Ear-Witness (8 page)

When I passed the Orellanas' door the next morning, I heard Flavia and Carlos inside getting ready for school, but I couldn't wait for them. I had an appointment with the principal. I was jogging along Jameson, paying no attention to anyone, when I almost bumped into the tall skinny back of Jon Bell. As usual, he was alone.

“Hey, Jess!” he called, as I sprinted by him. “What's the rush?”

I checked my watch, and slowed down. “Mrs. Carelli,” I said. “Can't keep her waiting.”

“Oh oh.”

“No, it's not like that. And she's really nice.”

“So if you aren't in trouble, what's ... or am I being too nosy?”

“It's sort of embarrassing,” I said. “I'm reporting someone for harassing me.”

“The Roach?”

My mouth dropped open. “How did you know?”

“I heard him the day you did your book report in English. I followed you into the hall. I wanted to say something, but you took off, so ... I didn't. What he said to you was complete garbage. I mean, you're not heavy at all. You look just right to me.”

How do you answer someone who says you're not fat when you
know
you are? “Uh, thanks,” I said.

“You're on your way to report him now? This minute?”

I nodded.

“Do you want me to come? It might help. I heard everything he said.”

I looked up at him, eyeball to eyeball, even though I had to stretch my neck to do it. “Wow!” I said. “Great!” I checked my watch again. “We're a few minutes early. Do you want to stay outside?”

“Sure.”

We found an empty bench by the day-care playground. When Jon sat, his knees folded up just like a grasshopper's. I slipped my knapsack off my shoulder, and leaned back, tilting my head to catch the sun. I was wearing tights, and a short skirt. I have nice legs. I crossed them.

“How come you know Mrs. Carelli?” he said. “Have you reported the Roach before?”

“No. I was in her office on the day of the murder, when a cop came to ask me to make a statement.” I looked at his face as we talked. One of the nice things about Jon is that he never tries to be cool. I uncrossed my legs and tucked them under the bench.

“What murder?” he said. “The one a couple of weeks ago over on Telrose?”

I nodded. “It was in the apartment underneath us. The whole thing's pretty weird.”

“Hey!” he said. “Could we talk about it sometime? I'm really interested in stuff like that.” Then he frowned. “Unless it makes you feel bad? I don't want to make it seem like a joke.”

I looked at him some more. “No, that would be good,” I said. I almost mentioned Flavia and Carlos, and Kelly, but I didn't. Flavia and Carlos were too weird about the cops, and Kelly hardly even had time for me any more.

“Hey, it's time to go,” I said. “I don't want to keep Mrs. Carelli waiting. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Absolutely.”

I'd hadn't told my mother about the Roach, so that evening when we were chopping vegetables for a stir-fry, I decided I'd better come clean.

“Why didn't you tell me before?” she said. “This is the same guy, isn't it? The one who did all those awful things in public school?”

I nodded. Ronny Roach has been making me upchuck my lunch since grade three. That was the year of the little pink plush jewelbox coffins. The dead mice inside had not died natural deaths, and they hadn't been killed in mouse-traps either. There was too much dried blood for that. One had its throat sliced straight across. The other was missing all four tiny feet.

Ronny didn't improve with age. In grade five someone caught him torturing a cat. In grade six he set fire to a Sri Lankan girl's braid with a cigarette lighter. After that he was away for a while, locked up
somewhere. When he came back for grade eight we were in the same class. That's when I became his sworn enemy for life.

It happened when I was waiting for my father to pick me up for what turned out to be one of our last every-second-weekend visits. I was sitting on the school steps, feeling really awful about my parents' latest fight, when Natalie, a girl with waist-length black hair, came out the main door. Ronny Roach was just behind her.

When they reached the sidewalk, a whole lot of things happened at the same time. Dad's car pulled up at the curb. Ronny's hands, holding a long thin pair of scissors that glittered in the late afternoon sun, darted towards the back of Natalie's neck and started to hack off her hair somewhere around her ears. I jumped up and screamed blue murder.

Natalie comes from India and because of her religion her hair had never been cut in her whole life, so it wasn't just a beauty-destroying thing Ronny did, which would have been terrible enough, but something much, much worse.

Ronny flung the scissors to the ground and took off down the street. My father called the police on his car phone. I picked up the big hunk of hair from the sidewalk and handed it back to Natalie, who was sobbing hysterically and trying to cover the shorn part of her head with her hands.

Neither Natalie nor Dad could identify Ronny by name, but I could, and I did. So when he got sent to the Juvenile Detention Centre for the second time, he blamed me.

“You'd better be careful, Jess,” Mom said. “He's trouble.”

Raffi looked serious. “Maybe I'll have a little talk with him,” he said. “What do you think Lynda? Jess? Should I do that?”

“Go for it,” Mom said. “Just don't threaten him. Threatening is a crime.”

Raffi bent his arm up, caressed his biceps and raised his eyebrows. “Who me?” he said. “You think I'd threaten somebody? Jess, you didn't answer. Should I, er, have a little chat with this guy?”

“I guess,” I said. “It can't hurt. Is it OK if Jon comes over Saturday afternoon for a while?”

Raffi dropped a huge handful of noodles into a pot of boiling water. “Jon who?” he said.

