by B K Stevens
“Yeah, Graciana Cortez and I talked to her at her apartment on Monday. And yesterday I talked to her again—after school, at the cemetery.”
“That’s a strange place to meet.” He was squinted at me, like he was trying to see past my face and into my brain. “What’d you talk about?”
Damn. He wouldn’t like this. “Her sister’s death, mostly.”
No, he didn’t like it. “Her suicide, you mean.”
I sighed. “Marie isn’t sure it was suicide. You know that.”
He lifted just one side of his mouth in a sour, exasperated smile. “You’re something else, Foley. You got a murder fixation? First that coach, now Nina Ramsey. How long did you and Marie talk yesterday?”
“Ten, fifteen minutes. Then her brother showed up—her half-brother. Ted Ramsey. He wasn’t happy Marie and I were talking, and he made her leave with him.”
He wrote that down. “When did you start hitting her?” he asked, not looking up.
I got a sick, hollow feeling in my stomach. “I didn’t hit her. I didn’t hit anyone.”
“No? How’d you get that black eye, then?”
“From Ted Ramsey. Like I said, he didn’t like it that I was talking to Marie, and I didn’t like the way he was treating her. I tried to tell her she didn’t have to go with him, and he punched me.”
“Did you hit him back?”
“No. I didn’t want to make things worse for Marie.”
Hill stopped writing. “I gotta tell you, Foley, this doesn’t sound good. You’re supposed to be a martial artist, but you can’t block a punch from a clumsy lug like Ted Ramsey, and you don’t even hit him back. Maybe you didn’t get the black eye from him. Maybe you got it from Marie Ramsey, when she was trying to defend herself.”
“I told you, I never hit her. I wouldn’t—”
“All right. Tell me where you were last night, say until 10:30.”
Damn, I thought. He’s asking for an alibi. How serious is this? Am I going to get arrested? “I was at home. My parents can back that up, and so can my sister.”
He jutted his chin out and nodded as he wrote it down, pretending to look impressed. “Alibi confirmed by members of immediate family. That’s gonna convince a jury. You didn’t go out at all? Popular teenage guy, and you spent the whole night sitting in your room? Nobody outside your family came to see you?”
“No. I talked to a few people on the phone.”
“Your cell phone, right? So you could’ve made the calls from anywhere.” He did this big sigh, then a pretty good impression of a sympathetic look. “Let’s not drag this out. Things will go easier on you if you’re upfront with me. You went to Marie’s apartment, she was alone, you tried to get romantic, you got into a fight. Those things happen. Who knows? Maybe she hit you first. And you’re a minor. If you cooperate, I’ve got some leeway on the charges.”
He sounded almost friendly—that scared me more than anything else. “Lieutenant, nothing like that happened. I swear—”
“All right,” he said. “If that’s how you want to play it. We’ve still got forensic stuff to sift through, so I won’t take further action yet. Might as well have all the evidence in order first. You’re not going anywhere, right? And stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. You won’t make it easier for the jury to believe you if they think you’re some deranged kid obsessed with violence.”
He strolled back into the hospital, taking his time, enjoying himself. I braced a hand against the nearest car to steady myself and tried to breathe evenly. God, I thought. How much trouble am I in? I had a quick image of myself in handcuffs, of Hill grinning and putting a hand on top of my head as I got into the backseat of a police car.
Graciana, Berk, and Joseph came running out, practically going crazy with the suspense. I told them about what had happened, trying to be coherent, trying not to sound scared.
Berk looked as terrified as I felt. “Damn, Matt. Why would Hill accuse you? How does he even know you’ve been talking to Marie?”
“Ted Ramsey.” Graciana’s face looked grim and tight. “Has to be. We figured he was the one who beat Marie up, and this proves it. I bet the police gave him a hard time, and he tried to deflect suspicion by accusing Matt.”
