by Joy Copeland
Zoie had no shoes to shed. Her bare feet were strangely cold, a bit numb, and filthy, having picked up God knows what from the Shelter’s courtyard. Until now neither Lena nor Charles had seemed to notice her bare feet. Zoie was about to ask Lena for some plastic bags to cover them when Lena noticed Zoie’s problem. “Poor thing,” Lena said, looking down at Zoie’s feet. “Wait here. I’ll get you something to clean them.” She scurried toward the kitchen.
“Lena, let’s make this easy!” Charles called after her. Zoie had no time to mount a credible objection before Charles swooped down, lifted her slight frame, and deposited her in a kitchen chair.
In the kitchen Lena was ready with a pan of warm, soapy water and a towel. “There,” she said proudly, placing the pan at Zoie’s feet, clearly happy that her carpet was no longer in jeopardy.
Zoie thanked them profusely and placed her feet into the warm water to soak. She would examine her feet for scrapes later. For now she just wanted to enjoy the water’s warmth.
Accompanied by Lena, Charles went into the living room and made himself comfortable.
While her feet soaked, Zoie spotted the paper on which she’d written her emergency-contact numbers. Lena was to get in touch with these people if something happened to her at the Shelter. Thank God that Lena hadn’t needed to use them. She folded the paper into a tight square and stuck it in her pocket. “Soon this will be all over,” she said, sighing. Soon she would bring Nikki home. For now her daughter was safe in Ohio. Zoie pondered asking the Benjamins to keep Nikki for an additional week, until things settled down.
After Zoie ensured that her feet were clean enough to pass through Lena’s carpeted areas, her host showed her to the apartment’s second bedroom. The small room, like the rest of Lena’s home, was immaculate. It was done in eggshell tones. The sofa was adorned with animal-print pillows, and the Queen Anne desk was covered in tidily stacked documents. Lena had already moved Zoie’s denim bag and pocketbook into the room. “All I want is to get into my own clothes and get a few hours of shut eye,” Zoie said.
“I’ll pull out the sofa bed for you,” Lena said with a sigh. “Let me get some sheets, and you probably want to take a shower to get the crud off. By the way, do you think we can do that exclusive interview after you talk to the police? I let my editor know that I’m expecting a hot story.” Lena waited anxiously for Zoie’s response.
“I guess. Yeah, sure.” At some point Zoie would have to contact the Foundation, and surely she would have to go with the police to her apartment, which should now be considered a crime scene because of the break-in and the theft of her laptop and briefcase. She didn’t know what she would be allowed to tell Lena with a murder and attempted-murder cases pending.
Zoie dug through her things in search of her all-important Blackberry charger. In her rush to leave her apartment after the break-in, she’d failed to pack the charger and a robe. Lena lent her a terrycloth robe and found an old Blackberry charger, which luckily worked with Zoie’s phone. Zoie stripped off her bloodied clothes and put them in a plastic bag for Charles. It seemed the bloodied clothes constituted evidence and “Sir” Charles was accountable for this evidence. It was a stipulation of the grand bargain that Charles had made with the Fifth District officers to keep her from being marched off to the precinct.
“This isn’t what you were wearing when you left here,” Lena said, making the clothing connection. “Guess my jogging suit is history?”
“Sorry. I’ll reimburse you,” Zoie said.
“I’m not worried about it. Mmm, I have some fond memories of what I was doing in that thing.”
“Too much information,” Zoie replied with a half smile. “Please ask Charles to check on Maynard. They took him to Washington Hospital Center.”
Lena passed on the request for an update on Maynard’s condition to Charles, who in turn called out from the living room. “Zoie, do you know this Maynard’s last name?”
“No! All I know is Maynard!” she responded.
In the next half hour, Zoie was feeling a bit saner. She’d showered, ridding herself of the remaining blood, sweat, and dirt from the night’s ordeals. Donning the borrowed robe, she joined Lena and Charles on the white sofa. Sipping beer, Charles looked quite at home.
“Your friend Maynard is still critical but breathing on his own,” Charles reported.
