Streets of Fire (22 page)

Luther’s eyes flashed toward him.

‘He was a cop,’ Ben said.

Luther laughed nervously. ‘A cop?’

‘Yes.’

‘You must be nuts, Ben.’

‘There’s no doubt about it, Captain,’ Ben said resolutely.

‘And just how do you know that?’ Luther demanded.

‘By the way he handled me,’ Ben said. ‘He went right by the numbers. You get the guy on his knees, then on his belly. He even kicked my feet apart.’

‘Anybody could do that,’ Luther said doubtfully.

‘When he forgot to pat me down before I hit the floor, he noticed that he’d done things in the wrong order.’

‘That could be military training,’ Luther said dismissively. ‘Or any other police department.’

‘He left my pistol hanging on the fence outside.’

‘So?’

‘Why do you think he did that, Captain?’

‘Who knows?’ Luther replied with a shrug.

‘It’s the first thing I thought about,’ Ben told him.

‘Why?’

‘Because a cop in our own department would know that we have to buy our own weapons, that if he’d taken it with him, then I’d have had to replace it out of my own pocket.’

Luther’s face slackened visibly, but he said nothing.

For a moment the two of them stood silently beneath the heavy limbs of the large oak in Luther’s yard.

‘So what do you really think, Ben?’ Luther asked finally.

‘That somebody in this department is scared.’

‘Because of the girl.’

‘Maybe the way we’re looking into it. The way we’re being serious about it.’

‘But all you’ve got’s that Bluto fellow.’

‘Maybe we’re missing something.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘So what do want to do about it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You want off the case?’

‘No,’ Ben said immediately, offended by the question. ‘Why would I want that?’

‘In case it all has something to do with a brother officer in the department,’ Luther said. ‘I mean, we could turn the whole thing over to the State Police.’

Ben laughed. ‘Lingo’s men?’

‘They may not all be like what we’re used to seeing lately,’ Luther told him. ‘At least you wouldn’t be looking into things that could involve people you know.’

Ben shook his head. ‘No, I want to stay on it.’

‘Okay,’ Luther said quietly. His eyes drifted upward toward the tangled overhanging limbs. ‘Things are too complex for me these days, Ben,’ he said unhappily. ‘Too mixed up for a simple mind.’ He looked at Ben determinedly. ‘Just remember. I’m right behind you.’

Ben nodded quickly, turned away, and walked back to his car. From behind the wheel he could see Luther’s large figure as it stood facing him darkly from beneath the tree’s gently sloping limbs, and as he watched from behind the dusty windshield, he could sense that the old pattern of the world had shifted suddenly into a more dangerous and complicated weave, and he realized that he could no longer tell for sure whether Luther’s last remark was meant to comfort or to threaten him.

TWENTY-FOUR

When Ben arrived downtown early the next morning, the blocks around police headquarters were already teeming with firemen in full duty gear. They wore black slicks, rubber boots and hard hats, and as they huddled together in small groups beside their gleaming red trucks, they reminded Ben of the swarms of crows that had plagued his grandfather’s cornfields – nervous, squawky, their heads continually jerking left and right, always ready to leap into the air at the slightest sound.

Teddy Langley and Sammy McCorkindale stood at the entrance to the building, both of them staring expressionlessly in the general direction of Fourth Avenue.

‘What’s all this, now?’ Ben asked as he walked up to them.

‘Just more bullshit,’ Langley said bitterly.

McCorkindale laughed. ‘What do you want to do, Teddy, mow them all down with machine guns?’

Langley looked at Ben pointedly. ‘Maybe just one would do. What do you think, Ben?’

McCorkindale shook his head. ‘You beginning to sound like a racist, Teddy,’ he said. He smiled jokingly. ‘I think you’re turning mean in your old age.’

Langley frowned irritably, hunched his shoulders and stalked off down the stairs toward his car.

‘Everybody’s wearing down, Ben,’ McCorkindale said as he watched Langley walk away. He glanced toward Ben. ‘How you doing?’

‘Well as anybody else, I guess,’ Ben said.

‘Still working that dead girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Let me know if you need a partner,’ McCorkindale said tiredly as he started down the stairs. ‘I’m getting tired of the riot detail. It’s too much work for an old fat boy.’

Ben turned and headed into the building.

