Brooklyn Secrets (21 page)

After the flurry of panic about the official mail, I went back to the events of the morning. It was not only the drama that I couldn't get out of my mind. Or the tragedy. It was Tyler and Savanna. They had hope, in a corner of the city where there was very little of that to be found. They believed they could write a different story for themselves. It would take a heart of stone not to be touched by them.

Then again, was all of this the truth? We only had his story about Savanna and himself, deeply in love and supporting each other. What would Savanna say, if she could talk to us? Chris was in her first romance and I myself wasn't taking it very seriously. She's only a kid. Savanna and Tyler were a little older, and lived far less protected lives, but that still did not make them adults.

Chris' words came back to haunt me. “I'm a year younger than you were when you met dad. And you were old enough to know.”

Somewhere in that moment, for a second, I was that girl again, dancing at a party with a new boy and feeling like my life was forever changed. As it was.

Making myself move on, I considered Jackie. He was a nasty piece of work, looking to his half-brother for fame and fortune. And he did say someone else was behind the attack on Savanna, the mysterious people he had helped.

Long ago, I learned something useful from Leary.

“Don't you believe it is churchy la femme, no matter what those Frenchies say. It is churchy la francs. Following the money always gets you somewhere.”

So. After Jackie, who would be most unhappy to have Tyler quit boxing? Who had the serious money in the game?

Boxing trainer Brennan would not tell me, and claimed he did not know. Yeah, right. Tyler and Jackie could not tell me, as they were busy telling everything to Asher. They did not appear to know, themselves, who pulled the strings. Maybe they were telling the truth, maybe not.

But now I knew someone myself. Joe's friend Archie. The lawyer who loved boxing.

I e-mailed.

So I did.

He sounded impatient so I got right to it.

“Besides his trainer, who would be most unhappy about a promising young boxer quitting? Would it be the people who are investing in his career?”

“If there is a lot of money out? You bet. The big money supporters would be controlling as much of his life as they can. All for his own good, they would say.”

“How far would they go?”

“Hey. You are getting into some deep waters. Is this really about grad school? Maybe you need to tell me why you want to know?”

“Don't think so.”

There was a long silence.

“Then this is as far as I can go with an answer. If it was someone like me, say—and I have made those investments—I'd just talk his ear off until he got back in the game. If it was some, ah, less polished persons? They might exert pressure.” Over the phone line, I could hear him thinking.

“For an example, because I met his trainer? That young Tyler Isiahson?” I was trying to be devious. “What about him?” I held my breath.

There was silence. Then he said, “There are rumors. Just rumors and gossip. Remember that's all it is. That his backers are…let's say, not the most respectable businessmen. Does that help?”

“Yes, I think it does. Thank you very much.”

“No problem. But be careful, okay?”

So there was gossip about Tyler. And if there was gossip? Then it had to be out there somewhere. These days, every kind of gossip is out there somewhere. And while I couldn't interrogate or threaten or arrest anyone, I could sure as hell research.

Chris came home after dinner at Mel's, knocked on my door, said she was going to bed.

Two grueling hours later, way into the night, I had followed every hyperlink, skimmed an enormous amount of celebrity gossip, browsed obscure webzines and listservs about sports, boxing, and Brooklyn. And I knew something.

It was a tiny article from an obscure boxing fan newsletter. Obscure to me, anyway. There was a photo. A winning boxer, not Tyler, posing with some “very big fans.” They had arms around him, huge grins and an overflowing bottle of champagne. The caption had names. And it mattered because I had seen two of them before. In a parking lot.

Those photos I had taken so impulsively in Williamsburg, trying hard not to include them in the evocative scene? When I opened my phone for the first time since, there they were. It was a bad photo, odd angle, irrelevant people, and car in one corner. My failure to keep them out of the photo had become a success for information. I almost laughed as I keyed the names into my search bar.

There weren't a lot of hits but all were shady. Lots of words like “alleged” and “organized crime” and “dubious”. In fact, it reminded me of the captions on the photos from the archives, the Murder Inc trial files. Only the names had changed.

