“Time to go, buddy.” Hammer emerged from the office. “Let’s lock this place up.”
“I don’t have a set of keys,” I said. “For the deadbolt,” I explained.
Roberts poked his head out. “Do the best you can.”
I pulled down the shades in the front windows and on the door, flipped the sign hanging in the window from “Open” to “Closed”, and locked the doorknob. I then went to the back, where a series of switches controlled the lighting throughout the shop. I flipped them off, watching the room grow dark from front to back.
Since Henri’s burglar alarm system was easy to activate, I turned it on, Hammer watching my every move. I had to hope that Evaline would know the code if someone had to get in before Henri became conscious, but Henri had way too many valuable things in the store that needed to be protected.
“That’s it,” I said. Hammer and Roberts waited for me to exit, then followed me out the door.
The beeping of the alarm signaled, and I let myself out the back door and walked around the building to my car. The officers waited until I pulled out into traffic before they returned to their car. I needed to find out what happened here, if for no other reason than to clear my own name.
*****
“A friend of mine was brought in a while ago,” I said to the emergency room nurse at St. Anthony’s Central a half hour later. “His name is Henri Benoit.”
“Oh, are you Reed Ferguson?” an accented voice behind me said.
I turned and gazed into the tear-filled mocha eyes of Evaline Benoit. She was a petite woman not much taller than five feet. Her long silvery hair was pulled into a bun with an expensive mother-of-pearl hairpiece holding it in place, and dangling from her ears were round blue earrings that matched her dress.
“Yes.” I bent down and Evaline rose up on her toes to plant a light kiss on both my cheeks in European fashion.
“They don’t tell me anything about my Henri,” she said, holding a small white handkerchief to her lips, muffling a sob.
I murmured assurances while she wept into the hanky, then guided her to a couch in the waiting area. After a few moments she composed herself, drying her eyes and blowing her nose.
“They say that Henri must have tests. They need to see what has happened to his head.”
“Someone hit him on the back of the head,” I said. She nodded, the hanky halfway to her face.
“Were there any other injuries?”
“They do not think so. But they don’t tell me.” Her body shook.
“Let me see what I can find out.”
She thanked me profusely. I went to the desk and spoke briefly with the nurse.
“They’re completing tests right now,” I said when I returned. I sat down next to Evaline. “We should know something soon.”
“You are such a nice boy,” Evaline said. I tried not to blush. “Henri, he likes you very much, and I can see why.”
I thanked her, but she was already lost in her concerns, staring with unseeing eyes at the wall. We waited in silence until a doctor came out to tell us that Henri was in the ICU.
“Your husband has sustained a head injury. X-rays showed a hairline fracture above the left temporal lobe, and right now he’s in a coma. We won’t know the extent of brain damage, if any, until he wakes up.”
Tears rolled down Evaline’s cheeks. “Brain damage?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” the doctor stressed. “He may be just fine. We’ll be monitoring him, but right now all we can do is wait.”
“Can I see him?” Evaline asked.
“Certainly.”
We stood up as the doctor left to talk to the admitting nurse.
“I’ll leave you with Henri,” I said. “I’ll come by here tomorrow to check on you.”
“Thank you.” Evaline stretched out an arm and patted my face.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head. “No. I have called our daughter. She lives in New York, but she will come out now.”
“Good,” I said. The doctor escorted her to an intensive care area, and then I left.
*****
Halfway home my cell phone rang.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all day,” Jack Healy said when I answered. “Do you ever go to your office?”
“I’ve had a busy day,” I said, not wanting to explain the events of the last few hours. It was after nine, but weariness was setting in, and it felt like the middle of the night.
“Have you found out anything more?”
“I checked on Samantha’s alibi. I doubt it would stand up in court.”
“She could’ve killed Ned,” Jack said, an edge in his voice.
“It’s possible. Or she could’ve set him up. But I don’t have any proof of that.” I kept my answers short. With everything that had happened to Henri, I wasn’t prepared to give him an update just yet. But I had to admit that Samantha made a likely candidate. And I couldn’t brush aside a feeling that I’d missed some piece of information, something that didn’t set right.
“What more do you need?”
“More than I’ve got, Jack. This is all speculation. You can’t charge her with a crime if you don’t have proof.”
“It’s not like she’s going to come out and tell you she killed Ned,” he snorted.
“Look, I’m running down a few things now,” I said. “Give me a few more days, and I’ll be able to give you a point-by-point account.”
“You’re making progress?”
“Yes,” I hedged a bit. I was making progress, but wasn’t sure in what direction just yet.
“Fine.”
Jack didn’t sound fine, but what else could he say? He was smart enough to know I was right, but desperate enough to want to hang Ned’s death on the first likely candidate. Not a good combination.
The moon shone brightly in the night sky as I pulled into my alley garage. I walked through the backyard to the front porch, where metal stairs led up to my condo.
I checked the mailbox by the Goofball Brothers’ door and was starting upstairs when I heard their door open.
“Dude, how’s it going?” Deuce came out on the porch, wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off jeans. “We’re going to go play some pool. You want to come?”
“I’m tired and it’s late,” I said. “But thanks.”
“It’s only nine-thirty.” Deuce looked at an imaginary watch on his wrist. “It’s not that late.”
“Thanks, but I’ve had a long day. You might want to get dressed first.” I smiled at him.
“Yeah, I will.” Deuce stared at me for a second. “Are you okay?” He took a step closer to me, squinting. Then his eyes widened in surprise.
“Hey, man. You’re hurt!” He pointed at my side.
I gazed down and saw a spot on my shirt. I hadn’t noticed it before. I tugged at the fabric, examining the reddish-brown stain, and with a sudden pang of sadness, realized it was Henri’s blood. I had no idea how it got there. I didn’t remember touching him, or the pool of blood on the carpet, but I must’ve.
“I’m fine,” I reassured Deuce. “A friend of mine was hurt today.”
“Is he all right?”
“I'm not sure.”
Ace came out onto the porch, holding an empty glass. “Who’s fine?” he asked, wiping a milk mustache off his face.
“He is,” Deuce said, jabbing a finger at me. “But his friend’s not.”
“Not what?”
“Fine.”
“Okay, don’t tell me,” Ace said, punching Deuce on the arm.
“Hey, why’d you do that?”
“Because you didn’t answer me.”
“I did too!”
“Fine.”
“Fine who?”
“What?”
With a shake of my head, I left the brothers to their impromptu spin-off of “Who’s On First,” and wearily climbed the stairs to my condo, where I showered and tumbled into a dark and restless sleep.