Death's Door

Meat was in the periodical room of the library. It was the first time he had ever been here without Herculeah, and he missed her.

He glanced across the room at the microfilm machine. He had sat there with Herculeah, shoulders touching as they looked through microfilm. Today he sat alone, turning through last week’s newspapers.

There had been a lot of crime: a robbery at a 7-Eleven, a shooting at a night club called Chi-Booms, a sniper who shot at the mayor—but none of it seemed to be connected to Uncle Neiman.

Meat finished and sat staring down at the stack of newspapers. He felt he had missed something. Whatever it was, Herculeah wouldn’t have overlooked it.

Again he glanced at the microfilm machine. He remembered the wonderful moment when he and Herculeah had been going over the news story about the Moloch, and he had been the one to discover the Moloch’s face in the picture. He had pointed it out to her!

A sudden thought caused him to flip quickly back through the papers. Where was it? Where was it? He spread the paper flat. There it was! There it was!

He got quickly to his feet. “Can I borrow a dime?” he asked the room. “Will someone please lend me a dime? I’ve got to copy this and I was real hungry at lunch and spent all my—”

Across the room a woman was reaching for her purse, but the gentleman sharing Meat’s table already had one out. “Thank you, thank you.” Meat ran for the copy machine, leaving a trail of discarded newspaper behind him.

“I’ll handle it, Mim. You are far too upset.”

“The woman’s lying, Chico. She was at the school.”

Chico and Mim Jones were standing at the front window, looking across the street to Meat’s house. Without taking his eyes from the house, Chico spoke.

“Herculeah told Betty Warrington she saw Meat’s mother going into the school. She had on that awful red coat. Herculeah followed her inside. And now Meat’s mother claims she hasn’t been out of the house all day. What a liar.”

“Because that’s the kind of person she is—spiteful. Plus, she has never liked Herculeah, Chico. She claims she gets Meat into trouble.”

“Well, it’s the other way around this time, isn’t it?” Chico Jones moved toward the front door.

He put one hand on her shoulder. “I need you to stay by the phone. Herculeah may call, and it’s important for her to get her mother, not the answering machine.”

“Chico, I’m afraid we’re dealing with a cold-blooded killer.”

“That’s why I’ve got every policeman in the city looking for her.”

Mim Jones reached out and covered his hand with hers and they entwined fingers as they had done in the old days.

Reluctantly, Mim Jones stayed at the window, watching Chico as he looked up and down the street. He did not look like a police detective but like a man who had lost his way.

She watched as he climbed the stairs to Meat’s house and rang the bell. She saw Meat’s mother peer out the side window, watched her crack open the door.

“Actually, it’s you I wanted to speak with.”

When she did not open the door the rest of the way, he brought out his police ID. She peered at it, then at his face to make sure the ID was correct, even though she had known him for years.

“I guess you can come in.” She glanced at the street. “Although a person can’t be too careful with all that’s going on.”

He followed her into the living room and stood at the window. “My wife spoke to you earlier. Apparently there’s a conflict between what Herculeah saw and—”

“There’s no conflict. I haven’t been out of the house all day.”

“Herculeah told a friend—a girl named Betty Warrington—that she saw you going into the school and that she followed you inside.”

“Maybe she saw someone with a coat like mine. There are coats like mine all over the city. That was a very popular coat,” she conceded.

Her look sharpened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

At that moment, Meat flung open the front door and burst into the living room. “Mom, I’ve got to call Herculeah. I know! I know!”

He saw Lieutenant Jones, and his voice started down the scale.

“You know where Herculeah is?” Chico Jones asked.

Meat didn’t like the way Herculeah’s father was looking at him—as if he were a suspect.

He glanced from the lieutenant to his mother. “Has something happened?”

The lieutenant spoke. “Herculeah didn’t meet her mother after school.”

“She was going to,” Meat said quickly. “I asked her to go the library and she said she couldn’t. Her mom was picking her up.”

“Herculeah was waiting out in front, and she saw your mother going in the school, and she went inside to give her a message.”

Meat turned to his mother. “You came to school?”

“No! I have not been out of the house all day. That maniac may still be out there.”

“Would you mind checking to see if your coat’s still in the closet, Mrs. McMannis.”

He went into the hall and opened the closet door. His mother and Chico Jones waited. There was the sound of coat hangers being moved along the bar, the sound of jackets and coats shoved aside.

Meat’s mother joined him at the closet and went through the same search. Chico Jones, his expression grim, watched from the living-room door.

“And your red rain hat’s gone too,” Meat said, pointing to a vacant spot on the shelf.

The truth dawned on Meat’s mother slowly. An intake of breath was the only sign she understood. Without turning to face Chico Jones she said, “My brother is a kind and gentle soul. He has never hurt anyone in his life.”

“If for some reason Neiman took my hat and coat and went to the school, he did not do so to harm anyone. I firmly believe that. My brother is a gentle, gentle man.”

“Any man can become dangerous when threatened.” Chico Jones took out a pad and a pencil. “What kind of car does your brother drive—make and model, please.”

Lieutenant Jones looked up at her, his pencil still poised over the paper.