I made a neat little digital package for Sergeant Asher—boxing article, my photo, the background articles and labeled it “Merry Christmas.” With a smiley emoticon. Inappropriate, but by then I was giddy with exhaustion. I fell into bed in my clothes.

Chapter Twenty-three

I slept late into the morning. Chris had gone to school. I forced myself to do normal, everyday, boring things. On automatic pilot, I looked in the refrigerator for the makings of breakfast. Somehow I had missed dinner last night. I opened the mail I had ignored yesterday.

Bills. I set them aside. I had an invitation for a concert at the Hudson Home, and reception following, signed in perfect penmanship by Ruby. “I will be playing, and Lillian too if she is well enough. We'd love to have you as our guest. Bring friends!”

No matter what I did, I couldn't stop thinking about Deandra. And Tammy too. Did Sergeant Asher know that Tammy had been part of the fight, before Asher arrived? Should I tell her? Or should Zora? I sent Zora a quick note and her response was, “You do it. I am busy watching my baby breathing. On her own! It is beautiful.”

That was the best thing I had heard in several days.

I finally called Sergeant Asher.

She said, “Ms. Donato, are we going steady? Not that I don't enjoy talking to you but I am quite busy.”

Exactly the embarrassing response I was dreading, but I knew that what I had to say, that Tammy was in this mix, was important. Maybe. Of course Asher already knew about it.

“People might not want to talk to us, one to one, but out of that whole crowd, you think there was no one who wanted to gossip or feel important or be eager to tell a tale on someone they did not like? You can be sure we heard about Tammy.”

“What about Deandra? I met her mother yesterday.”

“Ah, Deandra's mother.” She sighed. “Yes indeed. But there are detectives working hard on that one. Trust that. Ms. Donato…ah, thank you for the information you sent me earlier.” Did I hear a little warmth in her voice? “We would have found it in time. I believe we would have, but you shortened the process.” She paused, then continued.

“Look. I need you not to interfere, but, well, if people talk to you? And you happen to pick up something? Send it my way. You never know.” Did I hear a little warmth in her voice before she said, “Back to work now.”

In the night I had dreamed about Deandra's mother, standing across the street, bag of doughnuts in her hand, talking to someone. And the someone was Tammy. I was sure of that.

In the morning I was not sure. I was sure Zora and I had seen Deandra's mother talking to someone after she left us. I didn't get a good look and wasn't really trying to from across the street, but something in my memory was telling me it was Tammy. Hairstyle? Clothes? Shoes?

Hollow squares of gold dangling from her ears. I'd seen it without seeing it. And turquoise clothing.

Well, damn. Why? Why was she talking to Deandra's mom? Why wasn't she home, nursing her wounds and writing crazy posts? I took a deep breath. Was she a friend of Deandra?

I thought about Deandra as I found her in the trashcan. Deandra being lifted out, so thin, with bits of garbage caught in her hair. And Deandra in my car, wanting to talk and practically shaking with fear of what she was going to say.

I should have kept her there, made her tell me the rest. Keeping her secrets had not kept her alive.

Damn again. It looked like I would be going back to Brownsville. I didn't want to. Now I just wanted to finish my chapter, get right with my adviser, and be done with that place, but I was not going to be able to banish Deandra.

I could try to find Tammy and ask some big questions.

It was a dumb plan. I knew it was even as I double-checked the location of Zora's building where Tammy also lived. I looked for the school she no longer attended. Dropouts, against all logic, sometimes hang around looking for their friends. Maybe most important, the spot where I had seen Tammy, across the avenue from the doughnut shop. A public street, under the elevated train tracks. A commercial strip in its own depressed way.

I took the subway. I didn't want to deal with finding parking, getting back to the car from wherever I ended up, didn't want to worry about it. My stop was out toward the end of the line, when the subway cars become spookily empty. I got on a middle car, the most crowded, but by the time I got off, there were only a couple of other passengers. They were all minding their own business, just as I was, all of us not seeing and not noticing. And hoping not to be noticed.

I started at the doughnut shop. The woman behind the counter remembered me. Why was I surprised? I could guess she didn't have many white women customers who weren't regulars, people working in the area.

