Cruel Justice (33 page)

“I don’t ’member much,” Abie said unhappily. It was apparent that he wanted nothing more than to please his hero by providing useful answers. He simply had none to give.

“Can you describe the building the apartment was in?”

“I think it was white. Or sort of grayish.”

“Made of?”

“Brick. Oh, wait. Maybe wood.”

“Was it an apartment complex or a boardinghouse?”

“I think it was—oh—jeez, Lieutenant. I dunno.”

Mike cast his eyes heavenward. This was getting them nowhere. “Can you tell me anything about the building?”

Abie thought hard. “There were some little men outside.”

Mike blinked. “Little men?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You mean, children?”

“No, little
men
.”

“Midgets?”

Abie squirmed. “More like trolls.”

“
Trolls?
”

“Yeah.” Abie leaned forward. “I got this book at home by Maurice Sendak, and it has the coolest-looking trolls.”

“And these … trolls … they were outside the building?”

“Right. In the garden, I think.”

“The garden? What kind of garden?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just saw the trolls.”

Right. Trolls. Mike made a notation in his notebook. “Describe the route you took when you left the apartment.”

Abie shrugged. “It’s real hard to remember. He was like dragging me the whole time, and I couldn’t see much. Everything was kinda fuzzy, you know?”

“Do the best you can.”

“Well, first he dragged me past the trolls. …”

Mike gritted his teeth. “Yes, yes. Something other than the trolls, please.”

“Well, I remember I looked at the ground for a long time, ’cause I was afraid if he saw my face he might—I don’t know—he might do something to me. Then we walked into this real dark narrow place. And then I saw all the yellow numbers.”

“Yellow numbers?”

“Yeah. Well, doors with numbers on yellow …”

Mike’s mouth hung open for several moments. “Yellow—what?”

The strain showed in Abie’s face. “I don’t know. I was so afraid, and I was trying not to look up—”

“It’s okay, Abie. It’s okay.” Mike patted the boy on the back. “Tell me what else you recall.”

“Well, we walked by all the numbers and then we walked through a wall.”

“Wait a minute. Walked through a
wall
?”

Abie looked as if he might burst out crying at any moment. “Uh-huh,” he whispered.

“Okay, okay. And what did you see when you walked through the wall?”

“Airplanes.”

“Airplanes? Toy airplanes? Radio-controlled airplanes?”

“No. Real airplanes.”

“What were they doing?”

Abie looked at Mike as if he had suddenly dropped about five hundred IQ points in the boy’s estimation. “They were flying, of course.”

Mike pressed his hand against his forehead and paced around the perimeter of the small room. Ben knew what he must be thinking. The drug in Abie’s system had had a more profound effect than they realized. His descriptions just didn’t make sense.

“Do you remember anything else?” Mike asked.

“We walked for a long time after that.”

“What direction?”

“Uh … I’m not sure.”

“Was the sun in front of you or behind you?”

Abie thought for a moment. “I don’t remember.”

“Okay. How long did you walk?”

“Gosh, I dunno. A long time.”

“Half an hour?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“More? Less?”

Abie bit down on his lower lip. “About half an hour, I think.”

Well, that’s something useful, Ben thought. Maybe. He knew that the time estimates of adults separated from their wristwatches were often wildly inaccurate. An estimate made by a kid in a high-stress situation after being drugged was even more suspect.

“What’s the next thing you remember seeing, Abie?”

“We went inside another building and walked up those rickety stairs. Then we came to the room where he kept the mattress and the camera.” Abie smiled proudly. “Boy, I really smashed up one of his cameras but good, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, kid. You did a real number on it.” Mike put on a brave smile, but Ben found it patently unconvincing. Truth was, it would be virtually impossible to find the apartment where the creep first took Abie based on this information.

And there was another truth, one even more unsettling and inescapable. In this pervert’s long and checkered history, none of his victims had ever gotten away before. Abie was the only person alive who could possibly identify him. He hadn’t—but the creep didn’t know that.

They could hope that he would forget about Abie, would consider him too high a risk to approach now. But no one really believed that. It didn’t fit the profile. Child molesters were obsessive to the extreme. Once they fixed on a particular child, they stayed fixed.

As long as Sam was a free man, Abie wasn’t safe. Sam would be doing everything he could to find Abie.

