Etched in Tears

by Cheryl Hollon

  Mr. Armstrong’s condo was on the third floor of one of the gated mid-century condominiums facing the Gulf of Mexico. A short, wizened man with skin that looked like blotted tissue paper opened the aluminum screen door while holding on to a wheeled oxygen tank that provided air through a cannula. He waved them past his galley kitchen and through his sparsely furnished living-dining room to the screened-in balcony that had a ceiling fan cooling at top speed. It barely made a dent in the heat of the afternoon. He settled himself into a well-worn chair and offered them tall glasses of freshly brewed iced tea. He shakily poured the tea from a tray that held a pitcher, ice bucket, and glasses. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have some questions about my dad’s apprenticeship program. I understand that you worked with him to establish the program.”

  “Yes, that was about three years before I retired. He took over completely after that for a couple years. Then, I think it got too much for him and most of the value of the pilot program had been incorporated into all the high schools so he didn’t need to worry about the day to day anymore.”

  “As I said on the phone, I’m interested in a student named Dennis Lansing. He was part of the program in 2004 or 2005. I think that was early in the program.”

  “Dennis.” Mr. Armstrong smiled. “He was a character, all right.” The former social worker was silent for a bit. “He was the one they found dead, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you asking?”

  Jacob spoke quickly. “She’s investigating his murder. We need to know more about him so that we can find out who killed him. You would have known him well since he was one of the first apprentices in the program. Correct?”

  “Yes, young man. That’s right. John and I worked closely with Dennis and his friend Chuck. The program got a rough start. Those two could start trouble just standing next to each other. We finally figured out we had to separate them completely.”

  “By Chuck, do you mean Charles King, the politician?”

  Mr. Armstrong nodded. “Yes, he started to build his public service career at the local level not long after graduation.”

  “Did you have them share a job with Dennis working in the mornings and Chuck working in the afternoons?”

  “That’s exactly what we had to do and that worked. Dennis helped out with the classroom instruction and Chuck helped with the business and administrative job at the Art Center downtown. They weren’t together either at work or at school. Separately, they each found their own footing and made great progress. How did you guess?”

  “I’ve been analyzing the files for codes and some of the shifts were identified with a.m. and p.m. It was simple. How did the school accommodate for the afternoon shifts?”

  Mr. Armstrong offered Jacob and Savannah more iced tea, which she gratefully accepted. She was sweltering. Old people seemed to tolerate the heat.

  “We had to arrange for one of the teachers to shift their hours by one class period so that the afternoon apprentices could get enough hours in to qualify as full-time high school students. I remember that one of the teachers volunteered so that she could leave for school a little later in the morning. She didn’t mind the shift in her hours. The school was open for extracurricular clubs and sports practice so it worked out.”

  “Did you keep in touch with Dennis after he left the program?”

  “I heard about him in the art world from time to time. You know, press releases and publicity events and such.”

  “What about his wife? Did you know her?”

  Mr. Armstrong frowned for an instant and reached over to check a setting on his oxygen tank. “No, I didn’t know her.”

  “May I have some water for Suzy?” said Jacob.

  “It’s warm today and she wears a fur coat all the time.”

  “Of course. I should have thought of that.” Mr. Armstrong rose slowly from his seat and went into the kitchen, pulling his oxygen trolley after him.

  As soon as the screen door snapped shut, Jacob turned to Savannah. “Suzy is fine. I made that up because I wanted to talk to you.”

  Savannah smiled. “Clever. What is it?”

  “If Mr. Armstrong knew Dennis as well as your dad, why didn’t he get invited to the reception, too? You were there. You should ask him.”

  “Great idea. I didn’t think of that.”

  Mr. Armstrong brought back a stainless-steel mixing bowl sloshing with water. “Watch out. I’m not as steady as I used to be.” He placed the bowl on the concrete patio in front of Jacob’s chair.

  “Thank you.” Jacob placed Suzy on the floor and she lapped delicately.