“Thank God,” Zoie said.
“Thank yourself,” Charles said. “Moving him was a smart thing. It kept him from further harm. The hospital has the report on the drug those thugs used on him. Seems if the drugs didn’t get him, the internal injuries from the beating could have done him in.”
Lena said, “See, Zoie—you’re a hero. This is gonna make a great story.”
Zoie wasn’t seeking praise. She was just relieved that Maynard had survived. And she was very, very tired. “Thanks, Charles. I needed to know that. Now I’ll try to get a few hours of sleep.”
“Okay. But remember that I’ll be back at nine to take you to the station.”
“That soon, huh?”
“Got to get this over with.”
“If you mean getting the statement over with, well, yeah, that’s good. But you and I know this is far from over. There are more of them out there. They didn’t finish off Maynard, and they didn’t get me…this time, anyway. But they might try again.”
“Goons don’t take those actions on their own. I think we got the ringleaders.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Then you have legitimate concerns for your safety. Do you want me to see if I can arrange protection?”
Zoie closed her eyes and nervously rubbed her forehead as she thought. It was only a few hours until daylight. And at 9:00 a.m. Charles would be back. All she wanted to do was to get a little sleep.
“We’ve got the guy at the desk downstairs,” Lena offered, trying to be helpful.
Zoie opened her eyes and laughed. “Did I tell you how easy it was for me to get past your security yesterday? And the front desk of my building is manned twenty-four hours too, but that didn’t stop them from breaking into my place. She turned to Charles. “Look, maybe the police can arrange something later. The truth is I’m afraid to return to my apartment.”
“Charles, is Jahi Khalfani still at large?” Lena asked.
“‘At large’ sounds so ominous…” Zoie said.
“If Khalfani is behind this, as you suspect, then it is ominous. I’ll check on his status before I leave.”
“Please check on Sister Te’s status as well.”
“You ladies make a great team,” Charles said. He went off to the kitchen to call his precinct contact. He was back in a few minutes with an update. “Khalfani and this Sister Te are at the Fifth District station. They’re not being held. They’re just giving their statements. And my contact says Khalfani wants to arrange bail for one of the guys they arrested.”
“That’s got to be Tarik,” Zoie said.
“Well, I can tell you that there’ll be no bail tonight, no bail until after arraignment, and maybe no bail even then, depending on what he’s charged with.”
“Okay, I can deal with that,” Zoie said. “Right now I want to check my messages and then close my eyes. I’m exhausted.” The adrenalin rush had come and gone. She was crashing.
“You’ve got my number,” Charles said, turning to Lena. “If anything looks fishy, call me right away.”
Lena walked Charles into the foyer. Heading to the kitchen for a glass of water, Zoie looked back to see their bodies press together in a sultry embrace. Earlier Zoie had noticed Charles’s gold band. Another case of an affair with a married man. Anyway, who was she to judge? Lena was a single, thirty-something, professional black woman in a city infamous for its unfavorable ratio of black women to black men—unfavorable for women that is. Under those circumstances it was difficult for an educated woman to find her equal. And it appeared that Lena had chosen not to look beyond her own race. But then she’d just reconnected wi
th Lena. What did she know about Lena, really?
The two must have sensed Zoie’s eyes. They exited to the outside hall to conclude their farewell.
Sipping her water, Zoie sat on the sofa bed, scrolling through her missed calls while her Blackberry charged. Many of the calls she didn’t recognize. She figured the unrecognized calls to be more of the threatening variety. She sure wasn’t going to upset herself further by listening to those messages tonight. In fact, they could wait until she sat with the police. Several local area codes came up in the list. She figured that these calls were from folks at her office and maybe even from Jahi, though his cell number didn’t appear in the list. A number of calls bearing a 419 area code grabbed her attention. Some were clearly identified as from Celeste. A few had a 419 area code but provided no names. The last missed call from that area code was at 1:30 a.m. Why would Celeste be calling at that hour? The Benjamins usually turned in before the late-night news.
Zoie took a deep breath and called Celeste. After two rings Celeste answered with a weak “Hello.”
