Authors: James Henderson,Larry Rains
“Not good,” Bob said as soon as he saw her.
“How’s that?” Tasha said, staring at the victim, on his back, his chest pulverized.
Shotgun.
“No ID. No witness. No weapon,” Bob said. “Just this guy here and he hasn’t said a word.”
“You’re spoiled. Who found him?”
“Two kids. The smart one claims he has Ben Matlock on retainer.”
Tasha knelt to view the victim, and felt the onset of a headache.
He looked thirty to thirty-five. Emaciated; red boxers above too large baggy jeans almost below his knees. Blue tennis shoes. Shreds of a bloody wife-beater T-shirt covered what was once his pectoralis major.
His face exhibited shock--mouth and eyes agape--and the look of substance abuse--sunk-in cheeks, oily skin and missing teeth.
Tasha noticed dual tears in his jeans, both disappearing underneath his right thigh. “What’s this?” pointing with a pen.
“What?” Bob said.
“Y’all wrong!” yelled a heavyset woman in the crowd. On her hip sat a toddler attired only in a diaper. Tasha considered the woman briefly and returned her attention to the victim.
“Bob, we need to flip him.”
“LRPD ain’t shit!” the woman yelled. “Y’all could at least cover him up. He ain’t no damn dog! If he was white y’all wouldn’t treat him like that!”
Tasha stood and started toward the woman. “You can at least take that baby home and put some clothes on him.” A few feet closer: “And change his diaper.”
“I know she didn’t!” someone said.
“Oh, yes I did!”
“She’s not a he,” the woman said, switching the infant to her opposite hip. “She’s a she!”
“Excuse me,” Tasha said. Within inches of the woman’s face: “Take
her
home, give
her
a bath and change
her
diaper!”
“Fuck you!” the woman said, and sulked off, patting her expansive behind, the toddler staring curiously at Tasha over the woman’s shoulder.
“And comb
her
hair!” Tasha called after her. Several of the onlookers glared at Tasha. “Any other unsolicited suggestions?” she asked.
No one spoke.
“Well then, let us do our jobs.” She went back to Bob. “You ready to flip him?”
Bob shot an uneasy glance at the onlookers. “Yup.” He pulled out two pairs of latex gloves and handed a pair to Tasha. “I’m ready.”
They turned the body over. The onlookers groaned in unison.
“Hey!” Tasha shouted at the uniforms. “If you guys don’t mind, could we disperse these people!”
The officers moved quickly, urging the onlookers to move along.
“He ripped his pants,” Bob said.
“Pre-mortem?”
“Yes. Look here.” He pointed at two deep lacerations in the gluteus minimus.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Tasha said.
Bob nodded. “He jumped a fence.”
“Why don’t I canvass the neighborhood?”
Bob tossed her a walkie-talkie. “Call me.”
Walking slowly down the alley, Tasha scrutinized every fence. The alley ended at Brown Street. She crossed the street and perused the fences east of Valmar. Four houses down she discovered a bloody patch below a chain-link fence. The top rung also bloody.
“Bingo!”
After much contemplation, Tasha, wearing a white Polo shirt, jeans and loafers, climbed the fence. At the top she hesitated, looking for a dog or any sign of a dog: doghouse, dog chain, dog doo doo.
This is crap, Tasha thought.
Call for backup and go round front. I’m up here now
.
If Christy Love can do it, then I can do it
. She jumped down, her eyes and ears hyper alert.
She walked through tall grass to the rear of the house. Beer cans, disposable diapers, and several rusty auto parts littered the yard, but--
thank goodness!--
no dog. The dilapidated house, missing several yellow aluminum siding planks, looked deserted.
Tasha ascended the stairs leading to the back door, the rotted wood creaking with each step. Halfway up she could see through the screen door that the back door was open.
Blood droplets spotted the top three steps. A flathead screwdriver lay on the landing.
“Police!” Tasha announced.
No response.
She said it again, louder. She opened the screen door.
“Police!” Her heart thumped in her eardrums.
Can’t turn back now
. The lock on the back door had been gutted. She stepped inside. “Police!” Hearing trepidation in her voice, she shouted again, adding more punch: “Police!”
She saw only the shotgun; her mind blocked out the elderly man in the wheelchair holding it.
“Freeze, butthead!” instinctively reaching for a
weapon, forgetting she’d stopped carrying one two years ago.
“Put the gun down!” aiming the walkie-talkie. “Now!”
The man didn’t move. He just sat there, staring at nothing, his wrinkled face void of emotion, belying the fact that a double-barrel shotgun rested in his lap.
He’s dead.
She relieved him of the shotgun. “You won’t be needing this.” He blinked. “What? Sir, are you all right?” He blinked again.
Stroke
. “Sir, you’re going to be all right. Okay? Just hold on.” She keyed up the walkie-talkie. “Bob?”
“What’s up, Tash?”
“Bob, looks like I’ve found the perp. An elderly guy, in a wheelchair…looks like he’s had a stroke. Better send up EMT, pronto.”
“Okay. Where are you?”
“Yellow house…about nine houses east of you. We’re in the back, the kitchen area.”
“Okay, I’ll call up the troops.”
Tasha signed off.
A roach crawled across a small kitchen table, and Tasha noticed the squalor of the man’s living quarters. The kitchen appliances were ancient and filthy.
“It’s rough living alone, isn’t it?” Tasha asked, not expecting an answer.
His attention seemed fixed on something behind her.
Tasha followed his gaze. The wall left of the door
peppered with pellets. Not good.
“He never set foot inside, did he? The second he opened the door you popped him, didn’t you?”
The man blinked.
“The prosecutor might make a fuss of that.” Shaking her head: “Craps!” She stepped outside, picked up the screwdriver by the tip, brought it inside and dropped it on the floor. She could hear sirens now.
“Look here,” kneeling, staring into the man’s brown, rheumy eyes. “You tell, and it’s both our butts, do you understand?”
To Tasha’s astonishment, he blinked twice…and the right side of his mouth trembled into a smile.
Chapter 14
Neal was surprised when the black Mercedes drove into his aunt’s driveway.
How she know where I live?
Perry, crying hysterically, jumped out, ran to him and buried her head in his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Neal asked, wondering where was Derrick, hoping he was eating with Auntie, or watching TV, or sleeping, or doing anything except looking out the window and seeing him holding a woman not his mother.
“I’m scared!” Perry sobbed.
“Scared? Scared of what?”
Perry stopped crying. “This creep keeps calling me, breathing in the phone. Soon as you left he called and said he was coming to hurt me.” Sobbing again: “I’m scared, Neal!”
“Let’s go inside,” Neal said. Perry started toward the main house. “This way,” heading for the garage.
He hadn’t planned showing her his place anytime soon, if ever, but he didn’t want Derrick to see her and him intimate. He led her inside the garage, pulled the door down and locked it.
“Excuse the place,” he said, pulling on a shoestring connected to the lone light bulb. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“No problem. You’re a bachelor. I understand.”
Neal started straightening up, leaning the mattress against the wall and picking up trash, including the Crisco can. He considered making a move toward the lone window where an extension cord snaked inside, but figured it would be too obvious.