Sacrifice Fly (21 page)

“And how did you get to my apartment?” I asked quickly.

“We took a—” She stopped herself. “Frankie told me not to tell any—”

“I know!” I slapped the side of the desk before I could stop myself. “Don’t tell anybody
anything. You promised.” I realized that everybody in the room was now looking at
me. Milagros started to cry. “I’m sorry, honey,” I said, remembering that she must
have been more tired and frustrated than I was. “I just need to—”

The little girl’s tears increased. I got up and grabbed a few tissues off the desk
and handed them to her. She began to shake. When I crouched back down and put my hand
on her shoulder, she shrugged it off. The female officer came up from behind me, put
her hand on my shoulder, and said, “Mr. Donne.”

I stood up. “Yeah,” I said. “Thanks.”

I walked back over to Detective Royce, who was pretending to go through some papers
on his desk. Without looking up, he said, “That went well.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m thinking of working with children someday.”

*   *   *

Elaine Stiles arrived wearing a Brooklyn College sweatshirt, blue jeans, and sneakers.
I guessed we hadn’t interrupted anything too important. I introduced her around. She
looked over at Milagros, who had a can of Diet Pepsi tilted over her open mouth.

“You called the hospital?” Elaine asked.

Royce answered. “Yes.”

“Good. If you’d let me on your computer, I can download the paperwork we’ll need to
allow her grandmother to take her home.” Royce got up and motioned for Elaine to sit.
She pressed a few keys, got online, and pressed a few more keys. “In absence of the
legal guardian, the time and day, I don’t think it’ll come back to bite us. She tell
you where Frankie was?”

“No,” I answered. “He told her not to.”

Elaine gave me a look, let out a sigh, and went back to pressing keys and moving the
mouse around. “Where’s your printer, Detective?”

Royce pointed across the room.

“Would you mind?” Elaine asked.

Jackson walked away, returned with the printouts, and handed them to Elaine.

“This’ll take some time,” she said, handing me the paperwork. “Let me talk to Milagros,
explain to her what’s going to happen. Tell me when you’re done with page two.”

I started in on the paperwork as Elaine crouched down and spoke to Milagros. The little
girl seemed much calmer now. She listened with a serious look on her face and kept
nodding her head. When Elaine was done, I could read Milagros’s lips. “Okay.”

I filled in all the information I could regarding Milagros and Frankie: addresses,
schools, and names of family members. I had no phone numbers with me. When I got to
page three, the rest had to be filled out by a licensed social worker. I held up the
pages to signal I was done. Elaine excused herself from Milagros and came back over.

“That,” she said, “is one well-adjusted, tough cookie.”

“She tell you anything about Frankie?” I asked.

“About as much as she told all of you. It’ll take some time before she trusts anyone
besides her brother.”

I wondered how much time we had.

“Can you finish that up on the way to the hospital?” Royce asked, pointing at the
pages in Elaine’s hand.

“Shouldn’t we wait for the grandmother?”

“Might save some time if we got the girl over—”

Royce cut himself short as something over my shoulder caught his attention. I turned
and saw Elsa holding the swinging gate open for Mrs. Santos, who eased through, her
walker in front of her. Right behind them was the guy from the church I’d met the
other day. Elijah Cruz.

“The grandmother,” I said to Elaine and Royce.

We all watched her make her way over to Milagros and bend down to exchange hugs with
the little girl. They both started crying. When the embrace ended, Mrs. Santos held
Milagros by the shoulders and said,
“¿Dónde está Francisco, chica?”

I couldn’t hear the girl’s response, but it was followed by more tears and a shake
of the head. Mrs. Santos was not pleased and stood up slowly.
“Ay dios mio,”
she said and turned to Elsa and Cruz. Milagros said something to the three adults,
and Elsa shot me a look. Yeah, I raised my voice to a little kid. I know. The four
of them spoke for another half minute. When they were done, Cruz came over to us.

“Mr. Donne,” he said, shaking my hand. “Again you have proven yourself to be a true
friend to this family.”

“Milagros showed up at my door, Mr. Cruz.”

