Authors: Lisa Scottoline
Mary had got off the D bus in West Philly, in a residential neighborhood that was truly integrated. At the moment, however, Mary’s was the lone white face on the street, and her Paddington Hat screamed Dumb Things Only White People Will Wear. The rain slowed to a drizzle, so she took off the hat and rolled it like a hoagie into her slicker pocket. Then she turned left on Gingko Street. The sky was permanently cloudy and prematurely dark, but residents were still out, enjoying the last night of the weekend. A young couple walked by with a golf umbrella held over a baby bouncing in a Snugli, and kids played Wiffle ball in the street, hitting foul balls with a wet
thwick
. Gingko trees lined the street, and Mary eyed them, loving their primitive branch system, if not the stinky berries they dropped all over the sidewalk. Gingkos were as Philadelphia as snapper soup, and they scented even the best of her pumps.
She traveled down the street, walking past 5207 and 5209, four-story Victorians with Cape May paint jobs, and she inhaled a great-smelling back porch barbecue, which she’d take over foie gras any day. But she wasn’t thinking about food now. She was thinking about Keisha Grace. At the end of the street lay a newer limestone apartment building, and Mary raised her eyes to the second floor. One of those windows belonged to the nurse.
She went to the building’s front door, painted a forest green, and was about to knock when she noticed it was slightly ajar. She opened the door and went inside an entrance hall that bore a large homemade sign,
PLEASE CLOSE THE FRONT DOOR BEHIND YOU
! She read the stainless steel mailbox covers until she found 2F, Grace/Whitman.
All right!
She pressed the black button, and the walls were so thin she could hear a loud buzz overhead. A man answered almost immediately.
“Yes?” On the cheap intercom, his voice sounded like it was underwater.
“This is Mary DiNunzio, and I’m looking for Keisha Grace.”
“She’s not here.”
“Well, may I come up and see you? She’s been calling me, and I’d like to talk with you, if I may.”
A pause. “Okay. Come on up.”
The buzzer sounded and Mary crossed the hallway to open a thick front door, which swung onto a red carpeted hallway and ended in a set of narrow stairs. The hallway smelled vaguely of gingkoes and Glade, and she went upstairs to the second-floor landing, which contained a long hallway with several doors, but no sign. She took a flyer and went right. 2D, 2E, 2F. The door had been painted navy blue, and as soon as Mary knocked on it, any worries she’d had about going alone to a stranger’s apartment vanished at the sight.
The man at the door was a tall but slight African-American in black nylon gym shorts, a red Temple T-shirt, and round rimless glasses. His dark eyes were bright and intelligent behind the glasses, and he had short close-cropped hair and a slight overbite. He extended a hand with long fingers. “Bill Whitman,” he said, shaking Mary’s hand. “You’re the one in the papers, aren’t you? The lawyer.”
Mary cringed. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I knew I knew that name.” He smiled, and the tips of his front teeth popped into view. “Nice picture.”
“Thanks.” Mary stepped inside the apartment, which was large and had high ceilings. It was neat for a guy’s apartment and simply furnished, with a black cloth couch she’d seen in the IKEA catalog, a teak coffee table, and a wool rug in earth tones. Abstract paintings hung in a trio on an exposed brick wall, and the overall effect made her jealous. “This is a really nice apartment. Mine’s so small.”
“Where do you live?”
“Center City.”
“Got more space up here.” Bill gestured at the couch the way boys do when they’re playing host, halfheartedly swinging his hand from the shoulder. “You want a water or somethin’?”
“No, thanks.” Mary looked to her left, where three desktop computers with three oversize monitors, two CPUs with the motherboards exposed, and two laptop carcasses covered the dining room table. Even she could sleuth this one out. “You’re a computer guy.”
“Yeah. I do consulting and repair from here. It’s my own business, I started it two years ago. You know anybody who needs IT help, call me.” Bill sat down on the end of the coffee table, feet flat-footed on the floor. “So, you must be here because Keisha worked for Saracone.”
Smart
. “Yes. I met Keisha at Saracone’s, the night before he died.” Mary edited out the rest of the story, now that she was learning to shut up on occasion. “I got a call from her yesterday, asking me to call her back. I did, but that’s the last thing I heard.”
“Sounds like Keisha. She comes and goes.”
