by Ken Douglas
Chapter Four
Jasmine wouldn’t stop worrying until her mom was back and they were inside the condo with the doors locked. She peeked through the blinds. She had a good view of her condo from the clubhouse on the third floor.
“This is a stupid way to spend Saturday,” Sonya said. She was Jasmine’s best friend. They sat next to each other in school. She’d turned eight a week ago and she’d been lording it over Jasmine, the age difference, and she’d keep it up till the week after next, when Jasmine’s birthday came around.
“The Ghost is back.” Jasmine pushed her blonde hair out of her eyes. They’d been up here since breakfast, without the air-conditioning on. It was hot. She was sweating. They had the window open a crack, but the little bit of sea breeze slipping in wasn’t enough.
“Let me see!” Sonya’s brown eyes were open wide as she replaced Jasmine at the window. Tiny, honey brown fingers pulled the blinds apart. She was afraid of the Ghost. “He’s so spooky.”
“He’s a policeman.” Jasmine moved up next to her. The one who looked like a ghost had come before, with the police, so Jasmine guessed he was a detective, because he was wearing ordinary clothes, even if they looked like he’d slept in them. She was a little afraid of him too, but if anyone could catch the killer, a ghost could.
The other man was wearing a dark suit with a vest, way too much for the beach on a hot day. He was the one who brought her mom home from the police station after what she’d seen in that mini market store in Long Beach. He’d been wearing jeans and a flower print shirt on that day, but Jasmine recognized him because of his long ponytail.
The Ghost knocked, then opened the door and they went into the condo. Darn, she should’ve locked the door. For a second she thought about going for the security guard. Danny could kick those guys out of there real quick, but she didn’t want to leave her spot at the window.
She bit the inside of her cheek, felt blood with her tongue. She didn’t mean to do it, she’d been concentrating too hard. She thought about how her mom had left on another of her writer’s retreats. A quick kiss on the cheek. A fast ruffle of her hair, then she was out the door with her suitcase. Gone for a week, studying and writing up in Big Bear. Did she know the cops were gonna come around? Was that why she took off?
No. If she did, she’d have taken her with her. Her mom was a scatterbrain, but no way would she have left her behind, not if she knew the Ghost was in town. Jasmine could hardly wait till tomorrow. She was supposed to be back then. Tomorrow everything was gonna be okay.
She’d miss hanging out next door with Sonya. No restriction on television time. At home, she could only watch for an hour a night. No broccoli, no cauliflower, no string beans and no spinach-her mom would hate that. Jasmine smiled, what her mom didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt her.
She stuck her lower lip out and blew her hair back from her forehead. Still, as much fun as she was having at Sonya’s, she wanted her mom back. Every second she was gone, worried her more. What if the killer had gotten her?
Down below, the Ghost looked out the door, almost as if he knew the two girls were watching. He seemed to be looking out over the ocean, but Jasmine wasn’t fooled. Those spooky eyes saw everything. It was scary. He walked to the fence between the condos and the sea, bent down and picked up a handful of sand, then he stood and let it slip through his fingers, almost like she did when she played at the beach everyday. Why’d he do that? He turned, went back to the condo, but just before entering, he glanced up at the clubhouse and for a second, Jasmine imagined those ghosty eyes could see through the wall. She shivered, but he went into her house and she couldn’t see him anymore.
Gay Sullivan was singing “My Girl” along with Smokey Robinson as she turned off the Pacific Coast Highway and into the drive for the Huntington Beach Sand and Sea Condos. “Beach Front Homes on the Sand,” the sign said. She braked at the security gate, turned off the CD player. The dashboard clock said 3:00, she checked her Rolex, 3:15. The dash clock was still slow, and they said they’d fixed it. She sighed. A classic XKE Jaguar was like a boat, you paid for the maintenance, then you paid to have it done again.
“How’s it going, Mrs. Sullivan?” the guard at the gate said.
“Okay for me, Danny boy.” She knew it pleased him, his name said that way.
