“Some policeman called me from Norfolk,” she said. “I didn’t cry when they told me that Drew was dead. I was sad, but not enough to cry. I’d say that the crowd he ran with was the ones who killed him.”
Evelyn pressed hard on her apron once more. She was trying to flatten some wrinkles that refused to be smoothed. She pressed down with great force this time and ran her clenched fists back and forth on the apron. A different gesture. Still tense and anxious. Significant body language.
“In Norfolk?” McGrady said.
“I don’t know nothing about the Norfolk thing. Drew ran with a bad crowd up here in Jersey.”
“Here in New Brunswick?” I said.
“Started here, I guess. Till they moved on to another place.”
“Can you tell us about this crowd?” I said.
“Not much. All of them were homosexuals, I guess. That’s what we used to call them. Drew said he was gay. That’s why Charlie kicked him out.”
“When was this?”
“Years back,” she said. “I can’t remember exactly.”
“Where’d he go when he left New Brunswick?” McGrady asked with obvious aggravation at her minimal revelations. My own patience was thinning, but I was better able to hide my anxiousness.
“Not far, over to Millstone. Appropriate place to go, don’t you think?” she said. She looked up for the first time. Our eyes met. Her eyes had a dull appearance, a complete lack of any sheen. Empty, without life. Absent of feeling.
“Appropriate for what?” McGrady said.
“For what he had become. You know, millstone and all…the weight of it.”
I looked at McGrady and he was lost. I ciphered her metaphor but decided against commenting. Besides that, I didn’t know what to say. From her point of view, it was all Drew’s fault. Drew had chosen a life that had placed a millstone around his own neck. I could’ve argued with her, but to no avail. It appeared to me that her mind was set. This was Drew’s mother and her opinion was final as far as that goes.
As I quickly reflected on her appearance, her body language, and her sad words, I wondered if that millstone was not around her neck.
McGrady shrugged at me and shook his head. She didn’t see his gesture. Her eyes were back on the apron, smoothing it out as if her fists, gliding back and forth rapidly now, would remove all of the wrinkles. All of the disturbances would just go away.
“How long has Drew been gone?” I said.
“You mean from this house?”
“Yes.”
“A little more than five years, maybe. Hard to say. Charlie doesn’t want me to talk about him. I can’t even mention his name. It’s like he was never born to us. Only child we had, and Charlie wants his memory erased. But a mother can’t do that. I can stay quiet for a while. You know, for the sake of my marriage. Just can’t erase the memories. You understand?”
I thought she was addressing me, but I couldn’t be sure. McGrady was silent for once, so I responded. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
It was all I could come up with. Not much to say to a grieving mother, grieving over a son she had lost a long time before she was told he was dead.
Chapter 30
We were headed toward the place Drew went when he escaped the parental tensions of New Brunswick. It was not too far away as his mother had said. We had no address, but she gave us the name of a person. She also gave us the benefit of her own metaphorical assessment for Drew’s situation at the time. It was also my metaphorical assessment of Evelyn Sizemore.
We were heading west towards Millstone.
I called Wineski to see if he could help us. It was a long shot, but better than going blind like I do most of the time.
“So you struck out in New Brunswick?” he said to me.
“Wouldn’t say that, but the mother was less than forthcoming. We learned a little.”
McGrady turned abruptly and responded with his usual harshness, “We learned diddly-squat.”
“You know any police presence in Millstone, New Jersey?”
“That a serious question?” Wineski said.
“All I got,” I said. “West of New Brunswick.”
“So is Tucson,” he answered.
“He didn’t move to Tucson. That mean you got nothing?” I said.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. I know a guy near ’bouts. He might point you in a direction.”
“Obliged. You could’ve given me his name to begin with, if he is only near ’bouts,” I said.
Wineski gave me his name and number before he grunted and ended our conversation in his usual sudden manner. Thomas Applegate was the guy he knew near ’bouts. Member of the New Jersey Highway Patrol.
We were eating sandwiches at a small shop in Millstone that advertised a veritable plethora of available and creative sandwiches. I liked their choice of words on their A-frame sign in front, so that’s where we stopped. McGrady wanted to do the fast-food grease city of hamburgers and fries. Sam and I out-voted him.
I ordered a Creative Club, their title, just to see what they might do with it. McGrady went for the half-pound cheeseburger with everything on it and the Fabulous Millstone Fries. While we waited on the food to come, I punched in the number that Wineski had given for Thomas Applegate.
“Applegate here,” the gravelly, official voice on the other end said.
I introduced myself and mentioned that Wineski had given me his name and number. Told him that I was in town working a lead with McGrady, the police detective working the case officially.
“That old hound-dog, TJ Wineski? Is he still alive?” he said laughing.
“And kicking high,” I said.
“I haven’t heard from him in years. He still in Norfolk?”
“Captain now. Head of the Violent Crimes Unit for the Norfolk people. Seems to be doing well. Cranky and hard to get along with, per usual.”