T. G. Hollis met him just outside the bullpen. ‘You got a call a few minutes ago,’ he said. ‘Somebody connected to that case you’re working.’

‘Who?’

‘A guy named Davenport,’ Hollis told him. ‘He said he could see you this morning. I left everything on your desk.’

Ben smiled. ‘Thanks, T.G.’

‘Oh, I’m a good note-taker,’ Hollis said with a laugh. Then he slapped the handle of his nightstick. ‘But I’m even better at busting heads.’

Horace Davenport nodded amiably as his secretary led Ben into his office.

‘Good morning, Mr Wellman,’ he said. He looked at his secretary. ‘That’s fine, Helen. Just close the door on the way out, please.’

The secretary did as she was told, and after she’d left, Davenport’s hand swept out toward an empty chair opposite his desk.

‘Please, sit down,’ he said.

Ben took a seat.

‘I didn’t hear about Doreen until I returned from Atlanta last night,’ Davenport said as he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. ‘I can’t tell you how shocked I was.’

‘I’m trying to find out where she was the day she died,’ Ben said immediately. ‘I understand she worked at your house all day that Sunday.’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘Did you take her home on Sunday afternoon?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Davenport said. ‘We’d had some trouble with our driver. I think my wife mentioned that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, of course I couldn’t let Doreen go home by bus,’ Davenport said. ‘I wouldn’t have felt right about that.’

‘So you took her?’

‘Yes.’

‘What time was that?’

‘I suppose we left the house at around five in the evening,’ Davenport told him. ‘I was in quite a hurry. I had to be back at the house for a meeting by six.’

‘And you took her straight home?’

‘I drove her myself.’

‘Did you stop anywhere?’

‘No.’

‘And you took her all the way?’

‘You mean, right to her door?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, now that you mention it, I didn’t take her all the way home.’

‘We’re trying to trace her movements,’ Ben explained. ‘At least for the twenty-four hours before she was killed.’

‘I understand perfectly,’ Davenport said. ‘And I hope you know that I want to be as helpful as I can.’

Ben smiled thinly. ‘So where did you let her out?’

Davenport’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling. ‘Well, it was in her own neighborhood.’

‘Bearmatch?’

‘Well, not just Bearmatch,’ Davenport said, ‘but her own little neighborhood.’

‘Where exactly was that?’

‘I think it was around that little park they have there, that little ballfield.’

‘Where we found her body?’

‘Is that where you found it?’

Ben nodded.

Davenport leaned forward. ‘Are you saying that Doreen never got home that Sunday evening?’

‘No, she didn’t,’ Ben said.

Davenport shook his head mournfully. ‘How awful.’

‘Mr Gilroy usually took her right to her door,’ Ben said.

‘Who?’

‘Your driver.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Davenport said. ‘Of course. Well, that’s true. He was always told to take her right home. I guess that’s what I should have done.’

‘Why did you let Doreen out of the car?’ Ben asked.

‘She wanted out,’ Davenport said.

‘Why?’

‘She saw some other colored children,’ Davenport said. ‘She wanted to go play with them.’ He shrugged. ‘It being summer, night doesn’t come down till late. She wanted to play awhile. A little girl like her, who’d been in the house all day, of course she wanted to scuffle around a little with some other kids.’

‘So you let her out.’

‘That’s right,’ Davenport said. ‘That’s what she wanted.’

‘How did you know that that’s what she wanted?’

‘What was that?’

‘Well, she couldn’t have told you.’

‘Oh no, that’s true,’ Davenport said. ‘But she had a way of making people know things. She’d use signs, you know. She’d point to things. She was a very smart little girl.’

‘And so she pointed to … what?’

‘Another little girl,’ Davenport said. ‘One that looked to be about Doreen’s age.’

‘Where was this other girl?’

‘On the other side of the field,’ Davenport said. ‘She was swinging under a tree.’

‘Alone?’

‘I guess so,’ Davenport said. ‘I didn’t see any other kids around her.’

‘Did you get the idea that Doreen knew this little girl?’ Ben asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ Davenport told him. ‘She seemed very excited about going to play with her.’

Ben nodded quickly. ‘So you just let her out then?’

‘That’s right.’

‘If you saw this little girl again, would you be able to identify her?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Davenport said. ‘She was quite a distance from me.’

‘Do you remember what she was wearing?’