Danny wore a frown. He was a fifty-eight year old black man with skin dark as Gay’s, who claimed never to have had a bad day in his life. He was the eternal optimist. So the frown worried her.
“What’s wrong?” Her first thought was of the girls.
“The police are back. They want to see Mrs. Kenyon. Now they think she’s missing.”
“She’s not missing. Margo’s off on one of her retreats. Jazz is staying with me.”
“You know it and I know it, but the cops don’t know it.”
“You didn’t tell ’em?”
“I don’t talk to cops.”
“Danny, I’ve got a feeling Margo’s in trouble.”
“Me too. You know what it’s about?”
“Nobody told you? You’re supposed to be the security here.”
“I guess the real cops don’t have much use for guys like me.”
“Well, I sure do, so listen up. Margo was standing in line at the check out behind Frankie Fujimori, at a convenience store in Long Beach, when some guy walks in, pulls out a shotgun and blows Frankie away. Guy pointed the gun at her, apparently changed his mind, then took off. Nobody saw the shooter’s face except Margo.”
“I saw that on the news. Nobody told me Mrs. Kenyon was there.”
“You’re surprised? You know how she felt about Fujimori. She would’ve walked barefoot through hot coals if it would’ve helped put him back where he belonged.”
“She’s a tough one alright.” Danny had that wistful look in his eyes. Gay thought she smelled marijuana. Ah well, God didn’t put her on this earth to judge others. She had enough trouble keeping care of Sonya and her own self.
“Yeah, she’s tough, but that shotgun in her face really shook her up. A cop had to drive her home, guess it was after you got off or you would’ve known. I had to drive her to the police parking lot in Long Beach the next day to get her car.”
“She left that brand new Porsche in a parking lot all night long? In Long Beach?”
“Police parking, but yeah. That’s how shook up she was.”
“I should know this stuff.” Danny narrowed his eyes. The faraway look was gone now. He was one hundred percent concentration.
“The cops want to keep it quiet. I think Margo does too. So don’t tell her I said anything. But it’s stupid of them not to tell you. I mean, what if the killer found out? What if he tried to get by you? You know, to get to her.”
“Nobody gets in here without a tenant clears him. But just the same, I’m gonna be twice as careful now that I know.” He slapped his holstered pistol, a gunfighter ready for battle. “And don’t you worry, I won’t let on you told me.”
“Good.” Gay smiled at him as he waived her past. Stupid cops, not telling Danny, how dumb.
She used her clicker to open the gate for tenant parking, found her spot and parked. At her condo, she saw the door next door was open. She clenched her fists, tensed. She didn’t like the thought of police in Margo’s home. She wasn’t a criminal.
“Yo.” Gay recognized Bruce Kenyon’s voice. He must’ve come in right behind her and parked in the guest parking. She turned and waited. “So, what’s the deal?” he said. “The guy at the gate says there’s cops here to see Margo.”
“I don’t know anything about it.” Gay sighed, she didn’t like Margo’s ex. She didn’t know anybody who did.
Bruce walked into Margo’s apartment without knocking. Gay followed. They were in the living room, making themselves at home. The Hispanic one sitting in one of the rattan chairs had his hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other one, the albino, was sprawled out on the sofa. Gay could spot a cop in a crowd any day, but these two would’ve f
ooled her.
“Mr. Kenyon.” The one in the chair got up, hand extended to Bruce, but it was the albino on the couch who didn’t get up that caught Gay’s attention. He seemed too relaxed, too at ease, as if he had every right to be where he was, as if he were sitting in his own home, in his own living room. She wondered if anything ever fazed him.
“How’d you get in?” Bruce took the offered hand, shook it. Gay saw the look on Bruce’s face. Contempt.
“Alvarez, Jesse Alvarez. Homicide, Long Beach. That’s my partner, Abel Norton on the divan.”
“I asked how you got in,” Bruce said again, voice tough, like he was brow beating a witness on the stand. Lawyers, Gay didn’t like them, never had.
“Door wasn’t locked.” Norton made no move to get up. The albino had shoulder length white hair, whiter skin and pale grey eyes. A pair of hippy cops.