“Celeste, this is Zoie. Sorry to call at this ungodly hour. I saw you’d tried to call me several times. I figured it must be important.”
“Oh, God! Zoie, we’ve been trying to contact you for hours.”
“My cell battery went dead. What’s wrong? What’s going on? Is Nikki okay?”
“Oh, Zoie, Nikki is missing.”
“What do you mean—Nikki is missing?”
“Since this evening she’s been gone. We can’t find her.”
“Where have you looked? Have you looked in the closets and under the beds? Have you looked in the dryer?” Zoie said in rapid fire. Zoie was now standing, stretching the cord that tethered the device to the wall outlet. “Check the dryer! She hid there once when she was three. She’s a master at hide-and-seek.”
“Yes, yes, Zoie. We’ve looked everywhere. She was supposed to be with the neighbor kids to watch a movie. But…” Celeste’s voice trailed off. Zoie could hear sobbing.
“Did you leave her over there? Was it after dark?”
Celeste was no longer answering. All Zoie could hear was the woman’s muffled sobs.
“Celeste! Celeste! Get it together! You’re telling me that you lost my child?”
The next voice to come on the line was Phillip Benjamin.
“My wife is too upset to talk now.” Zoie could tell that he, too, was shaken, but at least he was still coherent. Zoie heard him say, “Celeste, sit down before you pass out.”
“Phillip! Phillip! Are you still there? What’s going on?”
“Zoie, I’ll explain what I know. The Perrysburg police are here. They’ve been listening on the other phone in case this was a ransom call. “It’s Zoie Taylor, Nikki’s mother,” he told someone in the room.
“Ransom call? Do they think she’s been kidnapped?”
“Right now nobody’s sure. We tried to call you at home and at your office…wait. They want to talk to you.”
Zoie could hardly speak. All kinds of things were going through her mind. At the top of the list was the ugly conversation that she and Nikki had when they last talked. Then she remembered the threat that Tarik had made about her daughter. She had figured that Nikki, being in Ohio, was safe.
“Hey, what’s going on?” After seeing Charles off, Lena returned. “Who are you talking to at this hour?”
With the phone pressed to her ear, Zoie directed a loud “Shh!” at Lena.
Lena grimaced and backed away and waited by her desk.
“I’m so sorry, Zoie. I’m going to put the police on. They can explain what they’re doing,” Phillip said.
Zoie was suddenly talking to a Perrysburg detective named Marconi. The detective explained that they’d already searched the neighborhood and were planning to do a more thorough search at light. They were also checking all of the registered child sex offenders in the area. As Zoie listened, her heart sank.
“What? What?” said Lena, who couldn’t hear the other end of the conversation.
“We think she might’ve run away,” continued the detective. “Seems that the puppy she was very attached to is also missing. The Benjamins told us that they had sold the puppy to a man who planned to pick it up next week. We’re trying to locate this person so we can talk to him. You know animals are sometimes used to lure children away.”
Zoie gasped.
“We don’t know if that’s what happened. But we have to consider all possibilities.” The detective went on to explain that they were working with a picture of Nikki and the puppy, which the Benjamins had provided, and that the FBI branch in Toledo was now involved. They planned to issue an Amber Alert within the hour. “Is there anything you know that can help us with the search? Sometimes things you think are ordinary can be helpful clues, like what foods she likes.”
“Give me a moment to think,” Zoie said, almost stuttering. Her usually sharp mind was unresponsive. There was plenty she could tell them, but none of it could be categorized as ordinary. How does she tell them about a crime syndicate out for revenge? Oh, Nikki, you were supposed to be safe in Ohio.
“Ms. Taylor, are you still there?”
“Yes…I’m here.”
“This must be quite a shock. I want you to know we’re doing everything possible to find your daughter. The FBI can send an agent to interview you. Sometimes an interview can generate clues.” There was a long pause. “But in my experience I think it’s better if you were right here. You’re the mother, and when we find her—and we will find her—she’s going to want her mother. I suggest you try to get here as soon as possible.”
