Chaos Theory (7 page)

Twelve

Yeah, I called a small town cop a creep. That's not smart. One word from him and every police officer in town will be on my case. They might follow me around looking for every speed and roll-through-stop sign violation that I make. But, he ticked me off.

“Kami?”

“The one and only. It worked, you know, for a while. I backed off, but not anymore.”

That gets to him. Is he seeing his snitch's value disappear?

I pile on. “What happens if I tell everyone that he's a confidential informant? How'd that go over at the cop shop?”

Down in the parking lot, the three goons exit a beat-up Chevy and wait for traffic to cross Sixth Street. Time's up. Grinding my teeth so hard Gravel Voice should hear it, I head straight down the embankment. “For the record, I won't do that, because Daniel wouldn't want me to. But he isn't alone anymore. We're helping him.”

He stops me as I pass him, grabbing my arm. “This is dangerous
.”

“Dah. Who was there when he was beat up? You?”

“Our communication got messed up. Besides, I thought he knew what he was doing.”

“Did you guys even try to confirm if Daniel told you the truth?”

His sudden slack face and shifting eyes say it all. I snort, but need to be down there with Daniel. That means I head straight down the embankment, and if goon squad spots Gravel Voice? Well, too bad.

“Kami.” Worry might have softened his voice. “Take this.” He yanks off a glove and pulls out a business card from his wallet. “Anytime, day or night.”

I take it. Gravel Voice has a name, Detective Bob Davidson. A cool exit down the hill would have been nice; instead I slip and slide, finally ending up scooting down on my butt. At the base, Sam, Sandy, and Brute wait. Fifty yards away, the goons head under the dome.

“What do we do?” Sam the Fearful asks.

“Follow me. United front.”

Sandy grins. “Cool.”

I'm terrified. “No smiling. Look mean.”

Side by side, along with droll-slinging Brute, we cross to Broken Bone. Daniel rides his board up the highest bowl, slides the rim, and then balances rock solid for ages on the edge. Then he rocks it off the perilous rise, finishing his run.

Daniel sees us first. His jaw literally drops. The skaters clear space for my crew. It's feeling like West Side Story's gang rumble. Gang? Right, our pep band t-shirts under our open coats and school-colored knit caps on our heads scream gang.

Daniel's short temper blows. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Saving your butt.” I turn to the goons. “Nothing happens here today.” And isn't that like a cop-show actor—the one bluffing without a gun or backup?

“She your protection squad?” Goon One asks. “Listen, Bud, you come back and you'll get what you got last time. This is our territory. We don't want your stinking drugs on our turf.”

Now who's sounding like a movie? Then the goon spits in Daniel's face and waits, just itching for Daniel to fight.

Sandy thrusts Brute's leash into my hand, and she body locks against Daniel who's zeroing in on the goon. Her voice changes into someone I don't know. “Come on, honey. I don't want to see a fight.” Her hand slips into Daniel's open jacket and brushes from his chest to his waist. “You can do this another time. I don't want to see any blood, okay?”

Isn't that a scene in one of those old film noir movies? Whatever. It works and it's brilliant. Then Sandy drags Daniel away. Sam, Brute, and I follow.

Goon One calls after us, “Yeah, head home with your
honey
.” He makes smooching noises and the goons laugh.

Daniel grabs his backpack, while I grab his board where he left it. He holds his temper until we cross Sixth Street and drop down into the parking lot, out of sight of the skate park. Then he rips Sandy's hand away. She'd worked it around his waist as she dragged him toward the cars. He rounds on me. “What the hell are you doing? I said to stay out of my life. You're supposed to be on the Fort Carroll bus.”

Sandy jumps on his words. “Kami's here to help your sorry ass!” She steps up in his face. “You be nice to her, because you owe her big-time!” To me, she says, “Get this creep up to speed and get what we need.” She takes Brute's leash from my hand. “We'll drop Brute off at home and meet you guys at the lair.” Then she heads for her pickup.

Watching my BFF march away, Sam shoots me the craziest smile. “Isn't she great?” Then he runs to catch up with Sandy.

I'm wowed too. Sandy's fast on her feet, but that fast? And she'd hit the testosterone-stand-off right out of the skate park without anyone getting hurt.

Daniel stares at my friends as they drive off. He makes fists, the same way he'd done manhandling his backpack at the library and MA. Clink. Clink. Clink. Then like an erupting volcano he slams his hand into the hood of his classic Mustang. “Don't get involved. It's dangerous.”

