Ear-Witness (17 page)

“My dad said he'd talk to the police about the Roach,” I said. “But we can't expect much to happen until Raffi's trial.”

“You mean,” Jon said, “that even though you can prove the Roach hates you, and probably lied about seeing Raffi just to get even with you, you can't do anything about it?”

“Not yet,” I said. “Not until the Roach gives his story in court. Then, when the jury hears my side, hopefully they won't believe a word he says.”

“Mr. Raffi must stay in jail?” Flavia asked.

I nodded. “Unless we can produce a miracle.”

“I know something,” Flavia said. “But it is not your miracle, Jess. Mrs. Tammi did not tell me of this trip, she told me she was moving to another apartment. I am feeling very suspicious about her.”

“I wonder when she's going,” I said. “I should probably tell my father.” I got up from my chair. “Hey, who wants a Coke? It's Diet.”

Flavia did, but Jon didn't. I handed her the can, opened mine, and set it on the floor beside my chair.

“Those fingerprints in Tammi's apartment are the real problem,” I said. “I mean, there's two theories, right? The cops say Raffi was there, and his prints prove it. My theory is that somebody took a soft
drink can and a magazine that he'd touched, and planted them there.”

“But where would this person get such things?” Flavia said.

“It wouldn't be hard to scoop a soft drink can,” Jon said. “I mean he could have just tossed it somewhere. The magazine would be harder to come by. What kind of magazine, do you know?”

I shrugged. Then I picked up my drink. Halfway to my mouth my hand stopped. Then I began to laugh.

Jon and Flavia looked at each other and shrugged. “She's losing it,” Jon said. “This whole thing's been too much for her.”

“Excuse me?” Flavia looked puzzled. “What is Jess losing?”

“Her mind.”

“Ah,” Flavia said. “Losing it.”

By this time I was giggling hysterically, slapping the palms of my hands on my legs so hard they hurt.

“Jess!” Jon said. Then he grabbed my wrists and held them. “You really are losing it.”

“It's just that,” I said. “Just that...” I was almost sobbing by now. “I did it,” I said. “I put those things in Tammi's apartment.”

“But why?” Flavia said. “Why would you hurt Mr. Raffi?”

I pulled my wrists away from Jon. “I didn't mean to. Remember how I was babysitting for Brianna the night before the murder? Well, it was the same night really, the night Ray was killed. That was why the cops wanted to talk to me in the first place. You aren't going to believe this, but when I went down there I took a can of Diet Coke with me, because all Tammi ever has is ordinary Coke. And I took one of Mom's magazines. And I left it there, because Tammi wanted to borrow it. There was some article she wanted to read, about how to do your hair or something.”

Jon was frowning. “So how did Raffi's prints...”

“He reads everything,” I said. “Cereal boxes, flyers, everything. Cover to cover. So that's easy. And the Coke can, well...” I laughed again. “He put them in the fridge!”

“You aren't making sense, Jess,” Jon said. “What did he put in, and in whose fridge?”

“Sorry,” I said. “This is just so wild!” I made a big effort to pull myself together. “Raffi always puts the pop away. He carries it up the stairs, in cases. Then he sets them on the stove, slits the plastic covers with a knife, and puts a bunch of cans in the fridge. He does it the same way every time. So when I took one, he'd already handled it. So it would have his fingerprints on it, as well as mine.”

“You must tell your father about this,” Flavia said.

“Yes. The great thing is that Dad wasn't told what kind of pop can or what kind of magazine the prints were on, so when I identify them” I said, “maybe we can get Raffi released!”

“This whole thing is like a bad joke,” Jon said. “Raffi...”

He said something else, but I was only half listening because I heard somebody on the stairs. At first I thought it was Mom, but Mom comes up at a run, and this person was walking. I got up and opened the door.

“Hi,” Tammi said. “Can I borrow your phone? Mine's disconnected already because of the move and all, and there's nobody home at the Orellanas'.” Then she noticed Jon and Flavia. The phone sat on a small table between them.

“You can use the extension in my room if you want,” I said.

My eyes followed her down the hall. When she disappeared I whipped across the room, crouched in front of the answering machine, and pressed the
Record
button. As I straightened up, Tammi's voice bounced out at me. Jon's hand flew to the volume control. He turned it down so we couldn't hear anything. I looked at his eyes, then at Flavia's.

“Is this an awful thing to do?” I whispered. Neither of them answered. I grinned nervously. “I don't care,” I said. “This is war.”

Tammi didn't talk long. When she came back down the hall, I went with her to the door. “You're really moving?” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah. It spooks me, this place. Hey, say good- bye to your mom for me, will you? And ...” She didn't complete her sentence.

“And Raffi?” I said. I watched her to the first landing. When I came back into the room, Jon's finger was hovering over the
Play
button.

“Keep the sound low,” I said.

The first voice on the tape was Tammi's, the second was a man's.

Hi,
it's me
.

You took your sweet time! I've been waiting here for an hour!

Sorry. The phone's disconnected
. I
wanted to call from the Orellanas' but they weren't home, so
I
had to come up to the Marchs'
.

So?

I
don't know. That Jess, she suspects something
.

Don't be such a worrywart. Everything's fine! Hey, did you get the tickets?

Yes. The train leaves at nine tonight, so meet me... how about in the line-up where you wait to board
.

What
gate?

I
don't know. Do
I
have to do everything?
It's
the train to Chicago. Ask somebody
.

OK, OK.
How are you getting there? You taking a cab?

