Counterpointe (33 page)

She winced. “We can’t just let them charge him with murder.”

“Even if he did it?”

She shook her head. “I don’t believe he did. Tyrese’s smart. He wants to make something of himself. He was trying to avoid the gang. If he did stab Jamal, it had to be self-defense.”

“I agree with Clare,” Vinnie said. “That boy was working hard, doing good.”

“We can’t stop the police from charging him,” John said. “All we can do is try to help him when they do.”

“So how do you know Detective Rabinowitz?” Clare asked, as John walked her over to Huntington Avenue that evening.

“Paths crossed a few times.”

“You’ve crossed paths with a homicide detective?”

“I was a cop.”

“Oh.” Oh, indeed. Real deal, indeed.

“Incidentally, not something I’d like bandied about Hope House.”

“Of course not. So why does he let you call him Rabbit?”

“I think he enjoys being underestimated.”

“And you’re J.B., huh? What does the
B
stand for?”

“If I tell you, I’ll have to make you disappear.”

“It couldn’t be any worse than Rabbit.”

“Yes. It could.”

“Bertie? Barnie?”

“Worse.”

“I can’t think of any other bad
B
names.”

“Would you believe Boniface? My mother thought it sounded classy.”

“Ouch. So were you ever called Bonnie?”

“Not if I had anything to say about it.” His tone was a near growl.

Clare laughed. Then she sobered. “I’m worried about Tyrese.”

“With good reason.”

Not the reassurance she hoped for.

“Rabbit located Tyrese,” John said when Clare arrived at Hope House the next morning. “He’s at Children’s Hospital.”

“How is—?” Her throat closed on the rest of the words.

“We don’t know. Beck and I are going to visit.”

“I want to come with you.”

“We figured you would.”

At the hospital, she and John waited while Beck went to Tyrese’s room. When Beck returned, he looked somber. “It ain’t good. He’s been beat, real bad, and he’s awful sick.”

“Can we see him?”

“Ain’t much use. They got him drugged.”

“I’d still like to see him,” Clare said.

John went with her. When they reached Tyrese’s room, they found a policeman on guard outside the door. After calling Rabinowitz to get them approved, he let them enter. Clare laid her hand on the shoulder of the woman seated by the bed, then looked at the boy lying there.

Tyrese’s eyes were swollen shut and he had cuts and bruising on his face and a heavy dressing on one arm. The middle finger on one hand was splinted.

“My poor, poor baby.”

Clare patted Nellie’s shoulder.

“They surely near to kilt him.”

While Clare reached out to touch Tyrese’s good hand, John took Nellie’s hands in his.

“Oh my, oh my.” Nellie moaned, rocking back and forth in her chair. “They think my baby stabbed that Jamal.”

“You’ve got to be strong for him.” John continued to hold her hands. “You need to tell us what happened.”

“Don’t know nothing. Only know my boy, hurt. Hurt bad.”

“How did that happen?” John asked.

Nellie continued to rock, unable or unwilling to say more.

John stood and motioned to Clare. “You try,” he whispered.

She pulled a chair next to Nellie, sat down, and took one of Nellie’s hands in hers. “Would you mind if we said a prayer for Tyrese?” It had to be Vinnie’s influence rubbing off on her.

“Oh, that would be real nice. Me and my boy would surely appreciate that.”

Remembering how Vinnie led the prayers when they visited one of the men in the hospital, Clare motioned to John, and the three of them made a circle, holding hands with each other and the unconscious boy.

Clare took a breath and began. “Heavenly Father, we know you are watching over your servants Nellie and Tyrese in their time of trouble. We ask you to keep them safe and to grant Tyrese a full return to health, and we ask you to lift the burden of suspicion from Tyrese. In the name of your son, Jesus, we pray.”

“Amen,” Nellie said. “Thank you, Clare. That were real nice. Vinnie couldn’t have did any better.”

Clare didn’t know how to start questioning Nellie until the other woman solved that for her. “Tuesday, Tyrese was sick. He was home in his bed when that Jamal got hisself kilt.”

“You were with him?” Clare asked.