This guy really doesn't understand money. You don't pound a classic car to make a point.

Then he says, “You're like a butt zit! How did you know I was here?”

Seriously, butt zit? “I called your mom.”

This time, he kicks the door. There are now two huge dents in his car. They join several others from earlier assaults. “Get out of my life! Stay away from my family. Got that?”

“It's over, Daniel. I know about Julia.”

Fear. All over his face. His vulnerability sends an unfamiliar feeling rocketing through me.

He tries to bluff. “Julia's not part of this.”

I check that illogical feeling and stick to what I know best—facts. “Yes, she was. Those drugs weren't yours. They were hers. I found a drug stash where you never go, but Julia did.” That's circumstantial evidence for Julia dealing, but miles away from implicating Daniel. “And I heard you talking with Gravel Voice at the hospital. You're his CI. You're trading jail time for the name of her supplier.”

Daniel glances up at the railroad tracks.

I press him. “I was up there, I talked to him, and gave him hell. It's just...” How do I get him to understand? Slow and sure—Sensei says. Slow and sure.

“You're doing this all wrong,” I explain. “Whatever Julia's connection to those drugs was, why would she be out at Broken Bone? It's not her thing. She'd never be
here
, so why are you? I get that it's your element, but it isn't hers.”

His hands rub against his face, covering his eyes like he can't face what I'm saying. He groans long and slow and painfully.

I wrap my arms around my chest, because I want to wrap them around him. He's hurting so bad. “Daniel, Julia's dealer isn't going to be here. That's who you really want, right? You have to be smarter.”

Slow and sure
works. Bless Sensei. Daniel's speechless. Then again, that's his normal modus operandi, as far as I've been able to tell.

Finally, he says, “The police want up the ladder. Any ladder will work. I thought if I could get connected with these guys, it would make the cops happy. Then I could figure out how Julia got the drugs. I guess I didn't really think that through.”

I say, “That's why we're going to help you—Sandy, Sam, and me. I know how to do this: satisfy the police, get you free from this whole lousy mess, and maybe lead us to Julia's dealer. Let us help.”

He makes another dent in his poor car. “Why? This shit is all over me. You should run the other way so fast that—”

“Yeah, well we're not. We're going to figure this out. We need your help.” I unwrap my arms and look away, placing emotional distance between us. “And you need us. I'm not going to let you stand by yourself when you aren't guilty.” He puts his elbows on his car's roof and drops his head into his hands.

“Julia's not guilty either.”

Tipping his head to speak, those blue eyes that match Julia's confirm what I assumed all along. He almost whispers it. “Kami, I can't live with anybody else getting hurt. I'm loaded down enough with guilt over Julia.”

And what guilt is he talking about? I don't get the chance to ask.

His fear changes to anger, and he pounds his car. Can you say PO'd insurance agent? “I didn't buy”
bang
“your note at the hospital.”
Bang
. “It was too”
bang
“easy. It's what other kids”
bang
“would do, but not”
bang
“you. Not”
bang
“you.” The banging stops. Maybe he's hurt his hand.

“True. If there's a puzzle, I can't stop. I've got your back. Sam and Sandy are watching mine. Don't fight us.
You
do the heavy stuff and make the deals.
We
stay off the police radar.” That was my well-reasoned argument worthy of debate club.

His rebuttal turns it into a limp French fry. “Stay away? Like you just did? Getting between me and those goons?” Then he hangs his head and breathes out a long, slow “Damn.”

I say, “We'll take precautions.” I tug at his gang/rapper hoodie, easing it back off his face. “And you can stop wearing this stuff. If we're going to get answers, be yourself—Doc Martens, name-brand pants, and polo shirts—your normal clothes.”

He gives in and relief washes out of him, along with his tension and anger. He snorts but doesn't argue. “Dogged determination? Is that how you won the State Science Fair?”

“Googled me?”

“Yeah, I looked you up.” His hand catches mine, holding it against his hoodie.

On his part, the touch is raw desperation. I chew on my lower lip and wonder what this decision will mean for the future. Have I made a chaos butterfly-wing flap? And, if I have, where will the tornado it eventually generates land—and who will be in its path?

On my part, his touch sends electric tingles down my back. It's better to concentrate on action checklists, not on nerve synapses I don't understand.

He says, “Whatever we find out, the police never know Julia's part in it. We work around that. Right?”

