Trial by Fire

by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg

  A beam of light zigzagged through the brush, illuminating discarded aluminum cans, broken bottles, and various paper products people had tossed out the windows of their cars. Stella looked for a place to hide, but the bushes were too low to conceal her. She heard twigs snapping, as Danny started climbing down the embankment. “Over here,” he called out to the other officer.

  Stella was crouched low to the ground, hiding in a patch of knee-high weeds. Now there were two beams of light crisscrossing the embankment, and one passed right by her head. She looked to the bottom of the slope, seeing a narrow access road, and only a few feet away, a blinking neon sign for what looked like a diner. If she could get to the restaurant, she would be safe. Danny and the other cop wouldn’t harm her in front of witnesses. No one would be that stupid.

  The beams of light moved a few feet to her right, and Stella knew it was time to make her move. She scurried down the embankment, slapping the branches away with her hands. Reaching the road, she kicked off her one remaining shoe, and sprinted toward the diner. It was farther away than she thought, and Stella’s chest felt as if it were about to burst. When she finally reached the door, she yanked it open and stumbled inside.

  ‘ ‘Where’s the bathroom?” she shouted, her eyes searching the room, then darting back to the windows. Danny’s face was pressed against the glass as he peered inside, the second officer standing behind him.

  A blond waitress passed Stella carrying a tray laden with plates of scrambled eggs and bacon. “Oh, honey,” she said, seeing the scratches and dirt on Stella’s face, her ripped and filthy clothes, the wild look in her eyes. “Were you raped? Do you want me to call the police?”

  “Too late,” Stella mumbled, her hand pressed over her mouth. Through the window, she saw Danny speaking to the other officer, then saw the officer walk off. When she saw Danny enter the restaurant, Stella vomited right at the waitress’s feet, the contents of her stomach spewing out through her fingers.

  Stella was seated in the passenger seat of the police car. “Are you feeling better?” Danny asked, glancing over at her.

  “Does this mean I’m under arrest?” Stella asked, her voice weak and shaky. “I thought prisoners had to ride in the back.”

  “I’m not going to arrest you,” he said. “I was concerned, though, when I first stopped you. You probably don’t realize it, Stella, but you were weaving all over the place.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” she asked, her arms wrapped around her chest. “You know, acknowledge that you knew me.”

  “Oh,” Danny replied, pulling the police unit behind Stella’s rental car and killing the engine, “when you have to arrest someone, it’s better if you don’t make it personal. I learned that in the police academy. I’ve only been a member of the force for two years.” He sighed. “I try to do everything by the book, particularly now after what happened with Clem.”

  A tense silence ensued. Stella felt uncomfortable sitting in the dark car with him. She reached for the door handle, when Danny began speaking. “Clem wasn’t a good man,” he said. “He was cruel, Stella. He treated Sarah like dirt, always barking orders at her, never showing her any respect.”

  “And you?” she said.

  The muscles in his body became rigid, but he didn’t speak.

  “That bad, huh?” Stella whispered.

  “Whatever Clem got, he deserved,” Danny said, turning to face her. “There are people at the department who don’t feel that way, though. There’s been talk, Stella. It’s one of the reasons I sent the officer who responded for backup away once I found you in the restaurant. If another one of our guys tries to stop you in the next couple of days, you might be better off doing what you did tonight.”

  “Try to outrun them?” Stella asked.

  “Yeah,” Danny said. “Either that, or buy yourself a gun.”

  Stella opened the door and stepped out, leaning back in through the window. “Thanks,” she said. “If I can ever do anything to help you, you know where to find me.”

  Standing in the kitchen with Mario, Stella was nibbling on a piece of toast as sunlight streamed in through the open window. Her brother was wearing jeans, but had not yet put on his shirt, and Stella was still swaddled in her terrycloth robe. “Why didn’t you wake me last night?” he said.