  Savannah leaned forward. “Mr. Armstrong, did Dennis invite you to his Dali Museum reception? I don’t remember seeing you, but it was a large crowd.”

  He chuckled. “No, the truth is that John and I disagreed over Dennis. I thought he should have been removed from the program.” His voice weakened to a raspy whisper.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Armstrong,” said Savannah. “I didn’t catch that.”

  He gulped in some air. “I’m sorry. I get out of breath easily.” He swallowed and started again. “John and I disagreed over Dennis. I complained to him rather strongly more than once about Dennis’s connections with drugs. In my opinion, he gave Dennis too much attention. He had him apprentice with the glassblowing shop downtown at the Arts Center. I wanted to give that job to Chuck. Instead John gave Chuck an administrative assistant role.”

  “And Dennis knew about your opinion?” asked Savannah.

  Mr. Armstrong nodded. “It wasn’t a secret.”

  Jacob lifted Suzy back onto his lap and stared at the top of her head. “Mr. Armstrong, did you keep records of the students?”

  “No, I let John take care of that. He was obsessively careful with their personal information. I was happy to receive his reports. They were full of graphs and pie charts along with a lengthy analysis of progress in improving the high school dropout rate in the city.”

  “Did you know of any other members of the gang that Dennis ran around with?” Savannah asked.

  “There was one other boy. I can’t remember his name, but I think John placed him in a restaurant. I think he was the only other member of that same gang. We didn’t take them on after that.”

  “Why?” said Jacob.

  Mr. Armstrong chuckled. “That was where John and I finally found common ground. Since we had struggled so much over those young men, we felt it was better to concentrate on more students with family issues, discrimination problems, or financial hardships. Those students were easier to support and we could make a bigger difference to the community. Those gang members nearly sank the entire program before it had a chance to prove itself.”

  “What happened to Chuck?” Jacob asked.

  “Chuck is now known as Charles King, our state representative in Tallahassee.”

  * * *

  Jacob and Savannah returned to Lattimer’s shop. They easily backed into one of the vacant parking spots. Obviously, the shop was empty of students.

  They opened the door and Frank was standing in the doorway to the kiln room in Superman pose. “What took so long? I’ve got to get the kiln loaded so that the class projects will be ready for tomorrow’s class.”

  “Sorry, Frank. We’re only a few minutes late. We’ll get unloaded and out of your way in a jiffy.”

  Without a word, Jacob handed Suzy to Frank. “Hold her while I work.” He turned to Savannah. “I can load the car fast. Just bring me the plates.”

  Frank stood statue still with his eyes wide in abject fear. He whispered, “Dogs don’t like me. Take her back.”

  Jacob raised the lid to the kiln, lifted the first layer of plates out, and took off for the car. Passing Frank, he said, “She’s a service dog, not a pet. She’s fine. We’ll wash these at our shop.”

  Savannah followed Jacob’s lead, grabbed the next layer of plates, and hustled to her car. She waited while Jacob packed the car, then returned for th
e last layer and finally all the support blocks. In less than ten minutes, the kiln was empty and the car was packed. She and Jacob cleaned the kiln for the upcoming load and washed their hands in the rinsing sink.

  “We’re done,” said Savannah to a still frozen, shocked Frank.

  Jacob lifted Suzy and smiled. “Thanks for watching Suzy. She likes you.”

  Chapter 23

  Thursday afternoon

  Officer Joy Williams parked her police cruiser in front of the Lighthouse Free Clinic on Central Avenue. She knew that the building was part of a free clinic, but she hadn’t yet met the organizers. She pulled on the entry door and found it locked.

  “They don’t open up the door until four,” said a slurred voice from the vacant lot next door. A disheveled black man with white buzz-cut hair stood nearby, leaning heavily on a four-pronged cane. “If you want the boss lady, you need to go around to the back. She’ll be in the kitchen putting our supper out on the line.”

  “You may know what I need. Do you know a man called Cap?”