“When is she coming back?”
“Dunno.”
“Where is she?”
“Dunno that, either.”
Huh
? “Doesn’t she live here?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t she tell you where she’s going when she goes out?”
“Used to, all the time. But things have sorta changed.” Bill looked down, examining his Adidas slip-ons. “Lately, we’re, she and me, we’re kinda shady. She met somebody else. Been seeing him off and on, tryin’ to decide between me and him. Sometimes she goes with him for the weekend, then she comes back. I’m hopin’ this week she’ll come back.”
Are you a saint?
“That must be difficult.”
Bill shrugged. “I love the girl.”
You are a saint. Do we have a black saint, yet?
“How long have you two been together?”
“A year. We met at school. I graduated Temple, in IT. She was taking nursing courses, but she quit and got the job as a day nurse. Started at Bayada, went on to HomeCare. She doesn’t like to stay with one thing too long. She’s restless. The job suits her, I don’t.” Bill laughed softly. “She says I’m the only black geek in the world.”
Mary winced. “Who’s the other guy, if I can ask?”
“Dunno, but he’s got money. He bought her a new car.”
“A new car!”
It’s over, dude.
“You can’t let him buy her a car!”
“What am I gonna do about it?” Bill spread his large hands, palms up.
“Fight for the girl! Tell her you love her! Find out who he is, snoop around her top drawer, follow her, spy on her, look through her stuff.” It was so obvious to Mary, since she’d gone to Montana. Maybe Bill needed to go to Montana, too.
“There’s lots you could do, if you wanted to.”
“Not my style.”
Mary decided to change the subject. “How long did Keisha work for Saracone, do you know?”
“Two months, off and on. She didn’t like him. He used to order her around.”
Mary recalled how Keisha had protected him, that night. “But she was good to him, right?”
“I dunno. She was a good nurse. She did her job, I’m sure.”
“Did she ever talk about Saracone?”
“Not much.”
“What did she say about him?”
“Not much.”
“Did Keisha ever mention a Chico? He’s the guy who hit me.”
“No.”
“Chico drives a black Escalade. Have you ever seen a black Escalade out front?”
“In this neighborhood?” Bill smiled and his teeth tips peeked out. “I got three neighbors have a black Escalade. Everybody wants a black Escalade, even me.”
Okay, forget that.
“Did she know what kind of business Saracone was in, or the son?”
Bill thought a minute. “Don’t remember her saying.”
“I think it was investments. Sound familiar?”
“News to me.” Bill shrugged, and Mary switched tacks.
“When was the last time you saw her?”
“Wednesday morning, when she went to work. She was here all last week. Then she didn’t come home Thursday night, or any night since.”
Mary felt a twinge of concern. “Aren’t you worried?”
“No, happens all the time. She’s with him.”
“Did you try her cell? I did, and she doesn’t answer. I think I left three hundred messages so far.”
“She never answers when she’s with him.”
Mary wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Could she be with her family, or would they know where she is, for sure?”
“Nah. She’s only got a mom, and she lives in Birmingham. They don’t talk much.”
“Doesn’t she have any girlfriends who would know where she is?”
“She’s not big on friends, and I
know
where the girl is.” Bill shook his head with a sad smile. “I don’t
like
where the girl is, but I sure as shit know where she is. She’s with him, and I don’t know where he lives.”
“Do you think she’d go to Saracone’s funeral?” Mary had seen the notice in the paper. The funeral was tomorrow, but it was private.
“I dunno.”
“So you have no idea when you’ll see her again?”
“None.”
Mary tensed. “You’re assuming so much, Bill. Something bad could have happened to her. It’s at least possible, even if she’s seeing someone else. She’s an attractive girl and she’s missing.”
“She’s not
missing
.” Bill laughed ruefully. “She’s with
him
.”
“But you don’t know that for sure!
I’m
worried about her, and I don’t even know her.” Mary couldn’t help but freak. Some people never got emotional, and she woke up emotional.
“Bill, I didn’t tell you this before, but when I went to Saracone’s the other night, I accused him of killing a client of mine, and they did this to my cheek.” She pointed at her badge of honor, and Bill’s eyes flared, but only briefly. “Keisha was there for the whole thing. She heard what I said, saw me get hit. Her being missing, it may be related to that, and not just her being with another guy. You read the article in the paper today, so you know that this Saracone guy is a killer.”