“Ah,” he said. “Because Francisco trusted you with his little sister. Don’t underestimate
your contribution to the girl’s safe return.” Cruz turned to Detective Royce and said,
“I am Elijah Cruz, Detective. I … represent the family. Can we take the girl to Mrs.
Santos’s home?”

“Not right away, Mr. Cruz,” Royce explained. “Procedure is we have to get her checked
out by a doctor first and then file some paperwork. But yeah, by the end of the evening …
I don’t see why not.”

“Good,” Cruz said. “Good.” He turned to Jackson and offered his hand. “Elijah Cruz.”

“Police Officer Jackson, sir.” Jackson caught Cruz checking out the golf clothes he
was wearing and added, “I was called to Mr. Donne’s when the girl showed up. Sir.”

Cruz smiled at the explanation and turned back to me. “Can we talk, Mr. Donne?”

“Sure,” I said and waited.

Cruz said, “Privately.” And then to Royce and Jackson, “No offense, gentlemen.”

They both shrugged, and Cruz and I walked over to the swinging gate. I waited for
him to say whatever it was that needed to be said in private.

“The girl,” he began, “has said nothing about Francisco?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Santos is rightfully upset about this, Mr. Donne.”

“I know how she feels.”

“Yes.” He turned toward the window, away from where his face could be seen by Royce
or Jackson. “Is there nothing she said to you about her brother?” he asked. “That
you haven’t shared with the police?”

“Why would I withhold information from the police, Mr. Cruz? I was the one who wanted
them brought in the other day.”

“And, I assume, the one responsible for the three patrol cars that showed up at Clemente
shortly after you left?”

I ignored the question. “Milagros told me what she’s told everyone tonight. Nothing.”
I gestured over to where Elaine was talking with Elsa and Mrs. Santos. “Ms. Stiles,
the school counselor, feels that Milagros doesn’t trust anyone but her brother. It’ll
be a while before she says anything.”

Cruz nodded. “She has good reason to feel that way. She and her brother have been
through much these past few days.” He fingered the patch of hair under his lower lip
as he looked over at Frankie’s grandmother. “Is there any more that I can be doing?”

Now, you want my input?

“Yeah,” I said. “Milagros has to get examined by a doctor before she can be placed.
They”—I gestured toward Royce and Jackson—“called the hospital.”

“Which?” When I told him, he shook his head. “No.” He walked over to Royce and asked,
“Ms. Stiles is a licensed social worker?”

“That’s why she’s here.”

“The family may choose a doctor to examine the girl, correct?”

Elaine overheard that and came over. “Yes.”

“Then we will go to the family’s doctor.”

Elaine looked at her watch. “He has office hours on Sunday evening?”

Cruz smiled. “He will be in his office.” He took his cell phone off his belt and dialed
a number. “You will accompany us, Ms. Stiles?”

Elaine looked at Royce and me. We shrugged.

“Yes,” she answered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Good.” Cruz walked away and spoke into his phone.

“He’s from the grandmother’s church,” I explained to Elaine. “He works in the medical
field. Sort of.”

“Can he get a doctor at this hour?” Elaine asked.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Cruz returned in less than a minute. “It is settled. Dr. Matos will expect us in twenty
minutes. Is there anything else, Detective Royce?”

“We’ll need to interview the girl tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe she’ll decide to answer
some of our questions. The grandmother might be some help in that area.”

“Yes,” Cruz said and offered his hand to Royce, Jackson, and me. “Tomorrow then.”
He gave Royce a card. “Senora Santos has no phone at the moment, so this would be
the best way to reach her.”

The way this guy made building superintendents and doctors appear, I figured he could
have done something about getting an old woman a phone.

“Good night, gentlemen. And Mr. Donne, again, our sincerest gratitude.”

“Glad I could help,” I said.

Cruz returned to Frankie’s grandmother, Milagros, and Elsa. Elsa looked over and gave
me something that was not quite a smile.

Elaine got my attention and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ray.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Elaine. I owe you one.”

“Let’s just hope we get Frankie home now,” she said.

“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s hope.”