“That is credible,” Joseph said. “I am sorry, Matt. You should have a lawyer to advise you. Your parents could help you secure one.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want to tell them about this, not unless I have to. Sooner or later, that’d mean telling them about everything, including going to Richmond. If they find out about all the things I’ve been keeping from them, I’ll be in big trouble.”
“You’ll be in bigger trouble if you get arrested,” Berk said.
“You won’t get arrested,” Graciana said. “Hill can’t really suspect you. If he did, he would’ve taken you in for questioning. He mentioned forensic evidence, but he didn’t fingerprint you. He didn’t even take a picture of your bruise. If he were planning to build a case against you, he’d want a picture, as proof you’d been in a violent clash.”
That gave me hope. “Then why did he say those things?”
“Because he doesn’t like you,” she said, her voice getting harder and angrier. “Because he resents you for questioning his professional opinions, and he wants to bully you into stopping.”
“I bet you’re right,” Berk said, eyes brightening. “Anyway, Matt, if it comes down to your word against Ted Ramsey’s, you should be all right. I bet he’s got a record—I bet he’s done lots of violent things. Who’d believe him over you?”
I shrugged. “It depends on what Marie says. She’s scared to death of her brother. If he tells her she has to say I’m the one who hit her, she might.”
Graciana shook her head. “She wouldn’t send you to prison for something you didn’t do. She’ll send him to prison, so he can’t hurt her anymore. You don’t have anything to worry about. Let’s go to Hardee’s. We’ll talk everything over, decide what to do next.”
“Hold on,” Berk said. “I’m not sure I want to do anything next. Hill told Matt to stop nosing around. Maybe we should all do that. We haven’t gotten any closer to figuring anything out, and look at all the bad stuff’s that’s happened. We’re all in trouble with Lombardo, Matt’s in trouble with the police, he got punched, and Marie got beat up—we still don’t know how bad. I say that’s enough. I’m through.”
“I think perhaps we should all be through,” Joseph said. “From first beginning, we said we would try to learn all we could. We did so. We did not get the result we hoped, but what can we do more? And now there has been violence. It has become too much.”
“I understand why you feel that way,” Graciana said, “but I do think we’ve made progress. If we—”
“Look,” I said, “maybe we shouldn’t make decisions right now. It’s been a rough day. We can work off steam at krav tonight, give ourselves a chance to absorb what’s happened, talk tomorrow or Friday. What do you think?”
Berk and Joseph nodded right away. “A wise plan,” Joseph said. “I concur.”
Graciana’s shoulders went rigid. So did her face. “Fine. See you guys at krav.” She got into her car and drove away.
I looked at Berk and Joseph. “Is she mad?”
“You cut her off,” Berk said, “and you made a good suggestion, and we agreed with you. Graciana’s supposed to be the one who has good ideas and tells everyone what to do.”
Great, I thought as I got in the car. I stepped on Graciana’s ego. One more thing to worry about.
Minutes after I got home, Suzette called. “I’m not going to krav. My dad and some of his high-school basketball buddies all of a sudden decided to have some big get-together at that new restaurant in Appomattox—so lame, but Dad says I have to go.” Her voice got wistful. “It wouldn’t be lame if you came. Maybe you could skip class, too. Dad wou
ldn’t mind.”
“Berk and Joseph are counting on me for rides.” I had to be setting some kind of record for using Berk as an excuse. But I didn’t feel like listening to Mr. Link and his buddies tell old basketball stories, and I didn’t especially feel like being with Suzette. Besides, I needed to go to krav, to unload some tension.
Dinner wasn’t much fun. Mom must’ve decided we’d had enough comfort food, so we’d gone back to eggplant hash. Cassie didn’t eat much, didn’t say much, just whimpered about her stomachache. Dad acted all perky, talking about how many leaflets he’d passed out. Mom fussed about my bruise, trying to talk me into skipping krav. No way. And all the time I was thinking about Hill, wondering what Marie had told him, half-expecting cops to show up at the door any minute and haul me away.
I started feeling better the minute I left the house. Even the slow drizzle beginning to build felt refreshing.
