She took a deep breath and nodded.
As we pulled to the curb, Mr. Kim strode down the walkway. Karin looked at me with shame in her eyes. I patted her hand. “You got a long road ahead, but you’ll make it.”
I got out and walked around to open her door. Mr. Kim stood with his arms folded across his chest, waiting. His arms opened when she jumped out and ran to him. Kim scooped her up like he was six feet tall. Hana ran out of the house and leaped into her mother’s arms.
I leaned against the car and watched until they went inside and closed the door. While my heart was warmed, I knew that it was not a happy ending. Not yet.
CHAPTER 16
I wish I could say the chilly air motivated me to move my lard butt faster, but the only breeze making headway was the one my butt made swinging through the experience of jogging. Jogging three miles proved to be the second biggest challenge. It would be the first behind swimming, except I can’t drown jogging. Die from a heart attack, maybe, but not drown.
At 5:30 a.m., the sidewalks were all mine to conquer. I went twenty blocks one way for a mile and a half, then a block over and kept the pace, jogging Rocky-style to the beat of Pharrell’s “Happy.” The car moved slowly about a half block behind me. I turned my head left, choreographed to go with my boxer moves. A gray coupe with tinted windows inched along. I got to the corner and sprinted to the right. The car sped off, keeping straight. Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe not. I slowed and checked my watch. The good news, I did the three miles without stopping. The bad news, it took me forty-five minutes. I had a month to cut my time down to thirty minutes.
Two blocks from the house, I picked up the pace and arrived home, as Travis hustled the twins out the door to take them to day camp at the Kroc Center. Elijah was the last to scoot by me, going to work. Travis reminded me that Sam’s funeral service was tomorrow and Kenyetta’s the day after. I had already requested the time off from work.
Nareece was in the kitchen nursing a cup of coffee and reading and tearing pages out of Philadelphia Style magazine. Recipes to satisfy her newfound obsession with cooking. Other than her bedroom, she stayed in the kitchen, cooking or not cooking. I’m a tea drinker, so I filled a mug with water, put it in the microwave, then got a tea bag from the canister and put it in the hot water, and took a seat.
“I’m thinking about getting my own place,” she said in a sober tone. I choked on a sip of tea. I sucked for air, raised my arms, sucked for air some more. Nareece flipped a page of the magazine without looking up. I sucked for air some more, sounding like a donkey in pain.
“You gonna make it?” She ogled at me until my airway cleared enough for me to take a breath.
“I think it would be better for the twins if we got our own place. I’m fine now and I can certainly afford it.”
Before I answered, she was bent over the magazine again. I wanted to reach over and smack her, but what would be the sense? One minute she seems good because her and Travis are talking and the twins are happy, and the next minute, she’s angry at me or Travis for God only knows what. I took a deep breath and reveled in my ability to do so.
“Do you think moving is what’s best for the twins? They’re settling in and love being around Travis. Those girls will be heartbroken if you take them away now.”
“They’ll be fine. Travis will be going back to school soon, so it won’t matter. I suppose we can stay until then.”
“Yeah, I think that’ll be good.” I downed the last of my tea and got up to put my cup in the dishwasher.
“Leave it, I’ll clean up.”
I set the cup back on the counter. “Reecy, I’m right here when you decide you want to talk. We should be able to talk about anything at this point in our lives.”
She moved the magazine to the side and poked her lips out at me. “We’ll talk some more, but I don’t think I’ll change my mind.”
“Fine, as long as we talk first.”
I was about cross-eyed from staring into a comparison microscope for most of the day, when Fran came in. I welcomed the interruption.
“What’s it looking like?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“What about the fingerprint?”
“No such luck. It was in the water too long, wasn’t good enough.”
“How’s your son doing?”
“He’s messed up. He usually talks to me about everything. Or at least he used to. Not this time, and it’s making me a little crazy. If Kenyetta and Sam were murdered and he is somehow privy to this or mixed up in some stuff . . .”
Fran sat on the desk next to the microscope. “I’m not that well acquainted with him, but from the way you talk about him, he sounds like he’s smart enough to come to you if he needs to. I think you’re more worried about his friend. What’s his name?”
“Elijah. Yes. And the idea is that they come to me before things get bad.”
“Mabley, in my office,” Pacini bellowed, sounding like he was standing right next to me and blowing my eardrums up rather than on the other side of the door down the hallway. I gave Fran the thumbs-down and went to the lieutenant’s office.
“I’m told you visited Blumberg.” He pushed a photograph of me coming out of the building with Calvin and Karin.
“A friend’s daughter got jammed up in there and called me for help. Asked me to pick her up.”
“That friend’s daughter wouldn’t be affiliated with any gang?”
“No, Lieutenant. She got lost for a minute. How’d you find out?” I said, tossing the photograph across his desk.
“You might want to talk with your friend in the gang unit and or DEA before you decide to rescue any more of your friend’s children.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“You’re scheduled to report to Internal Affairs this afternoon at three. Tell them what they want to know, Mabley. Don’t make a big deal about it. They’re going to do what they’re going to do.”