  “Ol’ Cap?” He lowered himself back onto a bench built out of two-by-fours and a plank. It didn’t look sturdy enough to support a child, but held the old man’s weight without a flinch. “Everybody knows Ol’ Cap. He’s not too keen to talk to any kind of authority. I don’t know why, but I didn’t ask either. We don’t ask each other many questions here, ma’am.”

  “Can you describe him for me?”

  “Ma’am, he pretty much looks like the rest of us. Rode hard and put away wet.”

  “Do you think they might know about him inside?”

  “Not sure, ma’am. I haven’t told them anything about me. They don’t ask.”

  Joy smiled. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your frankness.” She headed toward the back of the building, walking carefully through the dirt lot that doubled as a waiting area, and stepping carefully between upside down buckets, wooden chairs, and tree stumps. It was haphazard, but neat. No trash and no litter.

  She pulled the back door open quietly and Officer Williams stepped inside a bustling commercial kitchen with boiling pots of soup, large trays of roasted chicken quarters, and serving pans filled with mashed potatoes, gravy, and a pastry-covered dessert. The delicious aroma caused Joy’s stomach to growl. It had been a long time since lunch.

  “Go around to the front! We’re not ready,” shouted a tiny woman standing on a step stool stirring the large pot of soup and adding salt from an industrial sized container. “You know that’s the rule. It’s on the front door, for pity’s sake.”

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I’m not a patron.”

  The tiny woman turned her head like a startled bird and looked at Joy from top to toe. “I’m sorry, Officer. You have no idea how many times a day I have to chase folks away. Rules are to be followed exactly . . . to get a meal, a shower, and a bed.” She stepped down from the stool. “Johnny, take over seasoning the soup for me. It’s too bland. I’m going to talk to this lovely woman police officer.”

  A thin quiet man, whose leathered skin had seen too many days outdoors, scooted the step stool aside with his foot and took over.

  “We can talk in my little office. My name is Wanda.” She raised her eyebrows and led the way to a tidy eight-by-eight office crammed with a desk, a PC, an office chair, a side chair, and two filing cabinets. She sat in the office chair and motioned for Joy to take the side chair. “I’m assuming you want to ask me about one of our clients.”

  “Yes. I need to know about—”

  Wanda raised her hand in a stop motion when Joy started to speak. “Before we start, let me tell you that we don’t keep records or statistics or ask for any identification from our clients.” She plucked a brochure from the upper left drawer of the desk and handed it to Joy. “This fully explains our mission. In brief, we provide safe, transitional shelter to single, homeless men. We serve up to twenty-five men at any one time. Residents work with staff to set goals, save money, and work toward independent living.” Wanda folded her small hands in front of her on the desk. “Now, with that out of the way, how can I help you?”

  Joy cleared her throat and straightened up to sit tall. “I am Officer Joy Williams, reporting to Detective David Parker of the Major Crimes Division.” She made a little production out of taking her pen and notebook from her pocket, opening the notebook and clicking the pen to write. “First, what is your full name and legal designation of this facility?”

  Wanda nodded approval. “My name is Wanda Hunt Seine and the full name of this organization is Free Clinic Lighthouse. Yearly financial records are posted on our website and we are managed by a local board of directors.”

  After scribbling that information in her notebook, Joy asked, “In particular, I’m trying to determine the whereabouts of a homeless vet called Cap. He may have witnessed an incident at the Dali Museum in the early hours of Monday this week. We need to talk to him urgently.”

  “Do you have a description?”

  Joy flipped back a few pages of her notebook. “It’s not very specific. Cap is of average height, thin frame, wears ragged camo gear—typical veteran description.”

  “That describes more than half our clients.”

  Joy sighed deeply and put away her pen and notebook. “Well, that’s a dead end then.”

  “Now, now. Don’t give up so easily. Most social workers have been burned by answering seemingly straightforward questions from the police, only to be betrayed. I lost more than one veteran that way.” Wanda reached over and patted Joy on the knee. “I know Ol’ Cap reasonably well. He is an institution here at the Lighthouse. What are the times you need to verify?”

