“And what about Marcy Taylor? When were you married to her? And why was she killed?”
“We were kids. She was sixteen. I was seventeen. She thought she was pregnant, but it turned out she wasn’t. My father made me do the right thing, then when it wasn’t happening, he made me divorce her. He beat the shit outta me for that. I think she really did commit suicide. That’s what it’s looking like anyway.”
I got up and moved to the couch.
“I also think Jesse paid big bucks to get out on parole. The police ain’t shit.”
“Yeah, well, you’re one of us, no wonder.”
Laughton came and sat next to me. “Look, M, you could end up dead if you don’t listen to me.”
“Why would he target me? He’s still ignorant about me being Reecey’s sister.” It was a statement more than a question. I didn’t need Laughton to answer. I stood and straightened my clothing.
“It doesn’t matter whether he knows you’re Carmella’s sister or not, you’re testifying against him in a murder case. How do you think he’s gotten away with murder ’til now? All except one—our father.”
“So, where’s he holding Nareece?”
He got up and stood over me. “I’m working on it. I’ll call you when I know something.”
“Are you kicking me out now? You’ll call me. That’s all you got? You’ll call me. And what am I supposed to do with all of this until you call me?” I grabbed my purse and sweater and went to the door, anxious to breathe fresh air. Laughton followed.
He grabbed my elbow and spun me around. “M, I care about you and Travis. I didn’t know you and Carmella were sisters until I read the file, after Jesse got released from prison. I’ll help you get Carmella back, put Jesse away for good, and then I’m gone.”
“Seems like you’re suited well for leaving.” I backed away from him and stepped over the threshold. I turned back to him. “Why’d you come back?”
“Something about home, I guess,” he said and cracked a half smile.
“So many lies told, Laughton. Just like that, it’s all shit.” I spun around and walked away, pissed because a tear blazed a trail down my cheek.
CHAPTER 19
At 5:00 a.m. on Monday, Dulcey’s street was deserted except for a Bigfoot kind of guy who lumbered behind a shopping cart overflowing with trash bags stuffed with possessions. He stopped every few hundred yards to rummage through a trash barrel for treasures to add to his collection.
I pulled curbside in front of Dulcey’s house and waited while he finished “shopping” in her neighbor’s barrel. He wore a dirty hoodie under a dirtier beige raincoat with sleeves that capped at his elbows and lengthwise barely reached his thighs. Gobs of matted hair stretched the hood of the undergarment and hung over his face. He pulled soda cans from the barrel and stuffed them into a half-filled trash bag tied to the end of his cart. Then he pulled out a football trophy and rubbed it off with the sleeve of his hoodie, placed it atop his cart, and moved on with a straighter stature.
Dulcey lives in a twin row house at 4604 Locust Street in West Philly. While many of the neighborhood row houses were dilapidated, Dulcey’s house was like an oasis, freshly painted, lawn manicured with seasonal plantings. That’s what Dulcey did: make things beautiful even when hope was dimmed. “Lost causes are the only ones worth fighting for, child,” she quipped at the mere mention of something being impossible to recover or the enormity of a failed prospect.
Though the house was dark, I knew Dulcey, and Hamp, if he was home, would be at the kitchen table sipping a hearty blended brewed coffee and reading the Inquirer, Philly’s prime newspaper. I got out of my car and went around to the side of the house to the glass-enclosed porch. She answered my tap immediately. She pulled me inside and hugged me with enough force to crush a bear, pushed me back to arms’ length, and gave me the once-over, making sure all my parts were in the right places.
“I been crazy worryin’ about your behind,” she whispered, reeling me in for another hug. “Travis hasn’t moved from my side, and the twins are detectin’ ’til I wanna lock them up for obstruction.” She cackled.
The smell of bacon and cinnamon made my stomach squeak out a hungry verse. I could not remember the last time I ate.
“I hear you,” Dulcey said, patting my belly. I swiped her hand away. “C’mon, girl, and sit yourself down.” She ushered me into the kitchen and pulled out a chair where she wanted me to sit.
