“Excuse me,” Meg’s father said to Cole. “You’ve got what?” Cole heard that voice and the memories rushed into him. He didn’t even have to look at Meg’s father’s face. The tenor of that voice alone triggered them. Cole remembered the fear, the feeling that the whole house was trembling along with that booming voice as Meg’s father yelled for her to get out. Cole shut off the memory. It wasn’t important now. He needed to ignore it.
“Let’s go, Ed,” Cole said again without even looking at Meg’s parents.
“Where are we going?” Ed asked.
“The Lower East Side.”
“Now?”
“Yes,” Cole said. “The sooner the better. I don’t want to waste any time.”
Ed leaned in toward Cole and asked in a whisper, “But what about them?”
Cole still didn’t bother to look at them. “Let’s go,” he repeated.
“Does this have something to do with our daughter?” Meg’s mother asked.
“Yes,” Cole answered. Her voice pulled at him too, tugging him down even harder than Meg’s father’s voice had. “Ed. Please. Let’s go.”
Ed stood. “I’m sorry,” he said to the parents. “Someone else will come get you in a moment.”
“Where’s Annie?” the father asked, fear creeping into his voice.
“She’ll be here in a minute,” Cole growled. He reached out and grabbed Ed by the wrist and pulled him out the door.
“Should I even ask what that was about?” Ed said as Cole dragged him away from the interrogation room.
“He kicked her out of the house,” Cole said to Ed. “That’s why she came here. Her father kicked her out. I remembered it. If it wasn’t for him, she might still be alive. The only thing he didn’t do was swing the hammer. Now let’s go. We have a murder to solve.”
Chapter 13
“That’s all you got? The address?” Ed asked Cole as he drove them across town. “Did you ask her anything else? What about names of friends? You know, potential suspects? People we can question?”
Cole shook his head. “I only wanted the address,” he said. “We can ask the sister other questions later. First, I need to get closer to Meg’s life here in New York. The closer I get, the more I’ll remember.”
“We brought them all the way here for that?”
“Yes,” Cole confirmed.
Ed exhaled audibly. “Do you have any idea how strange it is to work with you?”
“I’ve been told.” Cole’s voice was dry and emotionless.
Ed glanced at Cole as he drove. He could see the lines on Cole’s face and death in his eyes. “If you see the killer, will you recognize him?” Ed asked Cole. He wondered what it must be like to remember being murdered.
“I don’t know,” Cole told him. “I might.”
“If you see the killer, will you be able to control yourself better than you did in front of her parents?” Ed asked as he turned the squad car down a side street.
Cole stared out at the street, knowing they were getting closer. He searched everywhere for clues to Meg’s life, anything that might trigger a new memory. “You have to understand, Ed,” Cole explained, “that when it’s all said and done, if you have the chance to look back on your life, dying is unlikely to seem like the worst thing that ever happened to you.”
“Sure, I get it,” Ed responded, “but I’m kind of hoping that my life won’t end with a hammer bashing in my skull.”
“Just keep driving,” Cole ordered.
In less than fifteen minutes, their car was idling in front of the address Annie had given Cole. Cole stared at the building, hoping that the sight of it alone would trigger something. Nothing made it stand out. It was a brick apartment building with fire escapes running up the front, surrounded by other brick buildings and a few old townhouses. Cole opened the passenger door. “What are you doing?” Ed asked him.
“I’ll head inside,” Cole said as he climbed out the door. “You can meet me upstairs after you park.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Ed said to Cole. Cole made him nervous even when he was accompanied by responsible adults. “Can’t you wait?”
“I’m not going to do anything crazy, Ed,” Cole tried to assure his partner. Then he slammed the door and turned toward the building. He stood there for a moment, looking the building up and down. He counted up three flights and over two, to the window that should have led into Meg’s room. Still nothing. Cole walked up to the door. He looked at the names next to the buzzers. Meg’s apartment number had a name next to it that Cole didn’t recognize. The name was written in black ink on a piece of lined yellow paper that had been cut from a notepad. Cole couldn’t tell how old the paper was. He reached out and pushed the buzzer, not expecting anyone to answer. Cole began to scan the rest of the buzzers to see if there was one labeled for the super. Then a crackle came over the intercom.