“Well, what they aren’t going to do is make a point by discrediting all the work we put in, not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Which you do and will, I’m sure, and they will experience the Mabley wrath. I’m sure about that as well,” Pacini snarled with a hint of playful sarcasm.
During the ride over to Internal Affairs, I called Dulcey to vent about Reecy.
“She could be right,” Dulcey said. “Those girls may be better off having to deal with her one-on-one, and you going back to being their auntie and Travis . . .”
“Yeah, what about Travis? They don’t even have a clue that he is their brother. I’m thinking that might be the way it should stay too.”
“Well, Travis doesn’t leave for a few more months. A lot can happen before then, like you two talking this thing out, whatever this thing is.”
“Tell her that, because I’m clueless. I mean, I can’t control Travis’s feelings and actions toward her. That’s something for them to work out. I feel like she wants me all up in it, like I should be making Travis call her mom. She isn’t going anywhere. She’s being an ass, but she’s not moving.” Dulcey stayed silent. “Enough about all that. What is going on with you?”
“M, Hampton didn’t call last night or the night before. I’m not one to worry so much, but he calls every night. I’m thinking of taking a trip down to the boat.”
“You stay put. I’ll go down there this afternoon and see what’s going on.”
“Right.”
“Dulcey, you hear me? You’re going to stay put.”
“Yes, Miss M, I do.”
I called Calvin and left a message when he didn’t answer. I wanted to talk to him before meeting with Hampton.
The Internal Affairs Bureau was a two-story, redbrick office building on Dungan Road in Northeast. I pulled into the parking lot on the side of the building and walked around to the front entrance. The receptionist showed me to a conference room across from where she sat. She offered me coffee or tea. I declined. She told me to help myself
to the water and candies that were in the center of the conference table and that the inspector would be with me right away.
I always thought of Inspector Slater as a nice enough guy. I only met him in passing, like at holiday gatherings of police officers. I have never been on the receiving end of questions, suspicions, or anything else that had to do with the workings of Internal Affairs. I’ve been told but could not believe the description of Inspector Slater as a bastard. Then again, he’s getting paid to dig up the dirt on his fellow officers, justified as that may be. So I could understand the attitudes of some officers, but I couldn’t condone them.
Today I believed it, as he attacked. “Did you and Laughton McNair have an affair while he was in the unit? Why did Laughton McNair leave the department? Did you and Laughton McNair do favors for the mob for money? Did you and Laughton McNair send firearms to evidence without being tested? Did you ever lie while testifying under oath?”
“Yes, Laughton and I had an affair. We stopped it as soon as it began, because both of us valued our positions in the department and neither of us was willing to leave. You’ll have to ask Laughton why he left the department. He and I did not do favors for the mob, nor did we send any cases to evidence before testing was completed. And no, I have never lied under oath.”
As soon as I got in my car, Calvin called.
“Hampton is into more than he is saying. They want more from him than he said. There is a contract out on him. I think your guy witnessed a murder or did the job himself.”
“Hamp couldn’t kill anybody. It’s not in his nature.”
“You’d be surprised what’s in a person’s nature when they are being threatened with the right consequences. Look, they’re going to find out about the boat. He needs to leave the city. First, he needs to tell you what’s really going on.”
That almost explained why he hadn’t contacted Dulcey the past two nights. If he was . . . If something had happened to him . . . I floored the gas pedal.
CHAPTER 17
I pulled curbside a block from the entrance gate to the docks. I cut off the engine and sat in the car and watched the thick tourist traffic, typical for the summer months. I got out and meandered my way through the throngs of folks before I broke into a sprint. Halfway down the block, I nearly tripped over a little girl who ran into my path. I hurdled over her to keep from knocking her to the pavement.
I entered the marina from the front side, bypassing the bathhouse. The gate required a key to enter. As I closed it behind me, Dulcey called.
“Well, what’d he say for himself?”
“I’m still en route. I’ll call you back shortly.”
“Oh. Girl, I can go myself.”
Dulcey’s voice quivered as she continued. “I just want him to be all right. You tell him I just want him to come home.”
“Dulce, I’ll call you back. I’m almost there,” I said, as easy as I could, given the emotional stress she exhibited. A big guy bumped against me, almost knocking the phone from my hand. He mumbled some kind of apology and kept stepping. I tucked my irritability under my immediate concern for Hampton and moved on.
I hustled down the walkway toward the Dulcey Maria. The noise of the busy surroundings dulled in the quiet of the boat area. All the boats I passed were closed up, I supposed because of the dinner hour or an art or music festival happening. All except for the Family Sanctum. Mr. Lowry stuck his head out and greeted me as I passed.
I slowed my pace, remembering my last stroll on the dock. I cringed at the thought of swimming again. As I approached the Dulcey Maria, I heard a banging noise. I decided to be safe this time. I tiptoed over the back of the boat and edged up to the doorway, staying hidden. I stuck my head out and did a quick peek around the corner, once, twice. A man in a dark-colored hoodie hunched over a storage container. My first thought said to wait for him to exit rather than announce myself and tempt a scuffle in the tight confines of the boat. My second thought argued the tight confines would work to my advantage.
I slid the door open and drew my Glock. “PPD.”