I think about that angel-faced kid and how much Daniel's giving up to protect her memory. How can I clear Daniel without dragging Julia's role into the mix? I can't promise him that. Instead of agreeing, I distract, saying, “We need Julia's stuff. Whatever you can get—phone and laptop for sure. Did she keep any handwritten journal, diary, or something like that? Did the police take them?”

He removes his hand and brushes it over his stubbly buzzed hair. He's growing it out. My lips go dry. And that gut reaction is disturbing.

“No journal. The police assumed the drugs were mine, so they didn't take her things. Dad and Sara…Well, I have most of her stuff now.”

“Let's go then.”

“After we get the stuff, what happens?”

Inside, I'm sick. If we're successful, Julia's past probably gets dragged through the mud. But without some evidence, Daniel will never be cleared. So I stick with the literal what's next. “We're off to the Bat Cave, Robin.”

Thirteen

Daniel heads into his house with his backpack and returns with a different one. It's pink. He hugs it to his middle like a tiny baby. Even on a Friday night, finding three open parking spaces near the library will be tricky. We leave his car at home and share EB for the trip. He squeezes into the small car with awkward contortions.

With him comes the smell of pines and my heart flip-flops. I fumble with my own pack and, bring out the envelope, handing it to him. “This fell out of your wallet the other night.”

He opens it, pulling out his half-sister's school photo. For a long time as I drive to campus, he simply looks at it. Then he slips it back into the empty photo spot in his wallet and looks out the window.

Once at the library with the pink backpack still cradled in his arms, Daniel plays gentleman with the doors. Other guys are awkward about that; they fumble and then don't get the door or they stumble through opening them. With Daniel, he doesn't even know he does it. I like that.

I enter the Bat Cave and drop my backpack on a study carousel. A janitor has been in here cleaning so there's disinfectant, old book, dust, and Daniel's Irish Spring, but there's also a strong odor of magic markers. Both Sam and Sandy are admiring their handiwork. Opposite the sofa, they'd taped three poster boards side by side on the wall.

“That looks great, Sandy.” And it does. She calls it a crime board. It's loaded with information. “Daniel, say hi to Sam and Sandy.” He does, while I check out the wall chart.

Whatever we call it, it's perfect. It's too bad that we have to take it down every time we leave. At the top are photographs of Julia and Daniel. His came off the Internet. Written under those is a timeline of events: Julia's death, Daniel's arrest dates for the drugs and the earlier one for his DUI, the Broken Bone attack, and room for more data when we get it.

Underneath Julia's photo, Sandy has posted my list of teen suicide warning signs from the
teensuicide.us
website. She's checkmarked Julia's known indicators. After seeing the eighth-grader's angelic school photo, I'm as committed to discovering her suicide motivations as getting Daniel free and clear of the drug charges.

“What is that?” a white-faced Daniel asks, pointing at the list.

Hiding the suicide warnings, Sam leaps in front of the board and says, “Sorry to spring this on you. We need something to track what happened. This…” He waves his hand over the visible part. “This will keep us organized.”

I goofed and should have warned Daniel. I ease Julia's pink backpack from his slack hands and hand it to Sandy. She takes it to a study carrel, unzips it, and pulls out the laptop and a phone from inside it.

I say, “Daniel, I'm sorry for not warning you, but we have to lay out the facts so we can see them. If you can't handle this…”

He walks past me, drawn to the crime board like the moth to flame. Unlike a gentle moth, though, he pushes Sam out of the way. Then Daniel inspects the whole board. His fingers rest gently on his sister's face then move to the timeline, settling on her death date.

Sam doesn't take offense at being shoved aside. He takes Julia's laptop and sits at the carrel next to Sandy, who has the smartphone.

I say to Daniel, “Fill us in. What happened and when? We post facts, hard facts.”

His hand moves from the timeline up to the suicide warning list. He shudders.

“Daniel, what happened leading up to her suicide? What do you know about the drugs?”

He slams his hand against the posted warning list. “Julia didn't commit suicide.”

Beside us, Julia's laptop and the phone wake up with a ding and a chime, but Sam and Sandy are listening and watching us.

“Daniel, the warning signs were there. I talked with Trish. Julia stopped her riding lessons. She'd go to the stable, but she didn't ride. After Thanksgiving, she didn't even bother to get Diamond out of her stall—even though she loved that horse. According to what Trish says, Julia's grades dropped like a rock. She was caught shoplifting. Those are all prominent suicide indicators. You have to face facts.”

Daniel pounds the crime board, hitting the library concrete wall with a loud thump. “You want facts? Julia didn't commit suicide.”

