Part 9 (2/2)
He was tired. He headed down Blue Hill Avenue and took a right onto American Legion Highway. He'd be home in ten, fifteen minutes tops.
The radio crackled. The call sign indicated the Rapid Response car on Magnolia. ”Bravo one-o-one,” the patrolman's voice rose with nervous energy. ”I got something behind Nine-thirty Magnolia. An abandoned house. I need a patrol supervisor out here and EMTs. I think we need to make notifications.”
They had a body.
Connie spun into a quick U-turn at a break in the island that ran down the center of American Legion Highway. The tires squealed as he put the pedal to the floor and raced back toward District 2. The heart of Roxbury.
CHAPTER 33.
Alves checked his beeping alpha pager. Shooting on Magnolia. One body. Male. The good news? The victim wasn't wearing a tux.
The other good news was that Alves wasn't on call tonight. He pulled his car into the driveway. It was almost eleven o'clock, and he'd just left Mooney. The minivan was parked in the driveway ahead of him. Lights were on in the bathroom and kitchen. Marcy might still be awake.
Alves hadn't been home much since Iris had found the bodies two nights ago. He had only seen Marcy for a few minutes earlier in the day when he stopped in to shower and shave. Iris and Angel had already gone to school, and Marcy had given him the silent treatment. It wasn't the usual silent treatment, the one he got for working late and leaving her to deal with all the kids' activities. It was clear she was angry that he'd left her and the twins alone with a killer in the neighborhood.
He tried to open the front door quietly, but it stuck at the top the way it always did. He gave it a little shove with his hip, and it creaked open. Marcy was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. She didn't look up at him. ”Are you sleeping here tonight?” she asked.
”I'm in for the night,” he said, taking care not to be sarcastic with his answer.
”You sure? I was just watching the news. They found a body in Roxbury.”
”G.o.d, they're quick. That just came across the pager, and they're already reporting it on TV?” He walked around the table and kissed her on the top of her head. ”Mooney and I aren't on call tonight. Unless someone turns up dead dressed in formal wear, I'm not going anywhere.”
She didn't smile.
”How's Iris?” he asked. ”She make it through school today?”
Marcy nodded. ”My mother picked them up at school. She had them all day. Said they were okay. Iris was a little withdrawn. Spent most of the day in her room reading. Mom left an hour ago, when I got home.”
It hit him. Marcy was teaching three cla.s.ses this semester. A full time workload for a part-time professor. She usually taught two sections, Tuesdays and Thursday in the late morning. That way she could send the kids off to school and be home in time to meet them at the bus. Her schedule got thrown off this semester when one of the full-time professors took a medical leave, sticking Marcy with two afternoon cla.s.ses and a night cla.s.s. They had decided that she would get the kids out the door in the morning and her mom would be there for them in the afternoon. Alves agreed that he would come home early and help out. He figured he could manage since it was only two days a week. The first day with the new system and he'd already blown it. ”I'm sorry, honey. I forgot. I'll be early on Thursday.”
”That's okay. You do your work,” she said, her voice thick with sarcasm. ”The kids will be fine. They can just eat Cheerios out of the box. And my mother loves having them for eight hours straight, twice a week. It's good for her arthritis to stay out until ten, eleven o'clock at night. And, sweetheart, it's not like anything bad ever happens in our neighborhood. We haven't had a double homicide in two whole days.”
What could he say? She was right. He shouldn't open his mouth, but once he started talking it was too late to take the words back. ”Honey, I understand how you feel, but I know that this neighborhood is safe.”
”Don't patronize me, Angel.”
”Marcy, the killer didn't attack anyone in this neighborhood. He could have dumped those bodies anywhere in the city.”
”But he didn't. He left them right here, practically on our doorstep. He left them for our daughter to find. If he wanted you to find them he could have dropped them off at One Schroeder Plaza.”
”Now you're being ridiculous.”
”Am I? What would have happened if she had found the bodies while your killer was still tying them up?”
He didn't allow the thought. It was more than he could take.
”I didn't think you'd have an answer for that one.” Marcy dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink. ”I've decided to take the kids and live at my mother's for a couple weeks. Till you solve the case. Her house is not that far out of your way. You can stop by and visit whenever you're off duty.”
She left him standing by the kitchen table, his head spinning with the news.
CHAPTER 34.