“Yeah,” a man’s voice called out above the static. Cole felt something when he heard the voice. It registered in his brain, but he still couldn’t piece anything together.
“Is this apartment 3C?” Cole said into the intercom.
“Who’s asking?” said the man’s voice from the intercom.
Cole looked around to see if Ed was coming yet but didn’t see him. “It’s the police,” Cole spoke into the intercom. “I was hoping that I could come up and ask you a few questions.”
“You got a warrant?” the voice asked.
“No,” Cole answered. “Should I go get one?”
After a pause, Cole heard a buzzing sound. He stepped forward and pushed through the building’s front door. The building didn’t have an elevator. Cole walked down the hallway to the stairs. Then he looked up, following the stairs with his eyes as they swirled up six flights. Cole wondered if there was a basement. He walked a few steps past the stairs until he saw a door leading to another staircase that went down. He didn’t have time to explore, not yet; he turned back and headed upstairs.
The building was old and well worn. The light orange paint in the stairwell was chipping. The fluorescent lights emitted an utterly unnatural color. The stairs were dirty white concrete, and Cole could hear his own footsteps echo through the stairwell as he climbed them. Despite all of this, Cole felt safe. He got to the third floor, walked over to apartment C, and knocked on the door.
From behind the door, Cole heard the voice that had spoken over the intercom. “Everybody behave,” he called out. “It’s the cops.” Cole heard the person on the other side of the door unhook the chain lock. Then the door swung open.
For a moment, Cole and the young man stood staring at each other. Cole studied the man’s face. He was probably about twenty-seven years old. He had messy brown hair and about five days’ worth of stubble. His face was thin, but he didn’t look unhealthy, just skinny. He must have expected Cole to say something. “You got a badge or something?” he finally said, breaking the awkward silence.
Cole reached into his pocket and flashed his badge. “What’s your name?” Cole asked.
“Tony,” the man answered.
“Tony what?” Cole asked.
“Tony Gray.” His name was the one next to the buzzer.
“Do you mind if I come in, Tony?” Cole asked. He looked over Tony’s shoulders. He could see two other men inside the apartment. One looked to be about Tony’s age and the other looked about five years younger.
“Kinda,” Tony answered. “Look, can you tell me what this is all about?”
“Sure,” Cole said. “There’s a girl. Somebody found her naked body in a Dumpster in Queens a few days ago. Her skull had been bashed in with a hammer. It turns out that she was having her mail sent here. Can I come in now?”
All the blood rushed out of Tony’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, come in.” He stepped aside and let Cole walk into the apartment. “Who was it?” Tony asked. Cole eyed the apartment. Something was rising inside him, a mixture of fear and excitement. Something had happened in the apartment. �
�Officer?” Tony asked, breaking Cole’s chain of thought. “Are you going to tell me who it was?”
Cole looked at him, not even trying to hide his anger. “Do you get a lot of girls’ mail here?” He didn’t try to hide the sarcasm.
“Actually, yeah,” Tony said. “I do. You see”—Tony motioned over to the other two men sitting on the couch—“we’ve got a lot of friends that don’t really have permanent addresses. They crash here sometimes. Sometimes they stay somewhere else, but I let them have their mail sent here if they need to.” Cole kept eyeing the apartment. The place was a mess. Empty pizza boxes were stacked up against the wall in the kitchen. Crumbs covered the kitchen table. It didn’t look like anybody’d vacuumed the living room in years. “So can you tell me who the girl was?” Tony asked again.
The concern in Tony’s voice caught Cole off guard. It sounded sincere. “It was a girl named Meg,” Cole said. “Meg Davidson.”
“Meg?” Tony repeated, searching his brain. Tony knew not to trust last names. Then, it dawned on him. “Matt’s friend?” Tony asked, a look of horror coming across his face.