“Jon Bell,” I said. “My friend.” I emphasized the word
friend
.

Mom raised her eyebrows in a way I loathe, but I guess I asked for it. “F-r-i-e-n-d,” I said.

“Oh,” she said. “Sure.”

I could feel the blush creeping up my neck. When the phone rang she wiped her hands on her jeans, and answered. “For you,” she said and handed me the phone. “It's Sheena.”

“Hi,” I said. “I was going to call you.”

“What's up, duckie? You talk to the Orellana kids yet?”

“Well, I tried. But I didn't get an answer. And what with the break-in and all...”

“What break-in?”

“Tammi phoned, to report it,” I said. “It was in her apartment. The night before last.”

“Hang on a minute, will you?”

When Sheena came back on the line her voice was abrupt and furious. “No report,” she said. “You gonna be there for a while? I'll come over.”

“Sure. But we're just going to eat.”

“Half an hour?”

“Three-quarters would be better,” I said. When I hung up, I looked at Raffi.

“She's coming over, I said. “Half to three-quarters of an hour.”

“I'm out of here,” Raffi said.

“So what happened?” Sheena's notebook was open, her pen poised. “Start from the beginning.”

I told her the whole story. The blackout, the break-in, the scene in Brianna's room. I also mentioned the closed laundry door in the basement.

“Did you get a look at this guy, Jess?”

“No. It was dark. The only thing I saw was the side of his head, when he was standing at the back door.”

“There was a light on behind him?”

“Just the sky, but it seemed sort of bright.”

“Enough to identify him, say, in a line-up?”

“No,” I said. “Only enough to know he's big.”

“How big?” she asked. “Big as me?”

“Hmm,” I said. “He came up nearly to the top of the window in the back door.”

“You have a door like that here?”

I nodded.

“Let's have a look then,” she said.

We walked single-file down the hall, Mom first, me next, and Sheena last. I stood where I'd stood in Tammi's apartment when I saw the man's silhouette. Then I pointed out how high his head came on the window. Sheena went outside and stood in front of the door. Her head came to almost the same place.

“He's about as tall as you are,” I said.

“Six-one,” she muttered, and wrote it down. “Any feeling for how heavy he is?”

I shook my head. “I was pretty scared, actually.”

“Not surprised. And you said the Orellana kids aren't talking?”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do,” she said.

“What's that?” I asked.

“Take them in for questioning. Some of them anyway. Now, about Mrs. Bird. Did she seem scared when you told her about this guy? Apprehensive about going back to her apartment?”

I hunched my shoulders. I hated talking about Tammi, and Sheena knew it. “Tammi wasn't scared because she had a gun,” I said. “Her friend Terri lent it to her.”

“Did you see it?”

“No,” I said.

“And Mrs. Bird indicated that she would call the police?”

I nodded. “Maybe she just forgot?”

Sheena groaned. “I doubt it,” she said. “Still, she's a pretty spaced-out woman, so who knows what she'd do. Is she down there now?”

“I think so,” I said. “I heard the baby crying just before you came.”

Sheena pushed herself out of her chair. “One other thing,” she said. “What can you tell me about a guy named,” she flipped some pages in the notebook, “Raphael Morgan?”

“Raffi?” Mom said. Her voice sounded like she was struggling for breath. “He's a friend.”

“Does he live here?” Sheena gave me a particularly piercing look.

“No.” Mom swung her eyes towards me.

Sheena nodded. “We had a report that he's around here a lot,” she said.

Mom hugged herself. “He lives across the street,” she said.

“Which building?” Sheena went to the window and pointed. “That one?”

“Apartment three,” Mom said. Her voice was very small.

It was just like Kelly said, having a boyfriend changes your life. The way I walked, the way I talked, the way I wore my clothes, how fat I felt, everything was different.

After that night in the basement, I couldn't get Carlos out of my head: the soft pressure of his lips; the way his eyes hooded over, making promises. Something would happen soon. I knew it.

As the days went by, I couldn't understand why he was taking so long. Didn't he
want
to kiss me again? Didn't he like me? Did I scare him away? Maybe he was shy, or couldn't get away from his parents, or didn't want them to know about us. That would be difficult, under the circumstances. Or maybe I was supposed to go to him

It was a Friday night, and I was alone. Mom and Raffi had gone to a party. Tammi and Brianna had disappeared again, and I thought I'd heard the Orellanas go out, the whole family. So the soft tapping on the back door came as a shock. It was Carlos, his hand shading his eyes, peering in the window.

I stepped outside, onto the porch. It was dusk, a soft May evening. We sat on the top step, three stories above ground, and looked down over the neighbourhood. A sprinkler waved back and forth in someone's yard. A young girl chained a bicycle to a porch railing. Pink streaks of cloud coloured the sky and the promise of summer floated through the air.

Darkness crept over the city. Carlos' arm was warm against my shoulders. We kissed, properly this time. His mouth tasted of toothpaste. “Lie down,” he whispered. I could still see his eyes, the whites. “Please,” he said. My toes wiggled.

I touched the softness of his hair, then lay back, ignoring the hard wood beneath me. Feeling his hands on my face, my neck. We kissed again. A gentle kiss. Perfection.