“Okay.” I grab one of Sandy's markers, cross off the word
committed
in front of suicide and write in
possible
. “But, Daniel, we have to know what you know.”

He leaves the board and stands at the window looking out. “There's not much. I started school in North Carolina in late August. Julia was mad about that. Hell, I was mad about it. But in September she tells me she has a new boyfriend. She's over-the-moon happy.”

Daniel runs his hand again over his stubbly hair. It must be scratchy. There are two communication streams happening—the spoken and the unspoken. Right now, the unspoken is speaking volumes. His shoulders slump as he sits in one of the easy chairs, settling into the leather cushions muscle by muscle like a slow MA movement—weary, cautious.

I drag the other chair close and sit beside him. Sandy has a pen in her right hand poised over an open notepad to record dates and facts.

“Then what happened?” I ask.

“I get an e-mail from Trish that Julia's acting funny. You know—friend stuff. That's not new. God, the number of times they'd be out in the backyard screaming at each other. The next time you looked they're crying and hugging.”

I grin at Sandy. That sounded like us in elementary school. Then in middle school, the arguments stopped. I guess by that point it wasn't so much Sandy and me against each other, as us against the world. Middle school sucks.

Daniel places his wrists on his knees, letting gravity pull his hands down like he doesn't have the energy to do anything else.

He continues. “Then Sara, Julia's mom—my stepmom—e-mails. They're worried because Julia shoplifted some makeup. I kind of laughed at that. Perfect little Julia screwed up.

“Sara's next e-mail says that Julia's counselor is worried. She's flunking. Julia didn't turn in homework, skipped classes, and failed her tests.”

Sam wants to ask a question, but Sandy hushes him with a finger to her lips.

I lean forward. “We need exact dates to update the timeline.”

“Maybe early October? The e-mails are in my Gmail account.”

He continues. “When I get home, everything's worked out. Julia looked weird with her new shaved head thing, but she's normal. Excited about her boyfriend.” Pain tightens the muscles on his face. “Dad and Sara hated her new boyfriend, mainly because they never met him. I didn't either.”

His head follows his hands into the gravity well.

I prod, “What happened after Thanksgiving?”

His empty eyes look at me, surprise flashing in them. He's forgotten that I'm here.

I hate forcing it, but ask, “And then what?”

Instantly he changes, charging up out of his chair. Anger radiates as he paces back and forth in the small space, a trapped predator. He says, “My course load was tough and MA took the rest of my time.” He stops midstride. “Then suddenly it's Christmas break and I haven't talked to anyone from home. Not Dad, not Sara, and not Julia. I blew off my whole family to focus on me.”

He storms over to the crime board and pounds his fist into his photo posted on a concrete block wall. That has to hurt.

Sam the Wise eases out of his chair for a hasty retreat. Sandy nails him back in place with a move-and-I'll-kill-you look.

I join Daniel at the crime board. “If you want us to help—tell us what happened at Christmastime.” His sister committed suicide. If I tell him he shouldn't feel guilty, it won't help. That's what they kept telling me about Grandma—like my head's around that one.

Daniel turns his back on the crime board and his body drags down the wall, becoming a lump on the floor. I drop down beside him.

He whispers, “It's my fault, Kami. That she died. You're right. The drugs aren't mine. When I came back at Christmas, I found her sitting in her room, on the phone with her boyfriend. The drugs were on her bed—baggies full. They were next to her backpack like she wanted me to find them, you know?”

He wipes his face against his hoodie sleeve, and then he's back in her room again. “I yelled at her. Dad and Sara were gone for the night and I laid into her, calling her a stupid fool and a whole lot of other stuff. She promised she didn't use them. She sold them for the heck of it and she said she'd give them back. ‘No big deal,' she said, ‘I won't do it anymore.' She promised me, and…” He closes his eyes and rubs them hard. “Kami, I believed her.”

He holds out his trembling hand like he needs an anchor. I take it. It's hard and callused from MA. This isn't over, though. He has to finish his story.

“Then what happened, Daniel?”

“The next day she left with the drugs to take them back. I went to hang with Mom. Dad and Sara took off Christmas shopping.” With his free hand, he wipes his eyes again. “Everything was going to be okay.” His other hand clamps down so hard on mine it hurts. “When I came back that night, I went to her room. She was in her bed. Not moving, eyes open. Those damn pills and empty baggies were all over the bedspread. I tried to resuscitate her, but it was no use; she was blue and stone cold.”