Class was great. I was getting better at physical conditioning—I never had to stand to the side and rest anymore, and I kept passing people when we ran laps. Aaron taught us a cool disarming technique, we got on the floor to practice a new grappling release, and I felt like I was picking things up fast. Toward the end of class, Aaron took me aside.
“Did you go to the police?” he asked.
No, I thought. The police came to me. But I didn’t feel up to telling him about that. “Not yet. We may take more time to try to find evidence. We’re not sure.”
“I hope you decide against it,” he said. “I know you want justice for Coach Colson, but the longer you keep this up, the bigger the risk gets. Sometimes, no matter how hard it is, you have to walk away from a situation that’s getting too dangerous.”
“I know. We don’t want to be stupid about this. We know there’s a limit to what we can do. We’re just not sure we’ve reached that limit yet.”
He winced. “What about that bruise?”
“This guy named Ted Ramsey punched me. I was trying to get some information from his sister, and he didn’t like it. It was embarrassing, Aaron. I didn’t even try to block. I knew what to do, but I was too surprised to react. I’ve gotta practice more.”
“You’ve also got to avoid dangerous situations. You’ve got lots of potential as a martial artist, Matt, at least as much as anyone else in class. And you never hesitate to throw yourself into a new technique, never seem to worry about getting hurt. That’s admirable, but it can be risky. It might make you think you can handle situations you should avoid. No matter how many techniques you know, you shouldn’t rush into situations where you might have to use them.”
“I know. I’ll be careful.”
“I hope so.” He tried to smile, but it was a worried smile. “You’re good, Matt, but you’re not Chuck Norris. Not yet.”
So now I had Aaron thinking I was some arrogant jerk, taking stupid risks, itching to get into fights and show how good I am. How much worse could this day get?
It got worse five minutes later, when I saw Graciana putting her shoes back on. We hadn’t said one word to each other during class. Once, when we’d been standing near each other and it would’ve been natural to pair up to try a technique, she’d turned away and asked someone else to be her partner. I walked over to her, hoping to smooth things out.
“Great class,” I said. “What do you think of the new disarming technique?”
“I like it.” She focused on tying her shoelaces. “I don’t really have it down yet, though. It still feels awkward.”
“Yeah, it feels awkward to me, too,” I said, though it didn’t. “You got lots of homework tonight?”
“Not really.” Finally, she stopped fussing with her shoes. “Some reading, and revisions on an essay due Friday. How about you?”
I made a show of shuddering. “Unit test in English tomorrow, on the Harlem Renaissance. Not something I’m looking forward to, since I haven’t read half the stuff Ms. Nguyen assigned. My mom’s making zucchini cookies for me to snack on while I’m cramming. Mom’s zucchini cookies. Those will keep me motivated, all right.”
Graciana’s mouth twisted. “Don’t brag about not doing your schoolwork. It’s nothing to be proud of. And you shouldn’t make fun of your mother’s cooking. You should speak of your parents with respect, or not speak of them at all. When you made jokes about your mother’s tiramisu, I felt embarrassed for you.”
She walked off. I stared after her. She’d felt embarrassed for me? Who did she think she was? I’m just being friendly, making a little joke, and she comes back at me with that?
By now, it was pouring, sheets of rain crashing down and bouncing off the pavement. Berk, Joseph, and I made a run for the car but still got soaked. For the first part of the drive, I was too upset to say much. So much for Graciana Cortez, I thought. As soon as our pitiful attempt to investigate is over—and it’s probably over already—I don’t need to have anything more to do with her. Fine.
By the time we dropped Joseph off, I’d calmed down. He lives clear on the other side of town, and I could shave some time off the drive home by taking the interstate. As we pulled onto it, I noticed a silver Toyota following close behind. Tailgater, I thought, and sped up to put some distance between us.
He sped up, too, crowding us—really dumb, especially in this rain, in this dark. I pulled into the right-hand lane and slowed down to let him pass, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept almost even with us, veering into our lane, crowding us. I peered into the rearview mirror, trying to get a look at the driver. But it was too dark, and the rain was too solid.
