argument he’d had with Fergus (which I’d blabbed to the police), the tic-tac-toe tattoo and the marks on Fergus’s neck—and lastly, a damning voice mail Higgs had left Fergus about harassing the men from the shelter—convinced the Portland PD they had their man. At least, it was all enough to arrest him for murder and keep him in jail.
And all night long, as I’d scoured the Internet to see if anyone from the Blood Squad had been released from prison or escaped, or any little thing I could think of to help Higgs, the guilt of telling Detective Primrose about that tiff had eaten me from the inside out.
In a way, I’d helped land Higgs in jail, and I felt sick about it. What I couldn’t come to terms with was the tic-tac-toe gang sign carved into Fergus’s neck. I’d like to know how the police were going to explain the logic in that.
I’d asked this once before, but I had to ask myself again—what kind of killer leaves such an obvious clue? Especially seeing as Higgs had been a part of the gang and had its tattoo on his person?
That was just plain bananapants, and Higgs didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who was at all stupid.
“Trixie!” Coop hissed my name. “Do you believe he’s innocent?”
I swallowed hard, formulating the right words to soothe Coop. “I believe that you believe, Coop.”
“That’s not what she asked ya, sausage,” Livingston chirped from the backseat.
“I know what she asked me, Livingston, and the best answer I can give is, I think so. I don’t know Higgs. How can I possibly be sure he’s innocent?” I snapped, and regretted it instantly.
But listen. I know yesterday I said I had to help him. That I felt it in my gut. Today? I wasn’t so sure after hearing about the evidence they had against him. How had his hair gotten into our store and at the crime scene? If you listened to what Higgs said, according to Pensky, it had probably landed on Fergus when they’d argued. But Pensky told us it was found on the floor in the pool of Fergus’s blood.
And the voice mail? That didn’t bode well for Higgs, either.
Turning around, I reached into Livingston’s cage and scratched his belly. “I’m sorry, Livingston. It’s been a long night and I’m cranky. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“I know, love. But is it really your responsibility to clear this man of these charges? Don’t ya have other tings you should be worryin’ ’bout?”
“It’s not like we have anything to do right now, Livingston. We can’t get into the store for another couple of days. So we might as well try to solve a murder, right?”
Coop bounced her head up and down. “Right.”
Gosh. She was so convinced Higgs was innocent, I didn’t know what would happen if they found out he wasn’t. Thus, I tried to brace her for the worst.
“Coop, you did hear what his lawyer said, didn’t you? They have a voice mail from Higgs, threatening Fergus, and maybe even his hair at the crime scene. That’s not good.”
“I heard, but I don’t believe them. I believe Higgs. I know I’m right. I feel it right here.” She pointed to her non-existent gut. “And if you won’t help me find out who murdered mean old Fergus McDuff, I’ll do it alone. Just me and my sword.” She looked at me with fire in her eyes.
Her conviction still left me astounded. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help you. I promised I would last night, didn’t I?”
“After six cups of coffee, two cheese Danish, and a bag of honey-roasted peanuts, ya did,” Livingston reminded me.
“Danish helps me think. Don’t judge. Now, let me grab some cash, and then we’ll go look for Solomon, okay? I’m convinced he knows something about the night Fergus was killed. You two wait
here.”
I pushed the creaky door of our Caddy closed and headed for the ATM machine. As I slid my card in, I held my breath. We were about as low on cash as we’d ever been, but if we could hold on for another month, we just might make it.
Still, I hated seeing our balance—it was nothing to get excited about.
Punching in my pin number, I waited as the machine did its thing and looked inside the doors of the bank to see Jay at the counter. I would have waved, but his back was to me.
Golly, he’d been beside himself last night when we’d finally parted ways and he’d gone off with Pensky. Maybe he was here today in an effort to help Higgs with bail money?
I wondered that as I collected our cash and headed back to the car, the bright sun of the day burning a hole in the top of my head. The day felt especially bright because my eyes were grainy and tired, but it was warm, and the bustle of people on the sidewalk doing whatever it was they were doing made me smile.
Jumping back into the car, I settled in and put my seat belt on. “Okay, let’s go and look under the Hawthorne, yes? We have to find Solomon. He’s pretty much our only lead. Maybe he knows where the guy with the Gilligan hat is. You know, the one we saw after lunch the day Fergus was murdered? Maybe finding them will lead us to something else. Or maybe if we just ask around, we can find something—anything to help Higgs.”
Coop folded her hands in her lap and nodded. “That would be helpful. I will help as hard as I can.”
Yeah. That’s what worried me. “Okay, but remember what I told you, Coop. No touching. Solomon is afraid, not to mention sick. He doesn’t like to be touched, from what Higgs told me.”
“That also means no threatenin’ to lop off the man’s ears, either, Coopie,” Livingston reminded.
“I have never lopped off a man’s ears.”
“That’s not true, lass. Not true at all. Don’t ya remember about fifty years ago—”
“Not now, Livingston,” I chastised. “As much as I’d love to hear what Coop was up to fifty years ago, we have more pressing matters. So, let’s talk about where we are. We need to get our ducks in a row and make sure everyone’s up to speed.”
Then There Were Nun Page 14