“Don’t I know it. We grew up together,” he said. “You work for him?”
“Unofficially these days.”
“And officially?” he said.
“Years back. I decided to go on my own.”
“A gumshoe and all, huh? What can I do for you?”
“A citizen of your state moved south a few years back. He recently was murdered. I’m here doing some background on him, trying to connect some dots.”
“And Wineski thought that I might have some information to assist you, is that what the old hound said?”
“In so many words.”
“Gimme the name and I’ll run it to see what pops. No promises, Clancy Evans. No promises. You suspect him of doing something up here that would cross my radar?”
“Either that or be involved in something that might have been a blip on the radar.”
“Gimme your number and I’ll call you back as soon as I can run this. I’m up to my eyeballs in forms these days. Reports, documented support for nearly every breath we take. Much thanks to the Feds for this paper deluge. Once upon a time I was an actual law enforcement guy.”
“What is your specialty in the New Jersey State Police?” I said.
“Specialty?” he laughed. “I’m a detective, investigative type hombre. Always been one, always will be one. Like Wineski, only much, much better.”
“You must be something special if you outshine my old boss.”
“Wow. I guess you’re not a disgruntled former employee.”
“Not with him. Just police administration in general, I suspect.”
“You and me both, lady. Better keep that on the downlow. You might get yourself into some very hot liquid. Sounds like you have an attitude.”
“Been accused of that. I don’t see it, though.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. Wineski must think highly of you.”
“How would you know that?”
“He gave you my name and number. He wouldn’t do that for some run-of-the-mill PI, that much I know about my long-time friend. He didn’t give my name and number to that official McG
rady police guy you said was with you. Wineski and I have this thing. Only really good people get to talk to the likes of us,” he said.
Then he was gone. He and Wineski must have both grown up without benefit of polite cultural education when it comes to talking to others on the telephone. Or, they were both trained in phone etiquette by the same source.
While I was engaged with Applegate, our sandwiches arrived and McGrady was halfway through with his huge burger. I say halfway finished because only a half was left on his plate in front of him. The other half was still in his mouth. He was chewing and I could easily see the hamburger in the mastication process. Yuck. Some images are hard to lose.
“Learn anything?” he said to me before he had swallowed or bothered to close his mouth.
“He’ll call back after he does some looking.”
“Yeah, that’s what they all say. The old runaround. Same-o, same-o.”
I decided to try my club instead of debating the finer points of Applegate’s character and his close relationship with Wineski. I knew little of his relationship with my old boss. I knew even less about his character. What I did know was that I had a short list of people I could trust in a pinch. Wineski was one. Rosey was another. Starnes was the third. Those three were not readily available for this. That left me with two hopes for this Applegate fellow. One, I needed him to find something. Two, I really needed him to call me back.
My creative club was one of those juicy specialties that began with some freshly baked bread likely of Italian origin. Said bread was spiced with sesame seeds and chunks of what appeared to be fried onions. The internal stuff of the sandwich was a voluminous stack of thinly sliced ham, chicken, and roast beef, each separated by a different species of cheese. I figured out the cheddar and the Swiss. The third variety was unknown to me but quite good. Also figuring prominently in the stacking was some homemade relish, lively mustard, an actual fresh tomato, and some tangy sauce that I couldn’t have named to save my life. The chef had left the crust on the bread and had quartered the monster so that I actually had four massive sections of stacked goodies to consume. Creative indeed.
I had finished three of the stacks and was closely guarding the fourth one because of McGrady’s roving eye in my plate’s direction when my cell phone indicated a call from Applegate’s number. His name appeared as well. Amazing, huh? My phone, according to my Uncle Walters, had the feature of automatically adding names and numbers to my phone’s contact list anytime I called someone, or someone called me. Interesting feature, I suspect, since my contact list was actually growing exponentially. Good thing I had several gigabytes of storage capacity thanks to Uncle Walters and his progressive technological thinking.
“That was fast,” I said.
“Sometimes I get lucky with this computer crap.”
“I appreciate the efforts.”
“Seems your Drew Sizemore was involved in a hate crime that went down in the town of Millstone a few years back.”
“A hate crime,” I repeated.
“Yeah, he was one of several guys involved on the receiving end.”
“Oh.”
“Seems that a group of soccer players from the university decided to do some cleansing of the community. What the report says is that the athletes rounded up a dozen or so gay men, stripped them, and tied them to some roughly hewn and hurriedly constructed crosses. They then cut them with machetes as they prepared to burn them alive. According to the report, the gays were bound to those crosses with firewood stacked around them. My patrolmen got there just as they had set the first fire under their bound victims. Fortunately, my people made it before anyone was burned badly. All of the victims were taken to the hospital and treated for their cuts. The report says that one of them had to stay in the hospital several days because of an infection from a rusty machete.”