Sergeant Detective Ray Figgs downed another shot of Johnnie Walker Red. The Tap in Dudley Square was good for a quick drink. Or eight of them. It was better than going home and watching reality shows until he pa.s.sed out on the couch. Or sitting with his father in the rehab. First he needed a cigarette. Thanks to the mayor and the city council and the freaking state legislature, he couldn't smoke in the bar. He'd have to go stand on the sidewalk with the other holdouts, sweating in the summer and freezing their b.u.t.ts off in the winter. It was ridiculous how he and the other smokers were punished for fueling the economy, spending their money in bars, tipping the waitresses and bartenders, supporting half the state's social programs with the cigarette tax. Not to mention Keno. Walker Red. The Tap in Dudley Square was good for a quick drink. Or eight of them. It was better than going home and watching reality shows until he pa.s.sed out on the couch. Or sitting with his father in the rehab. First he needed a cigarette. Thanks to the mayor and the city council and the freaking state legislature, he couldn't smoke in the bar. He'd have to go stand on the sidewalk with the other holdouts, sweating in the summer and freezing their b.u.t.ts off in the winter. It was ridiculous how he and the other smokers were punished for fueling the economy, spending their money in bars, tipping the waitresses and bartenders, supporting half the state's social programs with the cigarette tax. Not to mention Keno.
Ray Figgs reached into his jacket pocket for his last cigarette, a crumpled-up soft pack of the no-name brand sold at Economy Gas on Blue Hill Ave. As he fumbled for the pack, he felt his pager vibrating. He had five unanswered pages, three from Operations and two from Inch O'Neill, his partner. Inchie was a good detective. Didn't need babysitting, did things on his own. Figgs checked his alpha pager and saw that a male had been killed on Magnolia Street.
He settled up his tab, grabbed a few handfuls of salted peanuts, folded them into a c.o.c.ktail napkin and shoved it into his sports jacket pocket. He took another handful and tossed them in his mouth. He would chew them on the ride. He was really going to need the nuts tonight. He was the on-call Homicide Sergeant and he was already late getting to a crime scene.
CHAPTER 35.
Connie hung back while Greene, Ahearn and a couple of patrolmen secured the scene on Magnolia. The house was a single-family colonial with green asphalt s.h.i.+ngles and graffiti-covered plywood sheets covering the windows and doors. Connie had spent most of the night in this neighborhood with the detectives looking for Michael Rogers, Ellis Thomas's friend. Thomas hadn't given them much information, even after his mother agreed to let him talk. The kid was scared word would hit the street that he was a snitch. The only thing he'd told them was where to look for his pal. secured the scene on Magnolia. The house was a single-family colonial with green asphalt s.h.i.+ngles and graffiti-covered plywood sheets covering the windows and doors. Connie had spent most of the night in this neighborhood with the detectives looking for Michael Rogers, Ellis Thomas's friend. Thomas hadn't given them much information, even after his mother agreed to let him talk. The kid was scared word would hit the street that he was a snitch. The only thing he'd told them was where to look for his pal.
The two patrolmen were setting up the crime scene tape around the property. Greene and Ahearn stood in front of the building, managing the crowd gathering in the street. Ellis Thomas lived across the street. Connie expected the kid's mother, with Ellis in tow, to show up on the scene.
As Connie moved closer, he could see that Greene didn't look good. He should have been barking orders. Instead he was quiet. Jack Ahearn, alone, minus his usual swagger, was moving the crowd back.
”Jackie, where's the body?” Connie asked.
”In back with Detective O'Neill from Homicide. He's securing things till Figgs gets here.”
A car pulled up across the street. Connie and the detectives watched as Lydia Thomas-Connie recognized her large frame-struggled to get out of her car. She scanned the crowd, turning her attention to Connie and the detectives. A thin woman in a housecoat rushed to hug her.
”This is going to get ugly,” Ahearn said. He pushed the b.u.t.ton on his radio and said, ”Where's the Bravo 902? We need a supervisor and some backup units out here.”
”What's going on?” Connie asked.
”What do you think?” Greene asked.
Connie looked back at Miss Thomas. She lurched out of the thin woman's embrace. In an instant she went from concerned mother to angry bear. She walked toward them, quicker than Connie thought a woman her size could move. ”You did this!” she shouted, pointing at Connie. ”You killed my son!”
Connie turned to the detectives. He could see it in Greene's eyes. Ellis, her only son, was dead. The same son that Connie had promised to protect.
Greene tried to pull him back, but Connie was stronger. He stood his ground and waited for her. She stopped a few inches away from him. Almost as tall as he was, close to six feet, she was intimidating.
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