“Where’s Hamp?”
Dulcey got a dish out of the cabinet and started filling it with bacon, cheese eggs, grits, and cinnamon biscuits, her specialty. She responded with her back to me. “He got him a little job delivering newspapers. Gets him outta my way early in the morning, keeps him outta trouble—some—and puts some money in his pocket.” She sighed, then continued, on her way to bringing the mile-high plate to the table. “He’s doing much better, and I thank God for that.” She set the plate in front of me and plopped down in a chair.
I inhaled the first helping and devoured a second before I sat back in my chair, a Buddha to behold. She stayed quiet while I pigged out. Now she sat straight in the chair with her lips pursed and hands folded, her thumbs circling each other at warp speed as though conducting a mini-orchestra, the sound of which came from her feet rubbing back and forth.
“Your belly’s full, now talk to me.”
“I just came from Laughton’s.” I hated that I teared up before I could get any more out.
Dulcey sat forward in her chair and hunched over the table with folded arms. “Girl, you just need to take a breath and let it flow.”
“Laughton is Jesse Boone’s brother—half brother.”
She pushed back in her chair like I had socked her in the jaw. “I’ll be a monkey’s auntie.”
“That’s only the short of it. Jesse has Nareece, and someone in the department or in the FBI is on Jesse’s dime. That’s how he’s been getting away with murder, how he found Reecey, and how he probably knows about me being her sister and being the one that helped shut down the organization. It’s a friggin’ mess.”
“And Reecey took that maniac’s money. Sounds like you gotta get the police . . .”
“Yeah, right, and get Reecey killed! No way. Laughton is going to find out where Jesse is holding Reecey, and we’re going to get her back.”
“Laughton and you.”
“Laughton and me. I don’t know what else Jesse knows. That’s why I think you need to take the girls and Travis to your sister’s place.”
She got up and cleared my plate from the table. “Don’t you worry about the kids. I told you I got them covered. You just do what you gotta to bring Reecey home without getting you or her killed in the doing.”
Travis shuffled into the kitchen at Dulcey’s last words.
He limped across the floor to me, kissed my cheek, and plopped down next to me. “Man, Moms, you need to be calling Laughton and get him on the case. You can’t be jumping off by yourself. Can’t leave you alone for a minute,” he said with a slight laugh.
“Why are you limping?”
“I banged my knee messing with them crazy twins.”
“They love you.”
“Don’t be trying to change the subject. And don’t be trying to make like I’m too young to see what’s happenin’. I’m not stupid,” he said with a stern look and a fatherly tone.
“You think Laughton’s the savior for everything.” I rubbed his chin and sniffed him. “You need a shave and a shower, boy. A haircut wouldn’t hurt, either,” I said, running my hand through his hair.
“Yeah, yeah. You sound like a recording.” He brushed my hand away. “Ma.” His agitation was slight but sincere.
“Who’s the cop here anyway?” I countered. “Not to worry, son. I got this.” I gestured with my hands and raised one shoulder, giving back some of his mannerisms. His face lightened, and he playfully punched my shoulder.
Dulcey set a plate of food and a glass of milk in front of him. “Eat, boy. Your mom
ma been doing police work way before your scrawny behind was even thought of, now eat. Put some meat on them bones.”
“What? And I’m just supposed to sit around like a sissy while my moms gets picked off by some crazy guy who doesn’t have a clue who he’s dealing with? You sure do know how to make a man feel inept.”
“Inept, huh?”
“Word.”
“Eat, boy,” I said, hoping that would be the end of that conversation. I was blessed when I heard the twins. They stormed down the stairs sounding like thunder and raced into the kitchen trying to squeeze in the doorway at the same time. When they finally burst through, they charged me, squealing in unison, “Auntie, Auntie!” and jumped in my lap, in unison. Helen landed on the floor. Travis saved the day from a catastrophe as my chair toppled backward.
When everyone was settled, Rose said, “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” She twisted around on my lap until she faced me.