Where could she begin to tell them about the events of the last forty-eight hours? And if she did tell them, would doing so help or hinder the return of her daughter? “I understand,” she said. “Detective Marconi, please put Phillip back on the line.”
Phillip must have been standing right there. Without delay he was on the line. “Zoie, as Detective Marconi said, we’re going to find her.”
“Phillip, is it true? Did you sell the puppy that Nikki wanted?”
“Well, yes, Zoie. This guy gave us a seventy-five-dollar deposit. The dog was supposed to be a surprise for his kid’s birthday. He said he’d come back with the rest of the money in ten days. By then Nikki would be home with you. The arrangement was going to work out all the way around.”
Phillip’s matter-of-fact explanation set Zoie on boil. If it weren’t for the fact that the phone charger tethered her to the wall, she would have run from the room screaming. It was that and the knowledge that if she lost her cool, Phillip, like Celeste, would simply shutdown. Accordingly, she struggled to control the tone of her remarks. She needed Phillip to keep talking. She needed information to determine whether the Shelter’s crew had kidnapped Nikki or something else had transpired. Had she run away? Zoie clenched her fist and articulated her every syllable. “Did Nikki know that you had sold the dog?”
“No…at least I don’t think so,” Phillip answered, sounding very unsure. “She did ask what would happen to Biscuit when she left. We told her we would find the puppy a good home.”
“Well, how did she act when you told her that?”
“She was quiet and sad, but that was to be expected.”
Despite efforts to maintain her control, Zoie unleashed her anger. “Damn! Damn! Damn you, Phillip!”
Her outburst obviously startled Phillip because there was an eerie silence on the Perrysburg end of the call. Phillip finally responded in the calmest voice he could muster. “Zoie, getting angry is not going to help find Nikki.”
“Phillip, you knew how attached Nikki was to that dog!”
“Don’t put this on us, Zoie. You made it clear to all of us that the dog was not going home with Nikki.”
“But you didn’t have to be stupid about it!” she screamed.
“Zoie, I’m going to hang up now. You need to calm down.” The Ohio end of the call went dead. Zoie glared at her Blackberry as if the dev
ice itself were to blame for the disconnection. She slammed the phone into the bed, jerking its charger from the wall.
Lena, having witnessed the whole thing, sprang forward with a slew of questions. “Okay. This is serious. What’s going on?”
As though in a trance, Zoie slowly sat on the bed. Her eyes were glued to the phone. She tried willing it to ring so that she could finish thrashing the Benjamins for losing her daughter. But the phone lay silent.
“Zoie! What’s going on?”
Zoie turned to address Lena. In the matter of seconds, her demeanor had gone from utter rage to something Zen-like. “Lena, not now…Nikki is missing.”
After a few minutes, Zoie regained her equilibrium. She quickly dressed into her own things—jeans and a jersey. Her change in demeanor cued Lena to resume her questioning. Zoie responded but only with curt answers.
“God, Zoie! This is awful. What do you think is going on?”
“Lena, I don’t know. How many times do I have to say it? I don’t know. I don’t know. All I know is my daughter is missing.” Not stopping to look at Lena, Zoie shoved her possessions into the overnight bag. She retrieved her phone from the bed and disconnected it from the charger. The phone had little or no charge, but what juice it had would have to do.
“Can I borrow this?” Zoie asked, holding up the charger.
“Sure.”
“Do you think the thugs from Mahali snatched her? Jahi wouldn’t do something like that. Taking a child?”
“He’s surprising us all, isn’t he?”
“Charles said Jahi and that bitch are still at the precinct,” Lena offered. “How could…”
“Don’t be silly! They’ve got phones. They’ve got goons. They could call in a kidnapping as easily as ordering takeout.”
“Well, I guess,” Lena said, indicating that she wasn’t completely convinced.
Had Lena changed her mind? Could it be she no longer considered Jahi guilty? Zoie slung her stuffed overnight bag over one shoulder and her purse over the other. She grabbed her running shoes and headed to the living room. Lena was hot on her socked heels.