  “From about four in the morning to no later than seven. Why?”

  Wanda held her head in her hands for a moment as if wrestling with conflicting ethics. “He wouldn’t mind, but I won’t reveal his name. I can confirm to you that during that time he was talking to his sobriety sponsor. The rescue conversation lasted from about three in the morning until nearly eight.”

  “How on earth can you confirm that?”

  “Their conversation kept me up most of the night. His sobriety sponsor is my husband.”

  Chapter 24

  Thursday afternoon

  On the way back to Webb’s Glass Shop, Savannah called Edward to meet her and Jacob for a meeting to discuss progress with the investigation. When she parked in the back of the shop, Amanda and Edward helped them unload the plates.

  “I’ll wash the charger plates after the meeting, Jacob. You’ve more than done your share today. You can go home right after our little meeting.”

  “What about decoding the summary sheet of Dennis Lansing’s file?”

  “I don’t mind if you work on it for a little while after our meeting, but I think you’ll be better for taking time to rest. Suzy also needs some down time. She is on duty all the time you’re away from home. This has been a stressful week for us all.”

  “I didn’t think about Suzy. Thanks. She needs some rest.”

  They gathered in the small office in the far back of Webb’s Glass Shop. Savannah sat in the old oak chair in front of the rolltop desk while Jacob and Amanda dragged in stools from the classroom. The side chair was Edward’s spot by habit.

  Amanda pursed her lips. “What’s up with you and Edward?”

  The bell over the front door of the shop rang and Savannah shushed her. “Not now. We have investigation matters to discuss.”

  Edward carried in a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, four glasses filled with ice, and a plate of cookies that smelled of ginger. “It’s still hot out there. Remind me again, when does autumn actually arrive? In England, we can get snow in September.”

  Amanda grabbed one of the cookies and laughed. “For you, our whole winter is probably warmer than a British summer.”

  “Okay, okay.” Savannah fidgeted in the oak chair so that it squeaked. “I want to go over what we’ve learned and figure out what to do next. But first, I got my weekly e-mail n
ewsletter from the Dali Museum this morning. They’re sponsoring a candlelight memorial ceremony on Friday night. It will start at seven-thirty p.m. I would appreciate it if we could all attend.”

  “So we can talk to our suspects without being obvious?” asked Amanda.

  “That’s the plan,” said Savannah. “Now, on to what we know. What still hasn’t turned up is a guest list from the reception. Officer Williams may have forgotten to tell me about it but that seems unlikely. They certainly don’t have to share that with me. I’m only supposed to be looking into my dad’s records. Anyway, Amanda, what have you found out about the director of the Dali Museum?”

  “Well.” Amanda stopped abruptly as some crumbs escaped her mouth. She put a hand to her mouth and mumbled, “’Scuse me.” She gulped some iced tea and began to choke.

  Edward leaped up and gave her a quick slap on her back.

  She coughed and then blushed nearly purple. “I’m so sorry,” she said when she recovered herself. “The ginger is a little strong and for me that translates as hot pepper spicy. Sorry.”

  “So . . .” Savannah waved come on to her.

  “Okay, I made a preliminary troll through the cyber footprints of Lucas, Gina, and Harriet. First, our exceedingly friendly security guard, Lucas Brown, doesn’t appear to have ever owned a computer and I’ll bet his phone is a basic flip phone with no features at all except maybe text messages using the phone keys—painful. He’s a pure Luddite.”

  Jacob reached for a cookie and looked at it closely. “It’s okay not to like fancy phones.” He took a tiny bite. “My phone is basic. I am not a Luddite.”

  Savannah looked over to Amanda with raised eyebrows.

  “Right, that was rude,” Amanda said slowly, then gathered speed. “We all know you hate using the phone, but—”

  “You have so many strengths in other areas,” finished Savannah. “He’s fine. Go on, Amanda, my hacker maven.”