Homicide Related (29 page)

“Was murdered,” the female cop said.

Dooley ignored her.

“She's alone. She's pregnant—”

“She lost the baby,” the woman cop said.

Shit.

“Show me your hands,” the woman cop said.

Dooley stiffened. It was always the same thing. He thought about telling her flat out, I'm seventeen; in other words, I have rights, and you have obligations. You have to caution me. You have to tell me I can call a lawyer and have an adult present. You have to tell me that I don't even have to give you the time of day if I don't want to. But he hadn't done anything except answer his phone when Teresa had called. He held out his hands, palms up, even though he knew that wasn't what the cop meant when she'd asked to see them.

“Turn them over,” she said.

He complied. He also told her, because she asked, exactly where he had been all afternoon. He kind of liked the idea that when the cops checked, Beth would back him up and, at the same time, Beth's mother would freak out that the cops were investigating him—again. He answered all of the cops' questions, and when they finally ran out of them, he went back to see Teresa.

“What happened?” he said.

She couldn't even look him in the eye when she said, “I tripped on the stairs.”

She'd lost Jeffie. She'd lost her baby. She was all alone. She was covered in bruises.

“Come on, Teresa,” he said. “Who hit you?”

“No one.” She still wouldn't look at him. “I didn't say anything. Honest.”

“What are you talking about? Jesus, look at me, will you?”

She stared wide-eyed at him, like a terrified child.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” he said.

She blinked at him as if she was having trouble processing what he was saying.

“Those guys came to the apartment,” she said. “At first they said they were friends of Jeffie's. Then they said Jeffie owed them money. If I'd had any, I would have given it to them, Dooley. Honest I would.”

“Guys Jeffie owed did this to you?”

Tears started to dribble down her face again. He passed her a tissue. She peeked up at him while she dabbed at her cheeks.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“I don't have any money. If I did, I would have given it to them. Just don't let them hurt me anymore.”

What?

“You think
I'm
responsible?” He was glad now that she'd told the cops she'd fallen down the stairs.

It must have been his tone. She looked directly at him for the first time.

“You said Jeffie owed you money. Those guys came to get the money he owed. You sent them, didn't you?”

“Jeffie is—was—my friend, Teresa.” He couldn't believe that she thought he would send guys over to muscle her under any circumstances, let alone when she was pregnant. “The money he borrowed, I wrote that off.”

“So who were those guys?”

“I don't know. But if I were you, Teresa, I'd tell the cops.”

She was shaking her head even before he finished speaking.

“No way,” she said. “If I tell them about those guys, whoever sent them might come back at me. No way.”

He couldn't blame her. She was all alone.

“What did the doctor say? Are they going to keep you here?”

“I don't know.”

“You want me to find out?”

She was so grateful for just that one thing, it made Dooley wonder what kind of life she'd had and whether Jeffie had made it better or worse. It took a few minutes, but he finally tracked down a harried young doctor who told him, no, her X-rays had checked out, there was nothing broken, there was no reason to keep her, but she needed bed rest, plenty of liquids, and she should check in with her family doctor the next day. When Dooley told Teresa that, she said she didn't have a family doctor.

“Weren't you seeing someone?” Dooley said. “You know, for the baby?”

“There's a walk-in clinic a couple of blocks from the apartment,” she said. “I've been going there.”

Dooley guessed that would have to do.

“You want me to take you home, Teresa?”

She started to cry again. “What if those guys come back?”

Boy, he wished Jeffie was still alive.

“You want to come home with me, just for tonight?” Dooley said. He couldn't think of any other plan. “You can rest, and we can figure something out tomorrow.” Maybe Jeannie would have some ideas.

Teresa started to cry again, with gratitude this time.

“You get dressed,” Dooley said. She looked pretty rough. He didn't think she would be able to manage the bus and the walk from the bus to his uncle's place. “There's a cash machine across the street. I'm going to get some money for a taxi, okay? I'll be right back.”

The third thing that had happened: He'd walked through the front door of his uncle's house, Teresa leaning heavily on him—groggy, it turned out, from some painkiller they had given her at the hospital—and directly into a shit-storm, only he didn't realize it right away. No, right away all he saw was Jeannie, who came out of the kitchen when she heard the front door.

“This is Teresa,” Dooley said. “She's going to stay here tonight, if it's okay with you.”

Jeannie's expression was tense and confused. Dooley couldn't blame her.

“Teresa, this is Jeannie.”

Teresa nodded weakly.

“Come on,” Dooley said. “You can sit down in here.” He helped Teresa into the living room and eased her down onto the couch. He even slipped her shoes off and helped her put her feet up. Then he pulled Jeannie toward the kitchen. “She was pregnant,” he said. “She just lost her baby and she doesn't have any place to stay. I was—”

Jeannie squeezed Dooley's arm hard but too late. Someone else came out of the kitchen. Beth's mother. She glowered at Dooley and then at Teresa, who was so out of it that she smiled back. Then she said, “I'll see myself out.”

Dooley glanced at Jeannie, who shook her head and waited until after the front door had closed behind Beth's mother before she said, “You've had some day, Dooley.”

“I can explain,” Dooley said.

“I'm sure you can,” she said. “But we have company.”

Jeannie took charge. She sent Dooley into the kitchen to put water on for tea. Then she dispatched him to get clean sheets out of the linen closet and put them on his uncle's bed. When he had done that, she helped Teresa upstairs and sent Dooley back down to make the tea. “And toast,” she said. “Lightly buttered.”