She certainly remembered Deandra's mother. When I asked her about Tammy, she nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I know her. Likes a cinnamon twist. Mouthy little girl with those silly-looking earrings.” She stroked her own sparkly drops. “And soon as summer comes, tops down to here. I mean, way down.”

I had my list of questions, a mental list not on paper. I asked if she'd ever seen another girl with her, small for her age, with flashy clothes and bright pink sneakers. No, not one of the ones who hung around with Tammy.

I bought a whole box of doughnuts to thank her—and because I love doughnuts myself—and as I was leaving she said thoughtfully, “Pink sneakers? You asking about that girl got shot last week?”

I nodded. “Her mother's the woman asking for free doughnuts.”

“Oh, my lord. I had no idea. No idea. And I do think I seen her girl. Not here, but somewhere. Let me think on it.”

“Care to share my doughnuts with me while you do?”

“Oh, hell no. I'm around them all day. All that sugar makes me sick now.” After a minute, she said, “I am thinking I saw her, this dead girl, rest her soul, with that Tammy somewhere. That little store over there?” She pointed across the street. “They sell socks and gloves and underpants and like that, and some jewelry too.” She closed her eyes, remembering. “Seems like that girl—Tammy?—was buying her something. And I noticed only because I recognized that Tammy.” She smiled apologetically. “That's all. Must be last time, maybe only time, I saw that other girl.” A customer came in, and our conversation ended but I had my next stop.

The cramped shop had items piled on tables and hanging from the wall. The two people in it, an older woman and a young man with a flashy jacket both ignored me. Pointedly. I didn't feel at all welcome, but I selected a pair of cheap, stretchy gloves anyway in hot pink and went to the register.

“You want those?”

“Yes, and I'd take two pair if you have another in this color.” I smiled and confided, “My daughter loses them all the time.”

The woman was not charmed. “You think we have lots of gloves left? It's spring! We are getting them out to make room for summer things.”

I nodded strong agreement. “Hard to remember when it's still so chilly. Think it will warm up to spring weather soon?”

That was as innocuous a remark as I could think of. She only stared and put her hand out for the money I held. I made one last try.

“I know a girl who lives around here and loves this color. Did she ever shop here? Just wondering what else I could get for her. Maybe was with another girl who liked great big earrings? The kind that make my ears hurt thinking about them?”

“We got girls like that here all the time. You buying anything else?”

“Uh, no.” I couldn't wait to leave, but just as I was pulling the door, the young man spoke up.

“The girl with the earrings? Who wants to know? You some kind of welfare worker?”

“No. I knew the younger girl.”

“You a cop?”

“Do I look like a cop?” I straightened up to my full sixty-inch height.

He stared me down.

I gave in. “No, I'm not a cop. Not any kind of official.”

“I might know who you mean.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Mom, but you know some of these girls come here to see me. They get all giggly practicing how to flirt. So, yeah, I seen her here lots of times. One time, maybe, another girl with her, a kid. She was buying her pink gloves, yes, and some big pink hairdo things.”

I tried to say thank you nicely but he had turned away. Time to make my next stop. Now I wanted to talk to Tammy more than ever. Her brutal romantic life was Lieutenant Asher's problem, but it seemed pretty certain that she knew Deandra. They were friends. Or something like that.

I started in the direction of her building. As I had learned from Zora, I would sort of wander, sticking to the places where there was some foot traffic, and see what I might find. Maybe Tammy herself. I crossed my fingers and wondered what I would do with hot pink gloves.

Going in the right direction—at least I hoped so—I realized I was close to the little impromptu memorial for Deandra. I swerved, looked around, headed onto the path that connected the project's apartment buildings.

It was still there, days later. A lot of the flowers were turning brown and the toys had been destroyed by rain, but there were new flowers too. She was not forgotten. It made me sad and angry, both at once, to wish these people had been watching out for her when she was alive. Including me. I didn't know which people or who to be angry at. I just was.

I would never be able to explain this but I hung the pink gloves on the branches of the scraggly bush that was there. I saw there were buds. It would be blooming soon.