“Saracone is dead.”
Uh, right. Still.
“But something else may be going on. Ask yourself, why would she call me, anyway? Her call to me sounded worried. I saved the message, you wanna hear it?” Bill nodded, so Mary opened her purse, got her cell phone, and played him the message on repeat, then saved it again. His eyelid twitched just the slightest behind his glasses when he heard Keisha’s voice. Mary watched him and softened her tone. “Doesn’t she sound worried to you?”
“A little.”
“I think we should call the police.”
“Call the cops? No way! I’m not going to.” Bill waved her off. “I don’t want any part of that. I’d embarrass myself.”
“You said you love the girl. Why take a chance? You think you can’t lose someone you love?” Mary heard the words escape her lips, then realized why.
“Let me think about it.” Bill bit into his soft lower lip, but Mary couldn’t take it any more. She reached into her purse, pulled out her cell phone, and plugged in the number.
“Detective Gomez, please. I’m a friend of his, and it’s personal.”
“Gomez,” he said, when he picked up.
“Detective, it’s Mary DiNunzio. That nurse I told you about is missing. Keisha Grace, the one who witnessed my discussion with Saracone. She called me on my —”
“DiNunzio, you told the desk it was personal.”
“It is. To me. My face hurts. And that’s not a straight line.”
“I’m not laughin.’ Not after that stunt you pulled.”
“What stunt?”
“With the paper, with that reporter. Got my name in ink, and yours, too. You fed him that story while the case was under investigation.”
Mary’s mouth fell open. “No, I didn’t. I talked to him last week and he ran with it on his own.”
“Sure he did. He had details only you could give him. He talked to your
uncle,
for Christ’s sake! You think you’re a smart-ass, breaking into a crime scene, stealing evidence. You don’t respect the process, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“I do respect the process. I didn’t leak anything, I swear.”
“Try livin’ in Mexico, honey, like my brother. The cops there don’t bother to do any investigating, they just beat a confession out of you.” Gomez’s tone had an unhappy finality to it. “I’m working this case, I’m all over this case, and I don’t need you or any other lawyer — including Ms. Rosato — talkin’ to the papers and makin’ me, my sergeant, and the department look bad.”
“Wait, hear me out. I thought
you
leaked it.”
“Bullshit!”
“Listen, set our stuff aside for a minute, I’m calling because of this nurse, Keisha Grace.” Mary tried to modulate her voice. “She’s missing. She hasn’t been home since Wednesday. She saw my fight with Saracone. She heard me accuse him. Yesterday, she called me on my cell, trying to reach me. It’s too coincidental that she disappears right now.”
“So tell her family to file a missing person report. This is Homicide, not baby-sitting.”
“Her family doesn’t live here.”
“So how do you know she’s missing?”
“Her boyfriend told me, I’m here with him now.”
“Then put him on. I’m done talking to you.”
Mary handed the phone over, but not before she covered the receiver with her hand. “Back me up, please.”
Bill nodded and put the phone to his ear. “That’s right, Wednesday morning. She worked for the Saracone family for two months.”
Mary started nodding encouragement.
“It isn’t that unusual for her. I mean, she does disappear from time to time.”
Mary stopped nodding encouragement.
“Last week, for two days. Week before that, one day, and the week before that, too.”
Mary kicked his big foot in the flip-flops.
“No, she never said anything like that to me. She didn’t tell me much about the Saracones or about any of her jobs.”
Mary gave Bill a shove, and he almost fell over.
“Nothing,” he answered. “No, I don’t think she ever felt threatened or anything.”
No!
Mary grabbed the phone. “Detective Gomez,” she said into the receiver, but his only response was a very pissed-off
click
as he hung up.
It was dark and pouring when Mary left the apartment building, so she pulled the White People Hat out of her pocket and put it back on. She hurried back down the street in the downpour, over the gingko berries and through dirty puddles formed by the cracked sidewalks. Water drenched her sneakers, and hard rain pelted parked cars, sidewalks, and her hat so hard it was like a dull roar, obliterating all other sounds.
Mary broke into a light run, keeping her head down against the slant of the drops. The front of her pants got soaked, and her sneakers were waterlogged by the time she turned the corner onto the cross street.