“I work nights, and he was at home when I left. When I got back in the morning, he still there, sleeping. My poor baby. I got the baddest feeling I ever had.”

“When did Tyrese get beat up?”

Nellie rocked and moaned. “That why he sick. Come home Monday like that.” She pointed with her chin at the bed. “Wouldn’t let me do nothing, though. But when I couldn’t wake him Wednesday morning, I brung him here.”

Nellie fell silent and John touched Clare’s shoulder and motioned it was time to go.

“What do you think?” she asked him as they rejoined Beck.

“Police are going to figure Tyrese went out Tuesday night and ambushed Jamal like the Bull Sharks are claiming, then got home before his mom did, and she’s covering for him.”

“Nellie said he got beat up Monday, and there’s no way he could have gone out Tuesday and attacked someone bigger and stronger in that condition. Besides, he’d already broken his finger. Remember the last time he came to Hope House? It was swollen.”

“I do, now that you mention it,” John said.

Clare pictured Tyrese writing. “He had trouble holding a pen. So how could he hold a knife?”

John rubbed his chin. “I’ll ask Rabbit if the M.E. can tell if the doer was right-handed or left-handed.”

“It still don’t look good,” Beck said. “Look like a bunch of gangbangers beating on each other. Nobody going to have sympathy for Tyrese.”

Soubresaut

Sudden leap using both feet

“You don’t look so good,” Sam said, coming to sit next to Rob in the opening to the hut.

“Just tired.” He gritted his teeth at a sudden pain in his gut.

Sam leaned toward him. “That wasn’t just a gas pain, was it?”

“Probably it was.”

“I didn’t want to mention it before, but operating the way I did, there could be sequelae.”

“Sequelae. What does that mean?” He tried not to give in to the urge to rub his abdomen in front of her.

“Adhesions, obstruction, strangulation.”

“If you’re trying to make me nervous, you’re doing a damn fine job.” He gave in and pressed on his stomach.

“You’d better let me take a look.”

He hated the feeling of helplessness he’d had since the operation. And Sam giving him her doctor look. She pressed on his abdomen. “Jolley asked me to talk to you about calling your wife.”

“Don’t.”

“She has a right to know you almost died.”

“What’s to be gained from telling her now? It’s not like she can do anything.”

“Your decision. Liver’s normal.” She continued pressing and moving her hands around, frowning while she did it. Then she used her stethoscope to listen for bowel sounds. Finally, she sat back on her heels and reeled off several questions about bowel habits and flatulence that would have made him cringe if he wasn’t already miserable.

“Well, I don’t think it’s serious,” she said, as he sat up and adjusted his clothing. “Just cramping, after all. Let me know if anything changes.”

It sucked not being himself. The simplest tasks took more effort, proving the truth of Sam’s statement that he’d been right to the edge. Although he hadn’t seen any tunnels with bright lights at the ends, he now understood how easy dying could be. Understood as well how weak and vulnerable Clare must have felt after her injury.

For the first time he realized what a temptation his proposal of marriage had been.

Between rain showers, Rob and Sam took their evening constitutional around the village. “You ever been married, Sam?”

She shook her head. “Almost. Once.”

“What happened?”

“We ended up different places for our residencies. He said it didn’t matter since we’d be sleepwalking through those years, anyway. Unfortunately, during a bout of sleepwalking, he got a nurse pregnant. Married her. Since then I’ve never had the time to get close enough to anyone else to consider making it permanent.”

“You never said why you came on this expedition.”

She glanced at him. “Maybe to save your life.”

“You believe like the Chinese you’re responsible for a life you’ve saved?”

“Good God no. If I did, I wouldn’t be able to even think about walking into an operating room.” She stopped and bent over to look at a plant. “Soraida and I talked about the responsibility of the healer.” Sam sounded thoughtful. “You want to guess what he said?”

When she glanced up at him, he shook his head. “No idea.”

“He said everyone, healer or not, affects everyone else. When we do a good turn we create a positive energy that goes out to the world and produces something splendid, a flower, maybe...peace, love.” She straightened and they continued walking. “Whether it’s true, I like the idea.”