CHAPTER 29

I probably should have leapt up and scurried out of that room as fast as I could, but instead I stayed sitting in my chair and laid my head on the table. Part of the reason was relief, and part was exhaustion, but the main reason I did not rise out of my chair was because, and this was a strange thing to admit to myself, I actually felt safe in that room. Outside, things were crazy, moving too fast. I had no footing. What would it hurt if I stayed a few minutes or more? They couldn’t arrest me for resisting release--could they?

“In case you didn’t hear me, you’re free to go, Mr. Byrne,” the trooper said, more forcefully this time.

It was a bit of a struggle to lift my head up to look at him. “And where exactly, Trooper, am I to go? I have no idea where my car is, where my belongings are, where I am supposed to sleep--or eat--or--”

“There is someone waiting for you, sir,” he interrupted, obviously wanting to move me along and out of his charge.

“Did you check to see if they were carrying a knife?” I asked, trying my best at sarcasm but missing miserably wide of the mark, if the stony look from the trooper was any indication.

“No, sir, only suspects are subjected to searches,” he answered drily.

I pushed myself back from the table and stood up. I did so slowly, because, as before, my left leg had fallen asleep and was just beginning to wake up. If I was going to continue spending hours in uncomfortable chairs, I should probably start trying to find a good chiropractor.

“Would you mind telling me what time it is?” I asked the trooper.

“Five-fifty a.m., sir,” he replied.

“Ah, another night in paradise,” I said, as the feeling returned fully to my leg and I was able to follow the trooper out the door and into the hallway.

“That way out,” he said, pointing down the hall to a door at the far end. “You can collect your belongings at the front desk. That’s where your party is waiting to meet you.”

“Gee, a party for me. I hope they brought balloons,” I joked--very badly, I admit, but it didn’t matter because the trooper had headed off down the hall in the opposite direction and, if he heard me, made no response.

I walked down the hall and went through the door. There were two people standing in the room. One I recognized. Gloria Stephenson, my attorney. The other person, a man in his late-thirties or early forties, looked vaguely familiar, but I knew I’d never met him before.

Gloria approached. She sized me up as before. I don’t think I impressed her any more than last time. “Mr. Byrne, we meet once again,” she said.

“Listen, it’s not that I’m not grateful, but I’m also very sorry. I asked Tim not to call Hoppy. I didn’t want to get him involved--get you involved--owe anybody anything. See, I really don’t need an attorney. The breaking and entering was just a misunderstanding. It will all be worked out. We went out to Stevie’s just for old time’s sake, like I said. And I noticed the door was open, and so--”

“You’re right. It was all just a misunderstanding. There was no breaking and entering,” Gloria said. She pulled a file out of a brief case that was resting open on a nearby chair. She opened the file, flipped a few pages through a document held by a two-prong fastener, turned the file to me and held out a pen.

“Please sign here,” she said.

“Um, if this is a contract, you should know I don’t have any money--and even if I did, don’t you think I should read it over.”

“It’s a lease. It’s all standard. Just sign it, and we’re all good to go. The police can’t charge you with breaking and entering into a place where you are a tenant, if you get my drift. So please sign, so I can get out of here.”

I didn’t understand a thing, but I signed.

“Okay,” she said, taking the pen, then the lease, back. “I’ll send you your copy in the morn--” She gave me an exasperated look. “--sometime this morning.”

“Wait a minute.”

She had turned and was closing up her briefcase at the chair.

“I really don’t understand this. Hoppy rented Stevie’s place out for me? Why would he--”

“I am not representing Hoppy in this matter,” she said. “My client is Mrs. Augustino.”

“Mrs--Sue Ellen? You’re working for her? I thought you were working for Hoppy? How can you represent me for two people?”

“Here’s the deal. In regard to the matter of your incident at the hotel and the murder investigation into Ms. Stewart’s death, Hoppy is paying the bills. I’m not representing you. I’m representing his interests, or rather the Chronicle’s interests.”