Dulcey gave me a sideways glance, as she set the table for them.
“Mommy says hi and she’ll be here soon,” I said, stung anew by the reality of John’s death and their ignorance of the fact. Now certainly was not the time to tell them. The time would come once Nareece was back in their presence. I quickly changed the subject. “So, Auntie Dulcey tells me you’re working hard at the shop.”
“Yeah, and Helen poured some color in a lady’s hair and turned it green.”
I looked at Dulcey in horror for confirmation.
“Child sure did. But we fixed her up. Ms. Greely. Turned out she liked the color Rose made better than the nasty red she’d been using for years, long as I been doing her hair.” Dulcey cackled, shaking her head as she put plates of food down for the twins. “C’mon, you detectives sit up here and eat. We gotta leave in a bit.”
“Auntie, can we go with you now?” Rose asked, her lips stuck out, eyes droopy, for effect.
“Soon, baby, soon. Auntie’s got a few errands to do today to help your mom finish some business.”
“Mommy and Daddy are still in trouble, huh?” Helen asked, taking a mouthful of food.
Getting up from the table at the vibration of my cell phone, I said, “Nothing Auntie can’t handle,” and went into the living room.
“Muriel Mabley.”
“Mabley. You need to get in here now!” Cap yelled. “You hear me? Now!”
“But—”
“Now, Mabley.” And he hung up.
The twins choked up when I hugged them good-bye, jabbering at lightning speed. I hugged Travis and left him and the twins at the kitchen table to devour the breakfast Dulcey had made. Dulcey walked me outside to my car.
“You call me if things get outta hand and you need some blocking.” She furrowed her brow and pointed her finger at me. “Be careful, M.”
I nodded and got into the car. After Dulcey went back into the house, I made a U-turn and headed to the station, then decided I needed a shower and some clean clothes. I also wanted to retrieve the initials and phone number I had found in Nareece’s file. Cap could wait a half hour longer.
When I got home, I found a note from Mr. Kim stuck to the door. It read, Please come over to my house. I need to see you. I dropped my purse and briefcase on the couch and went next door. Kim did not answer. I made a mental note to call him later.
I checked the house phone for messages. There was one from Cap yelling obscenities and two hang-ups. I went upstairs to my office and retrieved the Mabley file from under the blotter on my desk. The notepaper with the mysterious initials and phone number was stuck to the inside cover. I dialed the number. Someone picked up after the third ring but didn’t say anything. They stayed silent for a few seconds before clicking off.
I showered and changed into street clothes, locked up the house, and went to the station.
“Hey, M,” Parker called out, raising his hand above the top of his cubicle. “Get ready to rumble.” He snickered. “You got some seedy folk laying for you. Call me if you need help.”
I stepped inside his cubicle. “Do me one better, Parker. Get me a name and address for this phone number, please.”
He looked at the paper and grinned back at me, the kind of grin that said, “You owe me two now,” though at the moment, I could not remember what the first one was for.
“Take a seat,” Cap ordered after I entered his office and closed the door. I sat in a chair in front of his desk. Two men sat off to the side facing me, one white with dark, squinty eyes and a pocked face. The other looked almost as scary, except for Dumbo ears. “This here is Agent Jakes and Agent Janey.” He nodded in their direction, but kept his eyes on me. I coughed to mask my amusement of Jakes and Janey. “They want to ask you some questions.”
“Mabley, we need your help,” Agent Jakes—or was he Janey?—said as he got up and moved to the front of the desk and sat directly in front of me, his knee at my chest. “We’re investigating several murders we suspect Jesse Boone is responsible for.” Agent Janey—or was he Jakes?—whichever one Agent Dumbo Ears was, stayed put off to the side, perched on the corner of a file cabinet, and silent. He failed miserably at looking tough.
I pushed back in my chair and met the detective’s stare.
“You’re familiar with Boone,” the detective said.
“Familiar? If you mean, did he almost rape and kill me, yes, I’m familiar with Boone.”
