Jubilee's Journey (The Wyattsville Series) (35 page)

It was nine-thirty when Mahoney left the Northampton station house, and by then he’d decided to take the weekend off. He’d spend some time mending bridges at home and let the Wyattsville boys cool down a bit before he went back.  With Anita gone until Monday, nothing much would happen until then anyway.

Olivia

There’s a lot of merit in what Seth Porter says. I
am
opening the door for heartache to come crawling through, but now it’s too late to do anything about it.

Looking back, I can see the truth; I made a place in my heart for Jubilee the night I saw her tiny little shoe with a piece of cardboard covering up the hole. She had the look of a stray kitten that comes mewing at your door asking for nothing more than a bit of kindness and some warm milk. If you can turn your back on a child like that, you’ve lost your worth as a human being.

The good Lord is probably laughing up his sleeve by now, and He sure enough has cause for doing it. After all those years I spent running away from marriage just because I couldn’t bear the thought of children hanging to my coat-tail, now here I am wanting a second one who’s not even mine to want.

It’s not just me; Ethan Allen’s also taken Jubilee to his heart. I know he’s wishing she could become a part of our family. He doesn’t come right out and say it ‘cause that’s not his way, but I see the things he does, the way he watches out for her. Yesterday they came in from playing, hungry as bears and wanting a snack. Of course they both wanted chips. I looked in the cupboard, and there was just one packet left. Given the way Ethan loves his chips, I figured he’d be first to grab for it but he didn’t. He gave it to Jubilee and took a bag of pretzels for himself.

Mister Mahoney has yet to find that Anita, and in my mind it’s just as well. Any aunt who doesn’t know her niece is wandering around with no place to go doesn’t deserve to have the child. Maybe Anita feels the way I used to, and if that’s the case I’m going to say right up front that Jubilee’s welcome to stay here and live with us.

Once I do that, the probability is I’ll have to find someplace else to live.

Jim Turner’s calmed down for now, but me bringing another child into the building is not something the Rules Committee is likely to overlook.

When Monday Comes

A
s far as Detective Mahoney was concerned, the weekend passed uneventfully. On Saturday afternoon he took the kids fishing; then in the evening, he and Christine had dinner at Mario’s. Over a bottle of red wine, he promised to be more conscientious about getting home in time for dinner.

“I should hope so,” she answered. Before she got to the part where she’d list all the dinners he’d missed, Jack switched to saying how the blue of her dress made her eyes twinkle. Christine smiled, and the evening moved on with no further discussion of missed dinners.

Sunday was sunny and warm so Mahoney finished painting the porch he’d started more than a week ago, then settled into an easy chair with a book he’d been wanting to read. Before he finished the first chapter he began thinking of a way to help Paul Jones.

On Monday morning he crafted a “Help Wanted” sign exactly like the one he’d seen at Klaussner’s store; then he drove back to the Bread Basket Café and took Polaroid pictures of both the inside and outside. He even took one shot of Connie holding a plate with a biscuit on it. Although Paul had trouble answering questions, he responded well to visual images. Mahoney hoped these things would bring back the memory of that ill-fated Wednesday.

It was almost noon when Mahoney headed over to the hospital, totally unprepared for what he found.

The bed Paul had been shackled to was empty. The officer at the door, gone.

A sick feeling settled in Mahoney’s chest, and his heart started beating faster. On Friday he’d given Barbara Walsh a card with his home telephone number; she was supposed to call if anything happened. He looked around. No Barbara.

Mahoney stopped the first nurse passing by and asked, “Where’s Paul Jones, the kid who was in this room?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “I been off for a week.”

After fifteen minutes of searching for Barbara Walsh, Mahoney learned she’d come down with the flu on Saturday and was expected to be out for the remainder of the week.

“One-hundred-and-two fever,” Maureen explained.

“Damn,” Mahoney said.

“Is there a problem?”

Mahoney explained he was looking for Paul Jones, the boy who’d been in room 412. “Has he been transferred to another ward?”

“No, he was discharged yesterday.”