Yeah
.

Jess isn't standing right there listening, is she? Tell me you're not that stupid
.

I'm
not that stupid. I'm in her room. The door's shut
.

OK.
I'll see you later. Don't mess up
.

There were two clicks as two receivers were replaced. Jon pressed the
stop
button. He had no idea who that man was. Flavia didn't know either, I could tell to look at her.

I knew who he was. I recognized his voice. “Do you believe in ghosts?” I said.

It took seventeen minutes to track down my father. Nobody answered at his office, and when I called his home, I got the kid.

“It's urgent,” I said.

“Sorry. I can take a message. Who shall I say is calling?”

I groaned. “Jess March,” I said.

“Hey, are you...?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I am. Is your mother there?”

Speaking to my father's new wife wasn't something I was really wild about doing, but her kid was hopeless. When she came on the line, she sounded cagey, like she spent her life protecting my dad from people who were trying to bother him, me included. Maybe I was being unfair. Maybe he knew a lot of flakes. Still, she had to know I was his daughter. She could have said hello.

“I think I could possibly locate him,” she said. “If it's really necessary, but ...”

“It's absolutely necessary,” I said.

“Well, then, why don't I try to find him, and if I do, I'll have him call you.”

I sighed. “What happens if you can't find him? When will he be home?”

“It could be late,” she said. “After ten, at least. Are you sure this can't wait until tomorrow?”

“It can't wait. It's about a murderer,” I said. “A murderer who's going to leave the country.” Then I gave her my number.

It was five-thirty when Dad called. “Are you all right?” he said. “What's this about a murder? Not another one?”

“No,” I said. “But I've figured out the one we've got.” Then I told him about Tammi's call. I even played him the tape.

“You're sure about this, Jess?” he said, when it ended “If you're right, we'll have to get the police down to the station to arrest him. If you're wrong, we're going to feel awfully stupid.”

“I'm not wrong,” I said. “Remember how you showed me the police report? Remember how the corpse didn't have red hair? The dead man wasn't Ray Bird, he was Al Green. They're two separate people. Ray Bird is the murderer. And he's alive and well and getting ready to split for Chicago. I'd know his voice anywhere.”

“OK,” Dad said. “I hope you realize that you're a key player in all this. You'll have to come to the station too.”

“Me?” I said.

“Yes, you. You're the only one who can identify this Bird fellow. If we find him, he's going to deny being who he is, and I doubt we can count on his wife identifying him correctly.”

“Hardly,” I said. “Since she's already said he's dead.”

“I'm going to be on the phone with the Crown Attorney and the police for a while so I don't think I'll have time to pick you up, but I'll meet you there. Can you take a cab...”

I laughed. “A cab to the station? Maybe I can share Tammi's.”

“Poor idea,” he said. “I'm glad you've still got your wits about you. What about the street-car? Have you got someone who can go with you. You shouldn't be out...”

“Alone at night,” I said. Ion was pointing to Flavia and himself and nodding. “I have at least one friend who'll come. It's OK. Where do we meet?”

“Hmm,” he said. “It's critical that the Birds don't see you. You know where the washrooms are on the departure floor?”

“I'll find them,” I said.

“They're in the big waiting room that's separated off from the main part where the ticket counter is. Wait for me in the section directly across from the washrooms. It seems to me there are pillars there. If there are, get behind one.”

“OK. What time?”

“If the train's at nine, people will be lining up long before that. Eight o'clock?”

“Sure.”

“And Jess? Don't do anything heroic. That man is a killer.”

I met Jon at his house shortly before seven.

“No Flavia?” he asked.

“Her mom didn't want her to come, because of the police being involved, but she lent me her jacket.” I held up the shopping bag containing my disguise.

When I went into the Bells' downstairs washroom, I was myself: a teenager in jeans, T-shirt, and sandals. When I came out I was a sophisticated woman, one Tammi would never recognize, at least not at first glance. Flavia's black cotton blazer was a bit tight, but if I didn't do up the buttons I wouldn't split any seams. Underneath I had on a black T-shirt and stretchy black pants I borrowed from Mom. I'd also borrowed her white heels, some dangling silver ear-rings, a very red lipstick and a lacy white straw hat she'd never even worn yet.

Jon looked different too. His suit was pale grey, and it fit him perfectly. Under it he was wearing a white shirt with fat pink stripes. His tie was pink with huge orange flowers; it was so awful I couldn't take my eyes off it. He had a hat too, a cloth one with a stitched brim, the kind the ads say will still look good after you throw it over the side of your canoe.

Union Station is just a hop, skip and a jump from where the big highways streak along between the lake and the bottom of the city. The building is made of dull grey stone, and it takes up a whole block. That's on the street level, where you can see it. There's a lot more of it underneath because it's not only a train station, it's a subway stop and a commuter-train terminal as well.

Tammi would come in the main door on Front Street, where taxis let off their passengers. Jon and I transferred from the streetcar to the subway, so we arrived on the basement level. Then we worked our way up to the departure floor, which was difficult, because by this time I could hardly walk. The combination of no stockings, hot weather, sweaty feet, and too-small shoes was the perfect formula for a blister. It was a killer, the kind that pops its bubble almost immediately so the shoe gets to rub on the tender little circle of rawness underneath.

When we got to the waiting room where we were to meet my dad, Jon got me a hunk of toilet paper from the men's room and I made myself a little bandage. Then I stuck it between my shoe and my heel, and left a little flap hanging over the top. So much for sophistication.