“The dyke,” one of the guys on the couch said. They’d been listening to the conversation. Cole felt the immersion coming on. He couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even sure he’d want to if he could. There was a knock on the door. Cole figured it had to be Ed. Thank God for that, he thought, maybe he’ll keep them busy. Then he fell into the memory.
Suddenly, Cole remembered walking up the stairs toward apartment 3C again. This time Matt, the kid from the bus, was in front of her, leading her up. “You’re sure this is okay?” Meg asked. Her heart raced as she bounded behind her new friend.
“Yeah,” Matt assured her. “My buddy said everybody new in New York comes to Tony’s. It’s like a way station for people from Kansas.” He smiled at her. He liked doing this for her. It made him feel important.
Meg could hear the noise coming through the door even before Matt knocked: music, loud and fast, some sort of punk rock that she’d never heard before. Right away she knew that she liked it. Then a woman’s nasal, angry voice began shouting over the sound of the guitar and the drums and Meg knew that she loved it. She could hear voices too, voices loud enough to be heard over the music.
Matt knocked on the door. Nobody came. Meg noticed that Matt looked a little nervous. He knocked again. This time, he pounded his fist on the door. “Hold your horses,” a voice Cole recognized cried out from inside. Then the door swung open. A thin, older-looking guy, maybe in his mid-twenties, with messy brown hair, opened the door. “What can I do you for?” the guy said, looking Matt up and down and then doing the same to Meg.
“I’m Matt,” Matt stammered. “I’m Bon’s friend. He gave me your address. We just got off the bus about an hour ago. Is it cool that we came here?”
Tony smiled a toothy, wide grin. “Fuck, yeah,” he said. “Come on in.” He stepped out of the way so that Matt and Meg could walk past him. As they did, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Tony,” he said to them, shaking each of their hands. “Welcome to Wichita East.” Once they were inside, Tony shut the door behind them and shouted over the blaring music, “Hey, Bon, your friends are here.”
The apartment was dark and jammed tightly full of people—there had to have been at least two dozen people inside, enough that it was difficult to move from room to room. It was mostly men, but there were probably eight or nine women there too. Meg and Matt weren’t used to such tight spaces. Meg saw Bon before Matt did. He was a giant. He had to have been at least six four, with broad shoulders that he slumped forward. He walked with his head down, as if he were trying to hide his size. Still, Meg saw warmth in his ruddy face and round cheeks. “Matt!” Bon called out and pushed past a few people to reach his friend. Bon pulled Matt into a big hug. Meg waited awkwardly for the hug to end, eyeing the scene. People wandered around the apartment, drinking beers. A couple of people in one of the bedrooms were passing around a joint.
Finally, Matt pushed Bon away from him. “Bon,” Matt said, turning toward Meg. “This is my friend Meg. We met on the bus ride out here. She’s from Wichita too.”
“Another escapee,” somebody yelled from behind Bon. People paid attention when new people showed up at Tony’s. “Did you tunnel under the fence or sneak out with the laundry?” Meg tried to see who was speaking but couldn’t tell through the darkness.
“Come on in,” Bon said to both of them. “That’s a long bus ride. Let’s get you two a couple of beers and I can give you the tour.”
“So, you’re from Wichita too?” Meg asked Bon.
“Nah,” Bon said. “I’m from New Jersey. I have an aunt in Kansas. I met Matt one summer when I was visiting her. I met Tony out there too.”
Bon led them around the apartment. It was a short tour, lengthened only because Bon kept introducing them to people. He seemed to have forgotten about the beer. Bon introduced everyone to Meg as if he and Meg were old friends. With every face and every name, Cole concentrated on trying to find Meg’s killer but nothing clicked. Everyone was young and vibrant. The music, while still loud, seemed to fade into the background once Meg got used to it. By the time the three of them got back to the living room, Meg guessed that she’d been introduced to more than half the people at the party and about half those people were other refugees from Kansas.
“So, you guys made friends on the bus, huh?” Bon asked them with a knowing glance after they’d circled back to where they’d started.