“Discharged? How could you let him—”

“I didn’t do anything. Doctor Brewster decided the kid was well enough to leave and released him.”

Mahoney began growing hot under the collar. “Who picked him up? Signed him out? Did you just let the kid walk out of here with no place to go?”

“Don’t use that tone with me!” Maureen snapped back. “Detective Gomez signed the kid out. They took him out of here in handcuffs, so he’s probably on his way to jail.”

“Barbara was supposed to call me if anything happened—”

“Barbara wasn’t here!” Maureen turned and walked off in a huff.

Although Captain Rogers had expressly instructed him to stay away from the Wyattsville station house, Mahoney got back in his car and sped across town. He bypassed the front desk and went looking for Hector Gomez. He found him in the coffee room.

“We’ve got to talk!” Mahoney said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Gomez replied with a smug smile.

Mahoney pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. “Yes, there is.” Weighing his words carefully, he continued. “Paul’s profile, his movements on the day he arrived in Wyattsville, the fact that he had his sister with him, everything points to him being nothing more than a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The store owner shot him,” Gomez argued. “Sid Klaussner wouldn’t shoot someone for simply being there.”

“It could’ve been a stray shot.”

“Not likely.” Gomez took a bite of his sandwich and began chewing.

“Hear me out,” Mahoney said. He went on to detail the things he’d found. “I believe the kid came in there looking for a job. When I went out to the store, there was a Help Wanted sign on the floor over by the counter. I think Paul was holding that sign when he was shot. Check it out. My bet is you’ll find his prints on the sign. That alone is enough to raise a question of doubt.” He ended by showing Gomez the duplicate sign he’d made and the Polaroids.  “The boy responds better to visuals. Give it a try; maybe you’ll get his side of the story.”

Gomez took another bite and chewed, slowly and deliberately.

Mahoney sat and waited.

After he’d finished what was left of the sandwich, Gomez said, “You must think I’m some kind of fool. This isn’t about the kid; it’s about you wanting to play hero.”

Without the backing of Captain Rogers, Mahoney knew there was only one way to right the wrong and he took it.

“Nope,” he said. “You’re wrong. I’ve been pulled off the case.” He handed the sign and pictures to Gomez. “This time you’re gonna have to be the hero and find out the truth. From here on in, it’s your ballgame.” 

As he watched Mahoney disappear down the hall, Gomez mumbled, “What the hell was that about?” On the way back to his desk, he dropped the pictures and sign into the trash can.

Mahoney left the Wyattsville station house with discouragement weighing heavy on his heart. This was a part of the job he hated; all too often it made him wonder if he shouldn’t have listened to his father and become an engineer. Engineers had dinner with their family every night. They seldom worked weekends and never carried a burden of guilt for something they could do nothing about. He heaved a regretful sigh, shifted the car into gear, and pulled away from the curb.

Moments after the Wyattsville station house disappeared from sight, he began thinking about what he could do. The most obvious answer was to find a home for Jubilee, because if Gomez didn’t change his viewpoint Paul was not going to be around to look after her. Mahoney knew such a change was none too likely. Men like Hector Gomez were born with a shell around their heart, a shell solid as cement and with about the same amount of flexibility.

He pulled the roll of antacids from his pocket, popped two in his mouth, and headed toward Anita Walker’s apartment. Hopefully she was home.

Mahoney rang the bell for the third time before an answer came through the intercom.

“Go away, I’m trying to sleep.”

“Is this Anita Walker?” Mahoney asked.

“Yeah.”

“Detective Mahoney from the Northampton precinct,” he replied. “I’d like a word with you.”

“If Freddie sent you, I ain’t interested!”

“This isn’t about Freddie, it’s about your niece.”

“Lord God, what now?”

“If you’ll buzz me in, I’ll come up and explain.”

“I doubt there’s anything about those hillbillies I want to hear.”

Mahoney, who by then was weary of this day, said, “Either you let me in, or I’ll come back with a warrant.”

“All right, all right,” Anita answered. Moments later a shrill buzz sounded.