  “I was so scared, Mario,” Stella answered, her upper lip trembling. “Other than the night of the fire, I don’t think I’ve ever been that afraid. I was certain they were going to drag me off in handcuffs, take me somewhere, and kill me. If it hadn’t been Danny who stopped me—”

  Mario scowled. “The police can’t do this, Stella. The way Danny described it, they’re planning to ambush you or something. We should call the federal authorities and ask them to investigate the entire Houston Police Department.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” she said, dropping what was left of her toast in the trash can. “How bad is my face?” she asked, touching it with her fingers. “Can I cover it up with makeup?”

  Mario walked over and tilted her head up.

  “There’s only a few scratches.” He pushed up the sleeve of her robe. “The ones on your arms are the worst, Stella, but they should be fine in a few days. You’re lucky you didn’t crash the car.”

  “I don’t want Sam to know what happened,” she said. “I’ve put him through enough as it is. Once the baseball game is over, he’s flying back to Dallas with Adam. He won’t leave if he finds out what happened last night.”

  “What are you going to do about the stuff in the living room?” Mario asked. “I mean, this is a small place, Stel. I can barely walk with all those boxes.”

  “I’ll work on it after Sam leaves,” she said, sighing. “Are you going to come with us to the game? Sam bought you a ticket.”

  Mario stood, angry and agitated. “You’re going to a fucking baseball game? You can’t be serious, Stella. You’re just going to skip off as if last night never happened, after everything Danny told you? Have you lost your mind?”

  Stella glowered at him, refusing to answer.

  “Look at you,” Mario continued, pacing back and forth in front of her. “You haven’t slept. Your face is all marked up. You’re a nervous wreck.” He stopped and grabbed her by the shoulders. “Give it up, Stella. Don’t you know when to quit? Your life is in danger. Now is the time to walk away.”

  Stella knocked his hands away. “I can’t walk away,” she snapped. “I’m too close.”

  He shook his head. “You always been stubborn, but—”

  Stella pushed her way past him, stopping at the doorway. ‘ ‘Everything’s coming back,” she told him. “Dad was involved in the Happy Day cave-in, and not just as a building inspector. I remember seeing the newspaper article on the kitchen table only a few days before the fire.” She paused, taking a long breath. “Janet Hernandez was right, Mario. The answers are in those boxes. All we have to do is find them.”

  Mario was silent, thinking. “I’ll go through the remaining paperwork while you’re gone.”

  “Thanks,” Stella said.

  “Oh, Brenda Anderson’s mother called last night,” Mario added. “They’re taking her back into surgery this morning.”

  “No,” Stella said, her jaw dropping. “Why?”

  “She’s allergic to the material the surgeons used to stitch her up, so her mother said they have to go back in and replace it. Mrs. Anderson insists she’s going to be fine, though, and asked me to tell you not to worry.” Mario removed a piece of paper from a bowl on the kitchen counter where he kept coupons and receipts. “Brenda told her mother to deliver this message. I have no idea what it means. Here,” he said, handing the paper to Stella, “maybe you can figure it out.”

  Stella saw only one word on the paper: Partners. “Is this all she told you?”

  “Strange, huh?” Mario said. “Brenda had already been sedated when her mother called last night, so we couldn’t clarify what she meant.” He looked at the wall clock. “The surgery was schedule
d for ten o’clock. If you stick around, Stella, Brenda should be awake in an hour or so % and we can talk to her.”

  Stella was confused. “It must relate to the cave-in. Brenda has to be referring to the subcontractors who poured the foundation.”

  “Not necessarily,” he answered. “Maybe she’s talking about the pension scam. Didn’t you suspect that Uncle Clem had partners? His partners were probably police officers. I think what happened to you last night and what we went through in the cemetery more or less confirms that, don’t you?”

  Stella thought of Carl Winters. Had the detective been her uncle’s partner? Had he been the one to do her uncle’s dirty work, like setting the fire at her house? She felt like tracking Winters down and beating the truth out of him. Mario was right. She was reaching the breaking point. “I have to go,” she said. “Today means too much to Sam.”

  “Go, then,” Mario said. “I’ll call Janet and see if she’ll come over and give me a hand looking through the files. Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something.”