“But I’m not workin--”

Gloria held up her hand and gave me a my-time-is-money look. “I don’t care about that. I do lots of work for Hoppy. That man is always in some kind of trouble.” She turned, grabbed the handle of her briefcase, and stood the case up, resting it on the seat of the chair. “It’s not any of my business what you and he are after, and I don’t care if you’re crazy enough to get caught up in his activities. Like I said. Hoppy is paying the bills.” She picked up the briefcase and turned fully to face me. “As far my being here toni--this morning--” She looked at her watch. “--Mrs. Augustino is my client, and it is purely a real estate matter.” She took a step closer. It was probably just my imagination, but it seemed she was holding the briefcase a little too menacingly close to my private parts. She looked up and fixed hard eyes onto mine. “Now when it comes to Sue Ellen, don’t you dare mix her up in all of this,” she said, raising her free hand and slowly circling it in the air, index finger extended. “You do, and I swear--” Her hand stopped circling and now the index finger was pointing up at me. “--you do, and I will join the other side, I swear I will. I will work, pro bono, to see you get sent out of her life. Do you understand me?”

I probably should not have smiled. It wasn’t a snide or dismissive smile. It wasn’t even that big of a smile, but it ticked her off.

“You don’t think I’m serious?” she asked, rising up on her toes, slightly. The briefcase in her hand rose a little higher with her.

“Yes--I mean I do,” I said, taking a step back. “It’s just that...well, I’m glad that Sue Ellen has such a good friend.”

That knocked her back a bit--a moment, very brief, of confusion. She was going to say something, but instead wheeled around. “He’s all yours,” she said to the man who had witnessed the whole scene.

He smiled at her and nodded.

She reached out, patted him on the forearm, and left the building through the front door.

The vaguely familiar stranger stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Mr. Byrne, my name is Ronald Wesley. I’ve come to pick you up. “

A Wesley. The surprises just kept coming. The Wesleys were perhaps the oldest black family in East Hastings, or at least one of them, here since the town was founded. They played a key role in the development of the place, although there was, it seems, a tacit understanding between the black and white families that settled in East Hastings in the early years about the division of power.

There was no overt discrimination. Schools, hospitals, restaurants, bars, pool halls--nowhere was there any overt trace of segregation. Still, the black families had their own funeral home and cemetery, their own churches, took their cars to black-owned garages for repairs and shopped at the black-owned grocery stores in their neighborhood. And, although things might have changed, back in my day the chances were great that many of those establishments were run by a Wesley, if not a direct descendant then a cousin or a niece or nephew of the founding family. What was a Wesley doing here?

“Wesley--as in Larry Wesley?” I asked.

He smiled.

“A lot of people sure seem to remember my cousin Larry,” he replied.

“Yeah, well, of course I remember him.”

It would be impossible not to. He was probably the best athlete ever to grow up in East Hastings, a natural at any sport he chose to play. He was loud, funny, and could not help but be the center of attention. He also had a bit of a problem with authority, which unfortunately included not only teachers and school administrators, but also coaches. He was kicked off every team he played for.

“How is Larry?” I asked, making small talk while trying to figure out why this man was here waiting for me.

“He’s dead, sir. Killed in a bar fight about six years ago,” he replied.

“Sorry to hear that. I didn’t know him well, but he always seemed like a good guy to me,” I said, meaning it.

Larry had actually intervened in one of my periodic hazings from Danny Sullivan and his partners in crime. That time he had enlisted Dave Baldwin and Billy Connors. I think it had more to do with him not liking those guys very much, settling his own personal score, than it did helping a geeky, gawky white dude, but I was grateful.

I walked over to the front desk, ostensibly to pick up my belongings. I was expecting a pretty sorry lot--a cashless wallet and a set of keys for a car, which was heavens knows where. The desk trooper opened a six-inch-by-nine-inch envelope and poured out the contents. The wallet tumbled out, but no keys.

“Um...there should be a set of keys,” I said to the trooper.

From behind me, Ronald cleared his throat. “Oh, I retrieved your keys and gave them to a friend of mine. He’ll pick up your car and get it to Mr. Darby’s.”

I turned to look at Ronald, then back at the trooper. “People are allowed to do that?” I asked him. “Just get someone’s property handed over like that?”

The trooper looked at me blankly. “It sounds to me like he is doing you a favor.” He picked up a clipboard. It held a basic release form, similar to the one I had signed at the East Hastings Police Department. He held out a pen and nodded to the form. “He signed for it, and I’d appreciate if you would do the same for the wallet.”

I did.

“You have a problem with the situation, I’d be glad to ask Captain Winters to intervene,” he said.

I recognized him. He was the trooper at the door in Stevie’s kitchen.

