CHAPTER 14

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 25

The first thing Marti did when Vik pulled into the parking lot was look for Sikich’s car. It wasn’t there. Too bad. The next person she got that are-you-man-enough-to-try it? attitude with was going to be him.

When she reached the office, she was as happy to be there as she had been to get home for a few hours. Ben was getting better. She would still be spending nights and most of the day at the hospital, but she could take a few breaks without being worried. She had spent a very long weekend at that hospital. Working in that conference room with a telephone and a fax machine might have got the job done, but it wasn’t the same as being here. Now she felt like a cop again, instead of a semi-invalid or worse, a potential victim.

“You okay?” Slim asked.

“I’m okay.” One thing about working for a smaller department was that there were fewer officers who had had the experience of killing a subject in the line of duty. “And,” she said, “I expect to get a lot more respect around here.”

Cowboy grinned. “Damn, partner,” he told Slim. “I don’t think your Mrs. Officer Ma’am is going to be acceptable around here anymore.” Cowboy looked at her. “Is Big Mac still okay?”

“I like that one,” she said.

“Good,” Cowboy said. “That calls for a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Has Sikich been around?” Marti asked.

“Nah,” Slim said. “I get the feeling you two are not part of his job description anymore.”

Marti scratched her arms, then tried to ignore the itching. It was just nerves. There was something about being followed, being watched.… She could still see Quinn dressed like a woman. It was sick, all of it. So much had happened in such a short time. She needed this trip to Colorado that the boys were planning. They all did. She checked her in-basket, trying to regain some sense of normalcy. Just routine interoffice memos. It was too soon for the forensic evidence she had requested on Adrian Quinn’s knife. Voice mail was next. She and Vik were going to pay José a little visit at the hospital, then she was going to go home and spend a little more time with the kids before returning to Ben. There were only four phone messages. The last one got her attention.

“This is for Detective MacAlister,” a woman’s voice said. “Please call this number. LaShawna would like to speak with you.”

Marti looked at the phone for a moment. Was this some kind of joke? She dialed the number and got an answering machine with a prerecorded message. She left her name, then gave the number to Vik in case they needed to trace it. “The call came in Saturday afternoon,” she told him.

The phone rang while she was inhaling the aroma of a steaming cup of Cowboy’s hot black coffee. She didn’t know which she would enjoy the most, the anticipation of tasting a real cup of coffee again or the pleasure of drinking it.

She picked up the receiver. “Detective MacAlister.”

“It’s me,” a voice said softly. “LaShawna.”

“Girl, where are you? Is that little girl of yours all right?”

“She’s fine. Her name is Marti Grace.”

“What?”

“You’ve got a godchild.”

“Well, that gives me a good reason to help you. Are you hiding from Reginald Garrett?”

“Yes, but I saw my picture in the paper. Thought I’d better call you.”

“Where are you? We’ve looked everywhere.”

LaShawna hesitated.

“Listen, we’ve got Garrett in jail without bail and half a dozen women who can’t wait to testify against him. He can’t hurt you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” LaShawna said. “We’re staying with Nessa.”

It took Marti a a minute to remember who Nessa was. She always thought of her as the bag lady, even though she knew that was just a disguise to keep people from paying attention to her. Nessa had done her best to protect those kids when they were living in that empty library.

“Nessa! Does she still live in the Preserves?”

“Same place.”

“Don’t move. I’ll be right over. And don’t worry—I just want to talk with you. Make sure you’re okay. See how I can help. All right?”

Before she left, Marti put in a call to Denise Stevens. “I found LaShawna!” she said. “Or she found me. Now what?”

Denise told her about a program she wanted to get LaShawna into. Then she said, “Guess who got out of the hospital this morning?”

“José?” Marti said.

“No. Not yet. Padgett.”

“Where did they put him?” Poor kid. What would he do without his mother?

“He’s with Joseph Ramos.”

“Ramos? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“No. Ramos didn’t think that the two boys should be split up again. You just get that knife matched up with Graciela, and we’ll let José complete his thirty days and go home too. I talked with the state’s attorney. They think the case against Quinn is strong enough to release José even if we don’t get a match with the knife. But I’m hoping we do.”

“I’m sure Quinn did it,” Marti said. She had seen the look in his eyes.