  Stella hadn’t been to a baseball game since she was a child, and the Astrodome was far from an ordinary baseball field. Adam was a walking almanac. “Did you know Evil Knievel jumped thirteen cars here in 1971?” he said. They were standing in line at the concession stand. “They call this place the Eighth Wonder of the World.”

  “I don’t think they call it that anymore, big guy,” Sam said, ruffling his hair. “They called it that because it was the only enclosed playing field. Now there’s a number of them.”

  Adam reached up and knocked his father’s hand away. “Don’t do that to my hair,” he said, “it makes me look like a baby. See,” he continued, “when they first built it, they tried to use real grass, but it died because there wasn’t enough sunlight. Guess what they did then?”

  “They invented AstroTurf,” Stella said.

  “No,” he said, “that was later. First, they sprayed the dead grass with paint. Isn’t that funny? Didn’t they know when they built it that the grass wouldn’t grow? Bunch of knuckleheads, huh?”

  Stella laughed and leaned into Sam. Being with Sam and his son gave her a sense of well-being. “There’s something about a baseball game, isn’t there? Look at all these people. Everyone seems so happy, so up. Why can’t they be this way all the time?”

  “Maybe it’s the hot dogs,” Sam said, stepping up to order their food.

  Once he had paid, Sam dispensed their hot dogs and sodas. Reaching for a wad of napkins, he shoved them in his pocket, then took a handful of plastic packets filled with mustard and ketchup. “Follow me, gang,” he said, leading them toward the entrance to their seating section.

  Stella was juggling her hot dog and soda in her hands when she felt someone bump into her, and her soda splashed all over the floor. In the same instant, she realized her purse had disappeared from her shoulder. Looking up, she saw a man darting in and out through the crush of people ahead. “My purse,” she shouted back to Sam, tossing her hot dog aside. “Call security. I have to get it back.”

  Shoving people out of her way, Stella dashed after the thief. The metal pieces were in her bag, and Holly would never drop the charges if she didn’t get them back. Every few feet she jumped in the air, trying to see over people’s heads. The purse snatcher had been wearing an Astros cap and a dark-colored T-shirt. Sam was calling to her but she didn’t stop. If she did, the man would get lost in the crowd and they’d never find him.

  Stella bent over to catch her breath when a group of people parted and she caught sight of a purse swinging through the air. She couldn’t see the man, but she was certain it was her purse. Just as she was about to catch up to him, Adam darted past her and tackled the man around the ankles. They both tumbled to the ground, the boy trying to wrench the purse out of the man’s hands.

  Although she was still a good distance away, Stella saw the contents of her purse spill out onto the floor. The man was on his back now, and Adam was straddling him, pummeling at his face with his fists. Right by the man’s feet was the small brown box containing the metal chips. The man kicked out, and the box went sailing across the floor, disappearing under the feet of a group of onlookers who were huddled together watching the drama unfold.

  “Get away, Adam,” Stella screamed. “Let him have the purse.” She saw a dark object on the floor next to her hairbrush. “Oh no!” She stopped running and stood perfectly still. Before leaving Mario’s, she had placed the revolver Brenda had given her in her purse, and it was now only a few feet from the purse snatcher’s hands.

  “The gun,” she yelled. She ran a few more feet and then threw herself on the floor on her stomach, stretching her arms in front of her to reach the revolver. The man growled and tossed Adam off his chest. Stella’s fingers were touching the gun, but Adam slammed into her side, and the gun went skittering away. She pushed herself to her feet, but by the time she did, the gun had disappeared.

  Stella heard Sam’s voice again, and called out to him, “Find the gun, Sam.” More onlookers had assembled in the corridor, forming a wall between Stella and Sam, who was trying to fight his way through the crowd.

  Stella jerked her head back to Adam, and gasped. “Br-Brad,” she stammered. Her husband had his forearm pressed against Adam’s throat and was scooting backward across the floor, his face partially obscured by the baseball cap.

  “Get back or I’ll shoot the boy,” he shouted, holding the gun to Adam’s head.