She went over to the other group and put her hand on Milagros’s shoulder. Milagros
smiled and looked back at me. She took a deep breath, ran over, and stopped in front
of me. I crouched down again. My knees were buzzing.

“Milagros,” I said. “I’m really sorry for raising my voice like that.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Donne,” she said. “My daddy used to yell sometimes.”

Great. Now I’m like her dad.

“No, Milagros. It’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. But Frankie said you would understand.”

“I know he did, honey.”

“He also said he’s gonna call you.”

I crept closer. “What did you say?”

Elijah Cruz came over before she could answer.

“Let us go, Milagros,” he said, taking her by the hand. “We need to get you home.”

“Good night, Mr. Donne,” Milagros said.

“Can you give me one more minute, Mr. Cruz?”

“We do need to get her home, Mr. Donne. I’m sure you understand.”

Why did everyone assume I’d fucking understand when I didn’t understand a goddamned
thing? I stood up, trying to hide my pain and frustration.

“What do you mean, he said he’d call me?”

She made as if she hadn’t heard me. They all left the detective squad together, leaving
Royce, Jackson, and me standing by Royce’s desk. “You feel okay going home by yourself?”
Royce asked.

“Yeah.” I looked over at Jackson. “I think I’m covered.”

Royce picked up his briefcase and jacket. “Then I guess we’ll call it a day,” he said.
“One long fucking day.”

He wasn’t going to get an argument from me. One kid home safe, the other still out
there. Milagros’s words stuck in my head: Frankie said he’d call you.
When?
I thought.
From where?

This was turning into a game I didn’t know how to play.

Chapter 17

I MADE IT ALMOST TO THE TOP
of the subway stairs before I had to stop. My fellow travelers brushed past me, annoyed,
as they went on their way to their very important jobs, pissed off they had to navigate
around the guy who was out of breath and practically doubled over his umbrella. Knees
throbbing with pain, hungry from skipping breakfast, and working on less than two
hours of sleep. What the hell was I doing going to work today? I closed my eyes, waited
for the pain to subside, and tried to avoid the obvious answer.

Like it or not, it was Monday morning. And on Monday mornings, teachers go to school.
I was a teacher.

Not a cop, as my Uncle Ray was quick to remind me. That’s why he had one stationed
outside my apartment when I left this morning. Jackson’s replacement had offered me
a ride, but I chose my regular routine and told him I’d see him later, outside the
school. I should have taken him up on the offer, but I wanted to prove I could take
care of myself. It was time to cut the shit, get back to my life. I had a pile of
paperwork waiting for me on my desk that wasn’t going to get done by anybody but me,
and a group of eighth graders who were not going to get exposed to the poetry of Walt
Whitman or the complexities of basic algebra by the Education Fairy.

A few students were hanging around the front of the school, too cool to be early,
most of them waiting until just before the side doors closed; a couple were playing
tag, slapping each other’s book bags. A rather large guy was leaning up against the
rusty metal fence. He was dressed in an army jacket and matching pants. He had one
foot up against the fence and a cigarette burning in his left hand. Too old to be
a student, too young to be a parent. Probably an older brother or cousin dropping
someone off and grabbing a quick smoke before heading off to work. As I neared the
opening, he straightened himself up and blocked my path. I stopped with about three
feet between us.

He put the cigarette in his mouth and looked me over, starting with my shoes and slowly
making his way to my face. A smirk crossed his lips. “You Mister Donne?”

I said, “Yes,” and took the time to check out his face. He had to be at least twenty.
A mess of brown whiskers I’m sure he’d call a mustache lay between his nose and upper
lip. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had the kind of complexion my mother would have
described as olive, with pimentos. I didn’t know him. “May I help you?”

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a lungful of smoke. “Yeah.” Like
something out of a bad western. “You can stop hasslin’ my girlfriend.”

“I teach
here
, man.” I gestured with my head at the building. “Middle school. I don’t know your
girlfriend. Try the high school around the block.”

I took a few steps to go around him. He matched those with his own. We were now too
close for comfort. I could smell the smoke on his breath, the sweat coming off the
rest of him.

He looked down at my umbrella. “She said you’d be the cripple.”

I took a step back. “What’s your name?” I asked.