“What happened to the athletes?”
“Arrested, stood trial, and served some time. Most are still serving time. Hate crimes and attempted murder are serious stuff around here. There were five of them. They were all suspended from the university, of course.”
“So, all you got on Drew Sizemore was that he was one of the twelve victims of this incident,” I said.
“Not all, but I thought that incident was something you might need to know up front and consider. I have the address where Sizemore was living with the others. Sort of like a communal society, you know. Might be some people still around here. You could check.”
“In Millstone,” I said.
“Yep. On the corner of Ann Street and Alley Way.”
“Where’d this attempted burning crucifixion take place?”
“Millstone.”
“Near Ann and Alley Way?”
“Close.”
“Any more incidents involving Sizemore?”
“Not in my records.”
The way he said it made me a little suspicious. I have learned to trust my instincts or intuition or whatever one might call it when it comes to the nuances of conversation. When tones vary, something’s up. At least that’s my go-to position.
I wanted to say more, but with McGrady listening to my side of the conversation I chose to forgo that impulse. With McGrady’s biases still lingering in my mind from earlier in our budding relationship, I didn’t want to pursue anything with Applegate until I had some privacy.
“May I call on you again?”
“You’re not alone, are you?” he said.
“Nope.”
“And you want to talk some more and see if I will divulge what else I know of this young man.”
“Without a doubt.”
“Call me and we’ll have one of those clandestine meetings of sorts. I’m happily married, so don’t go getting any ideas, woman. I’m not that kind of man.”
“Just so you know, I’m not that kind of woman. Thanks for your help,” I said.
“And what kind of woman would that be?” McGrady said.
“Somebody Applegate was referencing,” I said trying to be evasive.
I told McGrady about the burning at the stake incident while I finished off my last quarter of the Creative Club.
Chapter 31
It crossed my mind that I probably should have trusted McGrady more than I did. But then, since he had played his hand and I knew just how he felt about the gay community, I was reluctant to share every morsel I had learned from Applegate. My fear was that his disdain for gays would taint his thinking in terms of the investigation. Our biases do have an effect on us. Mine do. It was easy to figure that his would as well.
We drove over to the corner of Ann Street and Alley Way in Millstone, New Jersey. More rural than New Brunswick. It had the feel of some places I had known while growing up in rural Virginia. Different, yet a similar feel.
I parked in front of the address that Lt. Colonel Applegate had provided. Just a normal looking house on a normal looking street in New Jersey, or so I imagined. Millstone, New Jersey was not really my comfort zone.
“I’ll sit this one out,” McGrady said.
“You afraid?” I said.
“Of any weirdos that might be living there now, not likely,” he said a little perturbed.
“I might need some backup.”
“Take the dog.”
“Oh, the dog goes with me, without a doubt. But just in case they have guns and all.”
“Those sissies don’t even know how to shoot a gun,” he said as if he actually believed that.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No. You think they’re manly enough to use a firearm?”
“McGrady, you’re allowing your feelings to blind you to the realities of life. And besides that, you’re stupid.”
I slammed the car door hard before he could respond. The man could infuriate the dead. I was ready to return to Norfolk, dump him at the station, and do the rest of the investigation with only Sam. If Sam had biases, he kept them a closely guarded secret.
I muttered the word stupid over an
d over as I approached the door to the house. Since I was a woman with a dog, I was hoping that whoever resided inside might not shoot me without provocation. I made definite plans not to provoke anyone.
I rang the doorbell and waited.
A young woman opened the door. She smiled and I relaxed a little.
“Pretty dog,” she said.
“Yeah, he likes it when people compliment him,” I said.
“You want something?” she said.
“Information.”
“About what?”
“Who, really. You know a man named Drew Sizemore?”
“What if I do?”
“He was killed a few weeks ago in Norfolk, Virginia. I was hoping to find out something about him.”
“Do you know anything about him?” she asked.
“A little. I need to know all that I can know. It might help me find whoever killed him.”
“Who sent you here?”
“No one sent me. I came of my own accord.”
“How’d you get this address?”
“On file with the state police. Seems they rescued some of the occupants of this home a few years back. I was hoping that some of those who had lived here at the time Drew lived here might still be around and might help me.”
“Come in,” she said. “The dog can come, too.”
I walked inside and she started to close the door.
“That your car?” she asked as she pointed.
“It is.”
“Who’s that sitting in it?”
She was alert and inquisitive. I liked both traits.
“A police detective from Norfolk.”
“Same as you?”
“Not in this lifetime. I’m from the private sector. He works for the city of Norfolk. I’m just helping out on this one.”
“So he asked you for some help?” she said.
“His boss asked me.”
“Then why is he sitting in the car and not up here talking to me or whoever?”
Woman was a quick study.
“You ask a lot a questions,” I said.
“Call me curious or nosey. Either way, I ask because I like to stay alive.”
Jewel of a Murderer Page 18