“The only time you’ve encountered Boone was during that recent altercation?”
“Yes.”
“What’s Laughton’s connection to Boone?”
“Why’re you asking me these questions? What’s this about?”
Dumbo Ears grunted, uncrossed and crossed his legs, and closed his hands together, capturing his raised knee. I met his stare briefly, then refocused on the agent who blocked my view of the captain.
“Please answer the question.”
I shifted in my chair and sat forward. “I don’t know that Laughton has a connection to Boone more than working with me on the case.”
Both detectives got up and moved toward the door. My interrogator turned at the door and said, “Thanks, Captain. We’ll be in touch again if necessary.”
The captain and I stayed focused on the two strolling down the corridor until they passed through the exit door.
“Mabley, you’re walking a thin line here. This can get bad.”
“Cap, I found out Jesse Boone’s the one who almost killed Reecey. I would bet the letter she got was from him, that’s why she was scared. She’s known all along it was Jesse. I think he’s got her now.”
Cap got up and moved to the front of his desk and sat in the same place where the FBI agent had sat. “Before you get yourself killed, let me fill you in on some things. I should have told you all this a long time ago, but you were so fragile, and then Elliot and Esther . . . Your father was the best friend any man could have . . . I’d hoped it was dead forever.”
“Hoped what was dead forever?”
I got up and moved around the room, stopping at Cap’s wall of fame—photos of him with politicians, the police commissioner, honored officers, my father, and his wife and two daughters. My stomach grumbled, letting me know no good was coming down the pike.
“You’ve been good for this department, Muriel.”
Cap had not called me Muriel since I started working in his section.
“All right, Cap, you’re starting to sound guilty of something.” I turned and stumbled over to where he sat. “Why did you let those detectives interrogate me like I did something wrong?”
“Laughton—”
I spun around, swinging my arms up. “Laughton, Laughton, all anybody talks about is Laughton. I don’t know the man anymore. How about that?”
“He’s Jesse Boone’s brother.”
I acted surprised. My instincts told me to shut up and let him talk, though guilt swamped me again and singed the hairs on my arms.
“Look, M. Nobody knew who Laughton was, not even me. He’s a war hero, for chrissakes. Started his life o
ver . . . buried Kelvin Boone. Kelvin, that’s his real name. He told me when he quit what the deal was, said he needed to finish some business before he moved on.”
“What business?”
“He found out Jesse was the one who damn near killed Nareece. He’s afraid Jesse will find out you’re Nareece’s sister and the one who helped bring his father down, and the whole Black Mafia operation. And just so you know, it gets even better. Jesse worked with the Feds after he got sent up for his father’s murder. That’s how they managed to cripple those sons a bitches. That’s also how he got paroled.”
“Yeah, but how did he get off from killing that young college girl after he got out?”
“I hate to think the Feds are that low, but I’d bet they made some kind of arrangement for some reason we’ll probably never know. Boone’s been locked up for a while, but don’t underestimate his influence. He’s been working from inside, and now he’s out with a vengeance. He learned well from his father.”
“How’d Laughton find out about me and Nareece?”
“He said someone in the department is dirty, somebody high up. He discovered your file during his own investigation.”
“You don’t just ‘discover’ a cold case file, Cap. You have to be digging for it, that specific file.”
I felt like he was avoiding the subject when he got up and moved around to the front of his desk and pulled a file from his top drawer. “Boston Police contacted me, unofficially of course. You’ve been meddling in a murder case up there, John’s murder. They found Boone’s fingerprints at the scene.”
“Boone’s gotten away with three murders, maybe more, because he’s pro–tec–ted,” I spat, sarcastically. “I’m not about to let him make Nareece another statistic.”
“I’ve got your back for as long as I can, but it could mean both our careers.” He hesitated, then continued. “I owe your father, the best friend any man could have.”
“You said that already. And it’s a debt you’ve paid a thousand times over—you saved my ass, you helped me get Reecey away, watched over us always.” I reached across the desk for his hand and squeezed.
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