If there is an afterlife, my Jeff would have been in touch. I was sure of that. So I am not a believer. This little shrine was not for her but for the living people who made it. I guess I was one of them.

I walked away, eyes blurred, and then turned around for one last look. I would not be back here. Someone else was there. From the distance it looked like Tammy.

I went back, softly, softly as I could. I did not want to give her a chance to run. Halfway there, I heard her talking. To herself? To a phone? Dear lord, to Deandra?

She looked around, hugged herself, and looked around some more. She snapped off one of the flowers and tucked it in her hair.

“Stupid bitch, you know you don't need gloves where you are at now. What fool left them here?” She ripped them off the bush and stuck them in her pocket.

By then I had texted Asher about what I saw. I wasn't letting Tammy out of my sight. She walked away and I walked after her.

When she suddenly sat on a bench and took out a candy bar, I did not stop behind her soon enough. She saw me, looked me up and down with contempt.

“Bitch, you following me?”

“Excuse me???” I gave her an equally aggressive stare.

She was not impressed. “If you following me, get lost. I don't know you and you in my place here.”

“I knew Deandra.”

“Oh, yeah. You the white lady who found her? Stupid little twitchy kid.” Tough words, tough voice, but her expression had changed. Just a little. At least I thought so. “No sense at all. Big mouth.”

Ugly attitude about a dead child. I took a few steps toward her.

“You knew her? Were you friends?”

“Who's asking?” She stood up. “I got places to go, white lady. Get out of my face.”

“Not till you tell me what you know about her.” The words left my mouth before I could think about them.

“You kidding me?” She looked me up and down again, “You and who else stop me?”

“Was it about Savanna? Deandra knew something that scared her.” A light went on. “Were the secrets about you? I was here yesterday. I saw and heard everything.”

She came running at me. It's been a lot of years since my last schoolyard fight but I saw it coming and was able to keep my feet firmly planted. I don't know how. Unable to knock me down, she shook me so hard I bit my tongue.

“What you know, stupid white bitch? You don't know a thing. Not one thing.”

She never let go of me, but she began to sob. She hit me in the face, hard, and ran away. I ran too. Fueled by my own anger, I caught her, grabbed her jacket, and pulled. We both went down and she was crying so hard, I was able to pin her.

“What. Did. She. Know.”

“Me and Tyler. She knew about that.”

“Who didn't?”

“She saw me. That night. She was out looking for her crazy mom.”

“What? The night Savvie was attacked?”

She struggled, trying to get up. Had I hit a nerve? Sitting on her, I was barely heavy enough to hold her down. Not for long, but for now.

“I was there that night. Saw it all. Cheered, too. I don't care one bit, but she saw me, where I shouldn't have been.”

“She saw you? She would have told Tyler, is that it?”

“He'd hate me if he knew. I'd never get him back, my own Tyler, never, ever, even if that evil bitch died. And I knew Dee would blab. I knew, even after I bought her presents. I knew she was bursting to tell.”

She wasn't trying to get away anymore. Her face in the gravel, she was gasping for breath.

“Did you kill her?' My own words sounded unbelievable even as I spoke them. “You? Because you thought she might tell Tyler?”

She went completely still, frozen and silent.

I got up and hauled her to her feet. I looked straight into her eyes, holding her arms as tight as I could. “What happened to her?”

“I did what I had to do, just making sure she never told a soul. Took my brother's gun and dumped it after. All her own stupid fault cause I couldn't trust her. And I don't care. Ain't it a shame?” She had stopped crying. “Never had no choice.”

“You killed her in a crowd? I don't believe that's possible.”

“Not right there. Across the street. No one near and I waited till there was lots of noise so no one heard. I had walked with her near a place I could dump her. After. She was heavier than she looked. It was hard. Harder than I thought. I never catch a break.”

She collapsed into an unmoving and silent ball, right on the gravel walk. I saw two cops coming from the street, and I kept a tight grip on her until they arrived. I answered their questions, they cuffed her, and she didn't even put up a fight. I was not entirely sure she knew what was happening.