He froze, cocked his head to the side and turned around, his face wrinkled with an annoyed expression. His five ten, two-hundred-pound stature filled the small cabin. He rushed me as soon as he turned toward me. I clocked him as hard as I could in the head with the butt of my gun before he rose up and spun me around, causing the gun to fly out of my hand. He stumbled forward, pressing me against the cabin wall. My chest caved. No air escaped. I kneed him in the groin. He bent over and stumbled backwards. I anchored a sideways stance to lessen the blow as he lunged at me again. He slammed me back into the cabin wall again. I elbowed him in the jaw, which knocked him back a step before he lunged forward again. I sidestepped and pushed him backward out the cabin door. He lay spread-eagled, faceup on the deck, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.
I ducked inside the cabin and checked the tiny windows on both sides of the boat, staying below the line of sight. I stepped outside the door far enough to bait another shot, the whirring sound of the bullet skimming my ear.
I pulled my cell from my hip. “Officer needs assistance at Penn’s Landing. Shots fired.”
I stayed low and inside the cabin door, peeking up a few times to see where the shooter might be. The dock was empty. I prayed Mr. Lowry had not heard the gunshots and stayed inside his boat. Five minutes felt like an eternity before I heard police clomping down the walkway. Still I was unsure I wanted to stick my head out the door, before a detective knocked and slid it aside.
I recounted the happenings as Zoila milled through the throng of officers.
“I’ll take it from here,” she told the homicide detective. “She’s one of mine.”
“One of yours, huh,” I said after we moved down the walkway. “Why are you here, stepping over homicide?”
“Not stepping over, working with. The dead guy is Edgardo Ramos, a petty thief. So, I ask you, what’s going on, Muriel?”
“I came to help out a friend.”
“Your friends seem to be very needy lately.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “When I got here, the guy ransacking the place had his back to me. I announced myself as police and we got into a struggle inside the cabin. I pushed him out and . . . he went down. Sounded like sniper fire, fast and furious.”
“Fast and furious, huh?”
“Yeah. I stuck my head out and almost got dead too.”
“And you can’t say why someone would want to kill this guy, or your friend, or maybe you?”
“I know, you think I’m putting you off, Zoila, but I’m not. Just give me a little leeway and I swear I will find out what’s going on and fill you in.”
She did not respond. Rather she surveyed the scene, checked out the crowd gathered on the bridge overlooking the dock area, and then back at me.
“I never messed over you,” I said in earnest.
“Never been a time such as this.”
“But I mean, I would never mess you up.”
When I got back to my car, I called Dulcey. No answer. Hamp didn’t answer his phone either. Travis answered before the first ring stopped.
“Ma, where you been? I been banging your number. Go to the hospital. They took Aunt Dulcey to Mercy. Aunt Nareece took a cab there.”
“What do you mean? I just talked to Dulcey about a half hour ago.”
“Just go to the hospital, Ma. I’ll meet you there.”
I called Nareece. She yelled into the phone as soon as she answered.
“Where the hell are you? Dulcey is fighting for her life and you’re nowhere to be found and she’s asking me where you are and where her husband is and I can’t tell her anything because I don’t know, and you call after we’ve been trying to reach you but you don’t answer your cell, like you never answer your cell, especially when I’m calling and—”
“Nareece, stop!” I yelled to gain her attention. I gave her a second before I asked about Dulcey.
She said in a nasty tone, “Dulcey
is in a bad way.”
When I walked into the waiting area at Mercy Hospital, Nareece and Hamp, the lone occupants, sat on opposite sides of the room—Nareece with her head in a magazine on one couch, and Hamp with his head hung, a pitiful vibe surrounding him, on another couch. He popped up and confronted me the minute I walked through the door. I should be focused on Dulcey, I kept telling myself. I was focused on Dulcey, and only on Dulcey, which is why, when I saw Hamp, all self-control was lost. I socked him.
He fell backwards, crashing down on an end table and bringing down the lamp and some magazines with him. Two nurses came running to investigate the commotion and assist him, one telling the other to call the police.
“I am the police,” I said, flashing my badge.
Hamp pushed away attempts by the nurses to examine him, finally raising his voice to make them leave.
Surprisingly, Nareece kept her seat and her mouth locked shut for a change. After the nurses left the room, she approached Hampton and offered him a hand up. He accepted. She helped him sit on the couch and moved the broken pieces of the table off to the side of the room.
A maintenance man came into the room as Nareece pushed aside the last piece of broken lamp with her foot. He picked up the pieces, swept up the remnants, and left. We were all quiet through the process. Until the door closed.
“What are you doing? You not only put yourself in danger, but everybody around you just by your being here. And for what, Hamp? So you can play your games and get stupid? You don’t need my help, you need to be locked up and the key lost.” I plopped down on the other end of the couch from Nareece. I leaned back and rested my head on the back of the couch and tried to take deep breaths to slow my heartbeat and regain control of my faculties.
“Muriel, it’s not what you think,” Hampton said in a low, grumbly voice.
I sat up and bore into him with my most disheartened gaze.
He glanced at Nareece, then back to me, wondering if he should talk in front of her, I supposed. When I did not flinch, he continued.
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