“No, no problems. Actually, I am just a little tired. I’m sure it will all be fine, thank you,” I said, turning.

“Oh I was told by Captain Winters to inform you that, although you have not been charged with any crime, you are still a witness at a crime scene and not to leave town until he gives you permission.”

I lowered my head and sank into my shoulders.

“I’ve got Mrs. A’s Silverado in the lot sir, Mr. Byrne,” I heard Ronald say.

I looked up. There he was, waiting.

“You know, I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I mean, here you are at six o’clock in the morning to meet me, offering me a ride, but, exactly why are you here?” I asked.

“Mrs. A asked me to pick you,” Ronald answered.

“You know, this is all...um...” I was too tired and confused to make any sense of anything.

Why would Sue Ellen send a car for me? I didn’t talk to her at Stevie’s funeral, hadn’t talked to for a very long time. In fact, the last time we spoke, before I left for college, years ago, she had made some not-too-subtle suggestions about how I should conduct my sex life--alone--and told me she never wanted to see or speak to me again, a consequence of my investigation into the chemicals being dumped into the Kithane River. An unintended and unforeseen consequence. Considering the impact it had on her life, I really didn’t blame her then for the way she felt. Still don’t.

“Yes, sir. She asked me to pick you up and drive you to Mr. Darby’s place. As you know from Ms. Stephenson, arrangements have been made for you to stay there while you are in town. I’ve already arranged to have your car taken there, stocked the refrigerator, and brought over some fresh linens and towels and such. Just brought some stuff from Mrs. A’s. I’ll do some shopping later when the stores open.”

Now I was really confused. Sue Ellen wanted me to stay at Stevie’s place, recently murdered boyhood friend Stevie, where the previous evening I had discovered a very recently murdered body--and not just stay there, but she was setting me up with food and bed sheets? This had to be a big joke that I wasn’t being let in on yet.

But what if Gloria was right? I pictured her circling hand, index finger pointed up. I couldn’t let Sue Ellen get mixed up in any way with whatever was going on.

At lot of the places I went the people I met ended up dead, someone beat me up, or someone threatened me. Why? I had absolutely no idea, but until I figured it out, no Sue Ellen.

“Isn’t Stevie’s place a crime scene? I mean I had a room at the Evergreen Motel. I could just check in there again. It was just fine,” I said.

“Well, it seems Mrs. A made a few phone calls after she was called about what happened at Mr. Darby’s place,” Ronald said, a brief trace of admiration in his eyes. “It belongs to her now and it seems the state police have wrapped up their investigation,” he continued. “The place is no longer considered a crime scene. There was some blood, but I’ve cleaned that up. It needs some other work, but I’m taking care of that. It’s in good enough shape to live in, though,” he answered.

“She made a few phone calls?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. Mrs. A is remarkable woman, if you didn’t know it, and she’s got a lot of friends around this county, people she’s helped out.”

I imagine Ronald had taken the time to size me up while I was engaged with Gloria. If he’d formed any sort of opinion, he was not letting on.

“This way to the truck, Mr. Byrne,” he said, turning to lead the way.

“It’s Wes, please, and really I would be much more comfortable at the motel,” I answered,

Ronald turned. “I’ve already picked your belongings up at the motel and everything, including your car, is at Mr. Darby’s place.” Then he leaned in close to me and lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “And Mrs. A, she already told the police that there was some misunderstanding and that she had invited you to stay there yesterday, so they can’t charge you with breaking and entering. That’s why they had to let you go,” he said, stepping back and looking me squarely in the eyes. “You don’t stay at Mr. Darby’s, it makes it look like Mrs. A was lying.”

“No, no I wouldn’t want that,” I said resignedly. “It will only be for a couple of days anyway. Still, I wish I knew what was going on.”

“Mrs. A asked me to get you to Mr. Darby’s place so you could get some sleep, and that I was to pick you up later today and take you to meet her. She said she’d explain everything to you then.”

The only word I really heard was “sleep.” The thought of lying down on clean sheets and drifting off to blissful sleep was too powerful to fight against.

“Okay, sure. Let’s get out of here,” I said.

I followed Ronald to the door, which he held open for me, and stepped out into an already humid and hazy morning. I should have been grateful for small wonders. Still, I couldn’t help wondering when the trap door would spring open below me.