*   *   *

Marti sat on the sofa with Marti Grace in her lap and thought she was the cutest little girl she had ever seen, except for Joanna. When she smiled, which was most of the time, she had double dimples. Her eyes were an unusual green gray. LaShawna had combed her hair in little finger curls fastened at the top with barrettes shaped like balloons. She was a happy, good-natured child. A child who was loved.

“I’m her godmother, huh?”

“I was hoping you would be.”

Nessa had opened the door, nodded to Marti, then to Vik, and let them come in. Without saying a word she had left them in the living room with LaShawna and Marti Grace. The room was sparsely furnished, with nothing more than was needed. But, it was clean, smelled of potpourri, and the two cats were not allowed on the furniture. A laundry basket filled with toys was on the floor.

“Do you remember Denise Stevens?” Marti asked.

“The juvie who always wore hats?”

“She’s the one.”

“Sure, she got me into a good foster home and then a group home after Gracie was born.”

“What are you doing on the street?”

“Juvie cut me loose when I turned seventeen.”

“And why didn’t you come to us?”

LaShawna looked away. “Because I’ve got to be able to do for myself. Take care of me and Gracie. I got my high school diploma. I just don’t know how to do nothing that pays any money. And I can’t find no way to get someone decent to take care of Gracie while I work.”

“Can you stay here for a few more days?”

“Nessa won’t put me out.”

“I’ve had a little family crisis. My husband is in the hospital.”

“You don’t look so good yourself. You look like you’re in pain.”

“Car accident,” Marti told her. “I talked with Denise right after you called. There’s a program for women with children at a place called Staben House. It’s in a beautiful Tudor on a huge lot. Plenty of room for kids to play with their mothers. Denise thinks it will be a good match for you. They only have room for five families. You stay until you’re able to leave at least six to nine months. You have to find a job and daycare for Gracie, save money, take classes like child care and money management. Work on self-esteem. You share all of the household chores, and you follow the rules, which are strict. It’s a place where you can become self-sufficient and gain the skills to stay that way. They do a lot of follow-up after you get your own apartment.

“And you think I can do that?”

“I’m sure you can.”

“And you think they might help me? I don’t where to begin. There’s so much to do.”

“I want you to talk to Denise. I told her that you need to see a doctor. And don’t worry, nobody is going to take my godchild away from you,” Marti promised.

“Yes, ma’am,” LaShawna said.

Gracie looked up at Marti and smiled.

*   *   *

Marti and Vik went from Nessa’s house to Lincoln Prairie General to see José. The IV was out of his arm, which meant he must have decided to eat. Someone had opened the curtains. The sun was not shining. The cloud cover predicted more snow.

“So,” Marti said, “it looks like you’re feeling better.”

Jose looked her up and down, then said, “What happened to you?”

“Car accident,” she said.

“My lawyer says you got the man who…”

Marti waited for him to complete the sentence. Instead he turned away.

“Might have happened sooner if you had talked to us, kid,” Vik said.

José put his hands to his ears and shook his head. “I knew when she had the abortion that she would die.”

“How did you know that?” Marti asked.

Jose squeezed his eyes shut. He kept shaking his head.

“She is covered in blood,” he whispered. “My hands are covered with blood. I told her not to do it. I told her.”

Vik started to say something but Marti shook her head. José was curled up now, tears seeping from his eyes. He began to tremble. “My sister,” he whispered. “She had an abortion. My mother…” He huddled under the white sheet and thin blanket. “I still hear her screaming. I still see the blood on my hands.”

“Graciela,” Marti said.

José turned his head from side to side. “Mama, Mama, please wake up. Please wake up now. Please.” He began rocking. “Please, Mama, please.”

Marti didn’t know what he was talking about, but she thought she understood why José had knelt there, beside Graciela, without calling for help, without making a sound. It wasn’t the first time he had found someone covered with blood. She didn’t know if José was talking about his sister or his mother, but she was certain his hands had been covered with blood before, and that then, just as now, someone else had committed the violence.

“It’s okay now,” she said.

José shook his head.

“No,” he said. “They’re dead. All of them are dead.”

“It isn’t your fault. You know that.”

He opened his eyes wide and stared at her. She realized that this wasn’t about guilt, or feeling responsible. This was about a child seeing someone he loved who had been viciously murdered. José was one of those victims, the one who found the dead, who got his hands covered with blood without causing the wounds, the one who continued to suffer long after the crime was forgotten by just about everyone else.