Matt shook his head. “It’s not like that,” he said defensively. “I mean, she’s not like that. I mean, she’s not into guys.” Matt looked over at Meg, suddenly afraid that he’d said too much.
“It’s okay,” Meg mouthed to him. She was actually glad that he said it. She wanted people to know. That’s why she’d come to New York in the first place.
“Jesus, another dyke?” Meg heard somebody behind her say. In Wichita, if she had heard anyone use that word, she would have been afraid. There, it was too often an epithet that preceded violence. But here, at least in this apartment, it felt safe.
“You don’t look like a dyke,” one of the guys she’d been introduced to said to her.
Meg looked him in the eyes. “Not yet,” she said to him, gathering her strength, “but I only left Kansas a few hours ago.” She heard a couple of people behind her laugh at her joke. Her heart nearly exploded with pride.
Then she heard another voice from behind her shout, “Tell her they pay more for dykes.”
“Shut up, Jerry,” Bon yelled back. Meg turned around and saw a short man with greasy black hair and sunken, light blue eyes.
Jerry shrugged it off. “She should know,” he said to Bon.
“What’s he talking about?” Meg asked Bon.
“You can ignore Jerry,” a voice from Meg’s left said. She turned. It was Tony. He was holding three beers in his hands. “Jerry still believes in fairy tales and urban legends.” Tony handed one of the beers to Matt and one to Meg. He kept the third. “He’ll tell you all about the one where you sell your soul to the devil and get a decent price for it.” Tony shot his thirty-watt smile at Jerry.
“It’s not your soul they want,” Jerry echoed back at Tony. Tony laughed at him, and Jerry slunk off to one of the adjacent rooms.
Tony lifted up his beer bottle. “Welcome to New York,” he said. The words sounded like magic. Meg was a little nervous about drinking the beer. She didn’t know if she’d be able to keep it down, because her stomach was churning with excitement. The three of them clinked their bottles together. Bon lifted and clinked his as well. “So,” Tony said to Meg and Matt as they pulled their bottles apart, “I hear Matt’s going to play in a rock band.” Meg looked over at Matt. She’d never asked Matt why he was coming to New York. “What are you going to do now that you’re here?”
“I don’t know yet,” Meg admitted, feeling too alive to be afraid anymore.
“Cole?” a voice called out. “You there, Cole?”
Cole looked around him. He saw Ed standing in the middle of the living room, next to Tony. The two other men were still sitting on the couch in silence. Cole saw how different the apartment looked from Meg’s memory. Either Meg romanticized it in her memory or it just didn’t fare well under the scrutiny of the bright sunlight.
“Yeah,” Cole said to Ed. “I was just,” he searched for the right word, settling on “thinking.”
“I thought maybe you had some questions for these young men,” Ed said to Cole. Cole wondered how long he’d been lost in Meg’s memory. It was often difficult to tell. Sometimes a memory that ran over multiple days took only a moment to remember, but sometimes Cole could spend hours lost in a single memory’s minute details. He turned back toward the four men in the living room, focusing on the two on the couch. He was already pretty sure that Tony wasn’t involved with Meg’s murder, but he hadn’t gotten a good look at the other two yet. He gave both of them a long, cold stare. Neither triggered any new memories, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t buried deeper inside his head. As he stared at them, he tried remembering the hammer swinging toward Meg’s head, trying to see if that memory might now trigger other memories.
“Cole?” Ed interrupted his train of thought again.
“Ed,” Cole said without taking his eyes off the two men on the couch.
“Questions?” Ed prodded.
One of the guys on the couch squinted back at Cole. “Hey,” he said suddenly, “aren’t you that Memory Detective guy?” His voice was ripe with excitement, as if he’d spotted a minor celebrity on the street.
“What else did you guys know about Meg?” Cole asked, trying to keep the subject on anything but himself.
“Not much,” Tony said. “I mean, she hung out here a decent amount, but she was kind of quiet.”
“Do you know where she lived?”
Tony shrugged. “I think she was couch surfing for a little while. I don’t know if she ended up settling down anywhere.”
The Memory Detective Page 7