  Stella’s feet felt as if they were nailed to the floor. Was she hallucinating? The man turned his head, and she saw his profile. “Good lord, Brad,” she cried, “why are you doing this?”

  “Get back,” Brad shouted again. His face was drenched with sweat, and mucus dripped from his nose. “I’ll shoot, Stella. I have nothing to lose now.”

  The onlookers scattered, running into each other as pandemonium broke out. Sodas, hot dogs, and napkins littered the floor. Several people slipped and fell, then scrambled back to their feet. “He’s got a gun!” someone cried.

  Sam ran past Stella to get to his son. She managed to catch his arm. “It’s Brad … my God, Sam, it’s Brad!”

  Sam stared at the man with his son, his chest heaving from exertion. “Did he mistake Adam for the purse snatcher?”

  “No,” Stella said, shaking her head. “Don’t go near him. Something is terribly wrong.” Seeing the small brown box containing the metal chips on the floor where a group of onlookers had been, Stella raced over and retrieved it. “He wanted my purse,” she told Sam, showing him the box in her hand. “The metal chips were inside.”

  Sam was horrified. “Let the boy go,” he called out, his voice shaking. “Please, he’s only a kid. Give him the box, Stella. If that’s what he wants, give it to him.”

  Hearing the disturbance, two men in security uniforms rushed over. When they saw what was going on, one of them said, “Call the police. Tell them we’ve got a hostage situation.” The officer glanced toward the ramps leading into the enclosed stadium. People were still walking in and out, heading to the snack bar and toilets. “And get some men stationed at the gates,” he barked to the other security officer. “Have them make an announcement inside the arena. We can’t let these people walk out here like this. We have to contain this situation.”

  Stella’s fear and confusion turned to rage. She tossed the box at Brad, snarling like a mad woman, “Take it, you fucking prick.” She lowered her voice, realizing it was a mistake to provoke him. “Did you think you could frame me with the chips, Brad? I don’t need your stupid money. Let the boy go, and I won’t ask you for another cent.”

  Releasing his hold on Adam long enough to grab the box, Brad shoved it into the waistband of his pants, then placed his arm back on Adam’s throat. “You got what you wanted,” Sam yelled. “Now be a man and let my son go.”

  Adam’s face was pasty and pale. Several times he tried to wrench away from Brad, but Sam called out to him. “Don’t move, Adam. Just be still. He’s going to let you
go. He doesn’t want to go to jail.” All the onlookers had been dispersed now, and Sam’s voice echoed in the empty space.

  Inside the stadium, the announcer came on the loudspeaker and advised the spectators to stay in their seats and not exit the stadium until the police resolved the situation outside. The announcer tried to assure them they weren’t in danger, that it was only a minor police matter, but people were already scrambling from their seats and rushing up the stairs toward the exits before the announcer had even finished speaking. The players stood still on the playing field, wondering what was going on. Several of the coaches and other officials huddled together, trying to make a decision as to what to do. One coach checked in with the control booth via his headset. “Are we playing ball today or not? What’s going on?”

  “They have a man with a gun,” the announcer reported. “If you don’t want people to get trampled to death, I’d suggest you play ball. If you stop the game, the crowd will assume the worst and panic.”

  The game resumed.

  Hundreds of people had already rushed the exit doors, however, and were beating on them with their fists. The security force had locked the doors from the outside, and now had men stationed in front of each exit. But the doors were straining as the people’s hysteria intensified.

  Stella and Sam were standing in the same position, several security guards beside them. Brad started scooting backward again, dragging Adam with him. Sam, Stella and the security guards advanced, and then stopped, fearful Brad would panic. “Please, Brad,” Stella pleaded, “let him go. Whatever problems we have can be resolved. I’ll do anything you ask of me. I swear. You can even keep the house. What you’re doing now is insane.”

  “If he keeps moving,” the security guard whispered to Sam, “he’s going to make it to the stairwell. We’re going to go out this entrance and then come in behind him. You don’t want him to get down the stairs.”