“You have a warrant?” Bruce said.
“We need one?” Norton shifted on the sofa, caught Gay’s eyes, smiled. It was sincere.
“If you don’t, you’re gonna be looking for a new job.” Bruce had a sneer in his voice now.
“Relax, counselor.” Alvarez tapped his chest, indicating he had the warrant in his inside coat pocket. “We’re covered. As we were when we came in the other day and looked around.”
“You were here Monday,” Gay cut in, “but you didn’t go in her house.”
“We came back Wednesday, about 2:00, 2:30, something like that,” Alvarez said.
That figured, she thought, Danny’s day off. He’d have told her, had he known. “We were at the movies, me and the girls. My daughter and Jasmine.”
“Say again,” Norton said from the sofa. He looked so relaxed in his rumpled cord sportcoat, brown over a plain yellow shirt and faded brown Dockers. The other one seemed uptight in a three piece suit.
“You got a hearing problem?” Bruce said, confrontational. He was a big man, probably a bully when he was in school, Gay thought.
“Sorry,” Norton said. “We thought your wife and daughter had disappeared. Now I hear your daughter is still around and I’m curious.”
“Nobody’s disappeared.” Gay clenched her fists again. None of the men noticed. “It’s Spring Break, so Margo doesn’t have any classes. She’s spending the holiday up in Big Bear. Jazz is staying with me.”
“Doing what?” Alvarez wanted to know.
“She’s on a writer’s retreat.”
“Boy, you guys are stupid!” Bruce Kenyon said. But Gay knew he hadn’t known where Margo was either. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have shown up at her doorstep like he did every Saturday afternoon to annoy her by taking his daughter for whatever was left of the day. Had he known she wasn’t home and Jazz was staying next door, he wouldn’t have bothered.
“Don’t fuck with us.” Norton smiled when he said it. The effect was ghostly.
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Bruce said.
“I think he’s serious,” Alvarez said to Bruce.
“Fujimori raped that little girl two weeks after you got him off,” Norton said. “How’d you feel about that?”
“The DA didn’t have a case.”
“Yeah, well you lost on the second one.”
“Can’t win ’em all.”
“He got paroled last month.”
“And you guys let him get killed. Some police force.”
“That’s it.” Norton was up quicker than Gay thought a man could move. He grabbed Kenyon by the arm, spun him around, cuffed him and slammed him face down on the sofa he’d just vacated. “Frisk him!”
“Pleasure.” Alvarez ran his hands over Bruce, checking everywhere. He wasn’t gentle. When he finished, he pulled him up by his shirt collar, turned him and set him down on the sofa, hands behind his back.
“You guys are off base here.” Bruce didn’t seem so arrogant anymore.
“Maybe. But we got a couple witnesses say you were in a car parked outside when Fujimori was shot. Everyone knows how crazy your wife was about him getting out,” Norton said.
“I was following Margo. She went in the store after Frankie. I didn’t have anything to do with him getting shot. Besides, she’s the one who wants the bastard put away, not me. I’m his lawyer for Christ’s sake.”
“Your wife didn’t take off before the police showed up. You did. You haven’t been cooperating with us, she has,” Alvarez said.
“Did she tell you I was there? Is she the one?”
“Get him out of here,” Norton said.
“Get up!” Alvarez grabbed Bruce by the arm, jerked him off the sofa, dragged him toward the door.
“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.” He was whining. “I didn’t have any reason to talk to the cops. I was just trying to catch Margo harassing Frankie, so I could get a restraining order against her.”
“You make me sick.” Norton turned as Alvarez led Kenyon away.
“He’s a jerk,” Gay said. “But he didn’t kill anyone.”
“I know,” Norton said. “But he was there.”
“How’d you ever get a judge to sign off on an arrest warrant?”
“He’s a good lawyer, but he’s a prick. Winning isn’t good enough, he’s gotta rub your nose in it. That’s never a good strategy, because someday the attorney you creamed in court, then ridiculed in the press, might become a judge.”
“You didn’t read him his rights.”