Davenport thought a moment. ‘Something green,’ he said finally. ‘But that’s all I can say for sure. She was swinging, and her legs were together. I couldn’t even tell if she were wearing a skirt or pants.’

Ben nodded. ‘Did Doreen go directly into the field when you let her out?’

‘Yes.’

‘She didn’t go down the street or head in another direction?’

‘No, she went right out to the field, toward that other little girl.’

‘And that’s when you drove away?’

‘She was trotting off toward that other girl,’ Davenport said. He shook his head. ‘Poor little thing.’ His eyes lowered slightly. ‘That was the last I saw of her.’

‘Did you stop anywhere else before you let Doreen out?’

‘No.’

‘Just the ballfield?’

‘That’s all.’

‘While you were stopped, did you notice anyone hanging around?’

‘No.’

‘I was thinking of a large man.’

‘You mean, you already have an idea of who might have done this?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Colored man?’

‘Yes,’ Ben said. ‘But he’s already dead.’

Davenport looked at Ben quizzically. ‘Dead?’

‘Yes,’ Ben told him.

‘Am I to take it that this death was not of natural causes?’

‘It could have been a suicide,’ Ben said. ‘Or a murder.’

Davenport’s mind appeared to be running through a series of quick calculations. ‘Well, that would tie it up nicely, wouldn’t it?’ he said after a moment.

‘Tie what up?’

‘The case.’

‘I guess it would,’ Ben said. He looked at Davenport closely. ‘Your driver has a drinking problem.’

‘Like his daddy before him,’ Davenport said tiredly.

‘Is there any reason to think that he might have hurt Doreen?’

‘Why would he?’

‘To get even.’

‘With her?’

‘With you.’

‘What for?’

‘Well, you fired him the day you took Doreen home.’

‘That’s true,’ Davenport said, ‘but that was over something else entirely. It had nothing to do with Doreen. I mean, if Jacob were harboring some resentment over being let go, he’d try to hurt me, wouldn’t he? Or Shannon, maybe. Or my wife.’

‘I guess so,’ Ben said. ‘I’m just trying out all the possibilities.’

‘I understand.’

‘So you left your house at around five, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘And about what time would you say you let Doreen out by the ballpark.’

‘Probably about ten minutes later,’ Davenport said. ‘It doesn’t take long to get to Bearmatch from here.’

‘You’re pretty sure about that?’

‘As sure as I can be,’ Davenport said. He looked at Ben pointedly. ‘You’re working the case very hard, aren’t you?’ he asked.

Ben did not answer.

‘Isn’t that a little bit unusual?’

‘Maybe a little bit,’ Ben replied dully.

‘Of course, things are changing,’ Davenport added. ‘People have to be ready for change. They have to make room for it.’

Ben said nothing.

‘Are you the only one working this case?’ Davenport asked after a moment.

Ben nodded.

‘Everybody else’s pretty busy, I guess.’

‘Yeah, they are,’ Ben said quietly.

Davenport smiled limply, then glanced at his watch. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘I guess not,’ Ben admitted.

Davenport stood up immediately and offered Ben his hand. ‘Well, it was nice meeting you,’ he said.

Ben shook his hand politely. ‘Thanks for your time.’

‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ Davenport said as he walked Ben to the door.

‘I will,’ Ben said.

‘We’ll miss Doreen,’ Davenport said softly. ‘Especially Shannon.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a tragedy when something like this happens.’

Ben stepped out into the foyer of Davenport’s office. ‘Yes, it is.’

Davenport shook his head sadly. ‘Poor little Doreen. She sure was a sweet little girl.’

The Coroner’s Office had the results of its work by early in the afternoon, and Ben went over to Hillman Hospital to pick them up.

Patterson was working at one of the tables when he came into the dissecting room.

‘Fellow comes into Hillman with a little touch of pneumonia,’ he said, ‘and twelve hours later he’s dead as a doornail.’ He looked up at Ben and winked. ‘You know what that means? Full autopsy.’

‘You said you’d finished with that man we found in the storm drain?’

‘Yeah,’ Patterson said. He pressed the blade down near the man’s throat. ‘Reports on my desk.’ He made a large vertical incision down the chest. ‘Everything checks out.’

Ben walked to the desk and picked up the envelope.

‘His blood type matches the semen we found in the girl’s body,’ Patterson said from across the room. He glanced over toward him. ‘I guess we’ve got our man.’