Finally, he sped up, but not to pass us. He pulled up exactly even to us in the left lane, flipped on his dome light, turned his face to us, and grinned. Bobby Davis.
Twenty-three
“Holy crap,” Berk said.
I agreed. But the exit was only a mile ahead, and then there’d be traffic, there’d be houses. I tried to calm down, telling myself Davis wouldn’t try anything once there were people around.
Except that he’d killed Coach Colson in front of hundreds of witnesses.
I put that out of my mind and focused on reaching the exit, speeding up as much as I dared. He sped up, too, still keeping even with us, still grinning. Half a mile short of the exit, he pulled ahead and started turning toward us, into our lane.
“Don’t slow down!” Berk shouted.
I had to, though, or I’d hit him. I pulled off the road, hoping I could get around him on the shoulder.
But the shoulder sloped, and I felt the car slide down a small embankment, felt the back tires settle in mud. Twenty feet in front of us, Davis stopped his car.
“If he gets out,” I said, “I’ll back up and drive around him. We can make it to the exit before he catches up with us.”
He got out of his car, opened the trunk, and grabbed something, taking his time.
“Now!” Berk shouted, but I waited until Davis crossed half the distance between us, until he was too far from his car to just jump back in.
As soon as I could see his face, I put the car in reverse and hit the gas. Nothing. The tires spun in the mud. We didn’t budge.
Now I saw what Davis had taken out of his trunk. A tire iron. He held it in his right hand, tapping it against his left palm, and headed toward us, moving quickly.
I reached for my phone, but Davis was already standing right outside my car door. He brought his face even with the window and grinned again. The rain had pounded his slicked-back hair down over his ears, making him look like some demented freak. “Don’t try calling 911,” he said, “or you’ll piss me off. That’d be a mistake. And it’s too late for that anyhow. Time to get out of the car, boys. All I want to do is talk. Don’t make me smash the windshield and drag you out.”
I looked at Berk, and he shook his head so hard and fast it almost blurred.
Davis sighed. “I’ll put the tire iron on the hood and back off. Then y
ou get out.”
He did it and crossed his arms, waiting.
Berk stared at me, his eyes wide. “What do you think?”
I pictured Davis smashing the windshield, dragging us out over shards of broken glass, tire iron still in hand. “We can’t fight back sitting in the car. Maybe he does just want to talk. Whatever he says, stay cool.”
We got out of the car. “We don’t want any trouble,” I said. I had to almost shout to make myself heard over the rain.
“Really?” This guy couldn’t stop grinning. “Could’ve fooled me. You came to Richmond twice, asking questions about me, and you’ve been asking people around here questions, too, making them nervous. Why? You think you can squeeze money out of somebody?”
Berk took a step toward him. “You bastard! You killed Coach Colson! You did it on purpose! You—”
“Shut up, Berk,” I said. So much for staying cool. I looked at Davis. “Look, we were curious. Our coach got killed, the way it happened seemed weird, we didn’t understand, and we wanted to find out.”
“So you were curious.” He thought it over, or pretended to, and shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t buy it. You wouldn’t do all that stuff just because you were curious. You’re trying to set me up for blackmail, aren’t you? Me, or somebody else.”
“No. Anyway, we’ve stopped. We decided it’d gotten too dangerous.”
“I’d like to believe that.” He took two steps toward me. “But I don’t. And I promised somebody I’ll make sure you and your friends don’t make more trouble. I’ve already done one thing to help you understand how serious this is. Maybe I should do more. What do you think?”
“We understand,” I started to say, but Berk went nuts. Before I knew what was happening, he’d grabbed the tire iron, raised it over his head, and started running toward Davis.
“Murderer!” he screamed.
Davis barely looked at him. He took one hop toward him and brought his leg up for a powerful hook kick to his stomach. Berk dropped the tire iron and slumped to his knees, holding his side, gasping.