“What for? He’ll be out by this afternoon. Still, I enjoyed it.”
“So did I,” Gay said. “Thank you for letting me be here.”
“No problem. Thank you for clearing up the whereabouts of Mrs. Kenyon for us.
“Glad to be of service.”
“Appreciate it.” The albino smiled at her again, tapped his forehead in a two fingered salute. Then he left.
Jazz had seen her dad go into the condo with Gay. She was afraid he was telling the police her mom was unfit to be a mother. Yeah, that’s what he was doing. They were gonna take her away and make her go and live with him. She hated that he’d tried to get her in court, because he didn’t want her, not really. He only wanted to hurt her mom. He hated her mom. How could he be so cruel?
They were coming out. Her dad and one of the cops. Good, they were leaving. She sighed. Then her dad looked right up at her. She could feel his eyes, like he was looking deep into her. Any second he could come charging across the lawn, then up the steps after her. She had to get out. Now.
She took her fingers away from the blinds and ran to the door. She had it open in a flash.
“Jasmine!” her dad called out.
She was outside now, charging for the staircase. Holding onto the rail, she flew down the steps, skipping every other one.
“Jasmine!” her dad yelled out again.
Halfway down, she stopped, turned toward him and was shocked to see him between the two policemen. They were holding onto his arms. His hands were handcuffed behind his back. He wasn’t going to come up and get her, after all.
“It’s my daughter,” he said.
“It’s okay!” The Ghost said as he let go of her father’s arm, but Jazz didn’t believe him.
She looked around. Mrs. Emerson from 1210 was putting her key card into the beach gate. Jazz didn’t need an invitation. She waved, hoping to fool the policemen. She started down the steps, keeping her eyes on Mrs. Emerson as she pulled her card out of the slot.
“Hey, lady,” the Ghost yelled out. He must have seen where she was looking.
“What?” Mrs. Emerson started to swing the gate open.
Jazz took the remaining steps as fast as she could, then hauled out at a dead run for the gate as Mrs. Emerson opened it ever wider.
“Close the gate!” The Ghost was waving his arms now. He had Mrs. Emerson’s attention. “Don’t let her get away!”
But Jazz was already at the gate. She grabbed the card from the startled Mrs. Emerson and pulled the gate closed after herself. Then she dashed along the bike trail that paralle
led the chain link fence separating the condominium complex from the public beach.
“Stop!” The Ghost, unable to get out, was running along the sidewalk on the inside of the fence, but he was no match for the blur in blue jeans running as fast as her almost eight-year-old legs could carry her. “Come back!” the Ghost called out when he reached the end of the property, but Jazz turned left and ran across Pacific Coast Highway toward Main Street.
She weaved between the cars on the highway and ducked into Jerry’s Surf Shop, panting like she’d just finished a marathon. She caught her breath in the Hawaiian shirt section. The big Coca Cola clock behind the register said it was 4:15. She needed to hide out till dark.
“Can I help you?”
“Oh, hi,” Jazz said to a girl wearing a “Guns ‘n’ Roses” T-shirt. She had bright orange hair and was frowning at Jazz through a face full of freckles.
“I’m gonna get a tuna sandwich at the juice bar in back,” Jazz said.
“Where’s your mother?”
“I don’t need my mom to get a sandwich.”
“Do you have any money?”
“What a stupid question.” She had thirteen dollars in her back pocket.
Jazz bought the tuna sandwich and had a glass of Jerry’s special tropical juice blend to go with it. She nursed them for the better part of an hour. Then she ordered carrot cake for desert. She had to stay out of sight till her mother returned, because with her father arrested they might not let her stay with Gay anymore. They might put her in a foster home. She needed somewhere to hide, then she thought of the movies.
“I wish Jazz would come back.” Sonya was sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed, while Gay changed from the clothes she wore at the salon into jeans and a San Francisco Giant’s T-shirt. Jasmine had been gone for almost an hour. She saw the sun, an orange ball going down over the ocean. It would be dark soon.
“Me too,” Gay said, “but I wouldn’t worry. She knows her way around.” But Gay was worried.