Dooley did as he was told and then was stumped by what to put in the tea. Should he ask? Should he guess? He decided on one teaspoon of sugar and a little milk and carried the mug of tea and the plate of toast on a tray up to his uncle's room. By then Teresa was in bed. She was wearing what Dooley recognized as one of his uncle's pajama tops and was propped up against the pillows. Jeannie took the tray from him and arranged it on Teresa's lap.

“The tea will warm you up,” Jeannie said, which Dooley couldn't figure. It was nice and cozy in the house. But then he noticed that Jeannie had put an extra blanket on the bed and that Teresa's hands were shaking when she raised the mug of tea to her mouth using both hands. Jeannie turned to Dooley and said, “Take your time, but when you're done here, we need to talk.” She left them alone.

“She's nice,” Teresa said, her eyes lingering on the doorway long after Jeannie had disappeared. “Is she your mother?”

“She's my uncle's friend,” Dooley said. “I have to go downstairs, Teresa. If you need anything, just yell, okay?”

“Thanks, Dooley.”

“And drink your tea, okay?”

Jeannie was in the kitchen. The coffeemaker was on and Dooley could see that there was maybe a cup of coffee left in it, but Jeannie had taken a glass out of the cupboard and was pouring vodka into it.

“Sorry,” she said, “but it's been quite a day.” She knocked back what she had put in the glass, poured herself another, and sat down at the table. “Annette called. She says you can see Gary tomorrow. She'll pick you up and take you there.”

“How's he doing?” Dooley said.

Jeannie let out a long sigh. It was the closest she had ever come to looking defeated. “I talked to him for a few minutes on the phone. He says he's fine. He wanted me to check on the new presser he hired. You know.”

Yeah, Dooley knew.

“Then the vice-principal at your school called. He said you skipped some classes today.”

“One class,” Dooley said. “English.
1984
.”

“According to Gary, one of the conditions of—”

“I know,” Dooley said. “I know and if you want to report me, I don't blame you. But, Jesus, Jeannie. All the stuff that's been going on, and I'm supposed to sit there and analyze some futuristic society that isn't even futuristic anymore; 1984 came and went before I was even born. And, yeah, I know about all that totalitarian bullshit, but, I mean, what the fuck?” He took in the slightly stunned look on Jeannie's face and remembered what his uncle had said about treating her like a lady. “Excuse my language,” he said.

He and Jeannie looked at each other—two strangers, feeling their way, bumping up against each other, assessing each other, trying to decide. Then Jeannie laughed.

“It's okay. And I take your point,” she said. It was no mystery what his uncle saw in her. She sighed again. “I gather, from what Gary told me, that there is room for accommodation,
provided
”—the heavy emphasis she put on the word made her sound, just for that one second, exactly like his uncle—“you go about it the right way. You know what I mean, Dooley?”

“Yeah.”

“I told Mr. Rector—unfortunate name, don't you think? I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that he was teased mercilessly when he was a kid—that it was all my fault, that you had an appointment in conjunction with your uncle's circumstances and that I, acting as guardian in his stead, had neglected to either write you a note or call the school and alert them.” She took a sip of her drink. “I get the impression that he didn't quite believe me. But he didn't push the point, either, so I think we're okay.”

“Thanks, Jeannie.”

“And then Mrs. Manson showed up.”

Beth's mother.

“She was looking for you and was surprised—gob-smacked, in fact—to find a woman in the house. She had quite a tale to tell.” Dooley caught the flicker of a smile, and his cheeks suddenly felt like they were on fire. He bet Jeannie was picturing him standing there, caught practically in the act. “You care about this girl, Dooley?”

Dooley sank down onto the chair opposite her and tried not to look at the vodka in her glass.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

“And when you and she—” Jeannie took another sip of vodka. “I don't have children, Dooley. I have nieces, but no nephews. God help me. You take precautions when you're with this girl, right?”

“Her name is Beth,” Dooley said.

“Beth.” Jeannie nodded, and Dooley could tell that she liked the name.

“Yeah, I take precautions.” It was bad enough his uncle asking him about this. But Jeannie? “What did her mother say? Why was she here?”

“What did she
say?
” Jeannie shook her head. “I think you can imagine what she said.”

“And?”

“Well, when you get right down to it, you're both seventeen. In less than a year, it's out of anyone's hands.” She took another sip of vodka, and apologized for it. “But I get the feeling she's not the type to let go easily.”

“Her husband was murdered. Her son, too,” Dooley said. “Mark Everley. You remember.”

“I do,” Jeannie said.

“Did she tell you she didn't want me anywhere near Beth again?”

“She did.”

Well, that was no surprise.

“I told her I couldn't imagine why not. I told her I know you as well as anyone does. I told her exactly what I think about you, Dooley.”

Dooley held his breath.

“I told her you're a sweet, responsible young man who's caught a lot of bad breaks but who is working very hard to put all that behind him.”

Dooley wanted to hug her.

“I won't flatter myself that I was making much progress with her, but I was holding my own—until you showed up with that girl. This baby she lost—it wasn't by any chance—”

“It was her boyfriend's,” Dooley said. “He was sort of a friend of mine.”

“Was?”

“He was killed.”

“Killed?”

“Murdered.”

“Good lord,” Jeannie said. She finished the vodka in her glass and set the glass aside. “I'm going to check on that girl.”

“Teresa,” Dooley said.

“I'm going to check on Teresa and then I'm going to make up the pull-out bed in Gary's study and I'm going to get some sleep.”