NIGHT FALLS AND ERICA PUSHES eighty as she heads back to the city. When she reaches New Haven, she calls Desmond Connor on her prepaid.
“Hey there, Erica.” Then he calls out, “Hey, people, Erica Sparks is calling me! This calls for another round. On me.” There are cheers.
“Listen, Desmond, could I stop by and talk to you? In about an hour. It’s about your mother. Her death.”
“Hey, well, whatever, sure. I’m at Mulligan’s.”
Erica hangs up just as the radio reports that the National Weather Service has upgraded Carl to a Category 5 hurricane.
Using her GPS, Erica makes it to Woodlawn and drives slowly down Katonah Avenue, scanning the streets. She parks and ducks into Mulligan’s. It’s a classic Irish pub—lots of dark wood and loquacious drunks. Desmond is sitting at the bar holding forth. His eyes are at half-lid and his head has a gentle nod—it’s clear he’s mixing his medicines.
“Desmond,” Erica says. “Can we talk at a table?”
“Yeah, sure, why not? Hey, you look all keyed up. You want a little something to chill with?”
“Thanks for the thought.” They move to a corner table. “Do you know Ed Spellman?”
“Everyone in Woodlawn knows Eddie Spellman. Mr. High and Mighty.”
“Did he do business with your mother?”
Desmond nods. “Oh yeah, those two got into some shady tricks, man. I mean I’m not exactly Mr. Clean, but I never did the kinda sick stuff they did.”
“Like what?”
“Like offing people.”
“Seriously?”
“You wave enough money in my mother’s face, she woulda offed me.”
“I don’t think your mother was the victim of a hit-and-run. I think she was murdered.”
“Whoa. That’s some heavy thinking.”
“I think Ed Spellman had your mother killed. They were involved in a very serious crime. He wanted her out of the picture. I need you to talk to a detective.”
“I’m allergic to law enforcement. No can do.”
“Desmond, I’m talking about the people who murdered your mother.”
He smiles to himself. “When you find them, let me know where to send the thank-you note.”
Erica walks out of the bar and looks around—is that someone running, running away, someone dressed in black, several blocks down? It’s hard to tell at night and then the figure is swallowed up by the dark. She has to get out of here, off this dark street, she has to escape.
As she drives downtown, she keeps checking the rearview—wondering if she’s being followed. And then she wonders if she’ll ever be able to escape.