And kill him.

W
HEN BEN RETURNED TO
his boardinghouse that evening, he scurried past Mrs. Marmelstein’s room at the foot of the stairs. Fond of her as he was, he had no time for a discussion of who turned off the water or why the electric company expected to be paid on time. He was beat, and he needed to spend at least four or five hours preparing for the next day’s trial.

Joni was sitting in her usual spot in the middle of the stairs playing an incomprehensible card game. Jacks went atop kings, hearts went atop diamonds. He couldn’t detect any pattern at all.

“What is this game you’re playing, anyway?” Ben asked.

She continued to lay down the cards. “It’s called E.R.S.”

“Does that stand for something?”

“What a profound insight.”

“What does it stand for?”

She placed the queen of hearts on the four of clubs. “Not telling.”

“Can I guess?”

“I suppose,” she said, terribly bored.

“Equal Rights Solitaire.”

“
Hard-ly
.”

“Emergency Room Standoff.”

“Oh, Ben, you’re so pedestrian. Like Ward Cleaver or something.”

“I give up. What does it stand for?”

She lifted her hand as if to brush her hair back, then stopped, remembering that her hair no longer reached her shoulders. “I think it’s best that you don’t know.”

Ben sat down on the stairs beside her. “Mind if we talk about your boyfriend for a moment?”

She blanched. “You didn’t tell my parents …!”

“No, no. But I need to talk to him. Do you think you could arrange it?”

“Whaddaya wanna talk with him for?”

“Well … I think he’s connected with some gentlemen I saw at the country club the other day.”

Joni laughed. “My Booker’s never been inside a country club in his life.”

“I didn’t say he was. But I did see some of his, uh, clubmates there.”

Joni’s face darkened. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about his gang. The Demons.”

Joni scooped up her cards. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ben took her arm. “I think I do. I saw him a few days ago at the home of my client. And he was wearing a black jacket embroidered with the gang emblem. A swastika with a heart around it. My cop friend tells me that identifies him as a member of the Demons gang, a hot number on the North Side.”

Joni folded her arms across her chest, but remained sullenly silent.

“My friend believes the Demons are breaking into drug peddling, challenging the Cobras’ turf. He thinks they’re selling the hard stuff, the junk that comes in from across the border.”

Joni glared at him. “All this time Jami has said, ‘Don’t be telling your secrets to our Benjamin. He’s just a cop, basically.’ And I always say, ‘It ain’t so. Ben is good people.’ ” Joni’s lips pursed. “But I guess Jami was right.”

“Look, Joni, I’m not trying to get you or Booker into any trouble. He did that for himself when he joined the gang. But if you’ll let me talk to him, I may be able to help him before he spends the next ten years making license plates at McAlester.”

Joni eyed him suspiciously. “And what’s in it for you?” ‘

“He may have some information that could help my client. Like I said, I just want to talk to him. You pick the place.”

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“Come on, you know me better than that. Have I ever lied to you? Have I told anyone about you and Booker? Have I told Jami you wore her Paloma Picasso earrings to the Blue Rose and lost them?”

“How did you—?”

“I’m very observant. Come on, Joni. What do you say?”

Joni stared at him for a good long time, then slid her playing cards back into the box. “No promises.” She stood, then climbed up the stairs to her apartment.

When Ben walked through the door of his apartment, the first thing he saw was Christina sitting in an armchair rocking Joey. Joey’s tiny eyelids were closed. He appeared to be fast asleep.

“Ssshh,” Christina whispered. “He’s sleeping.”

“Ah. Thanks for the tip.” Ben gently dropped his briefcase and sat on the floor beside Christina. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Christina placed her finger under the collar of Joey’s bright green pajamas and unfolded a crease. “Oh well … I thought you might need help preparing for court tomorrow.”

Ben nodded. “Which doesn’t really explain why you’re looking after the baby. Something that, as I recall, you complained mightily about when I asked you to do it.”

“Well, your mother wanted to fix you a nice dinner—”

“My mom is cooking? Again?”

“—and someone had to look after the kid, so …” She shrugged. “It’s a burden, but I’m bearing it bravely.”

Ben glanced at the contented baby in her arms. “You’re hiding your misery admirably.”

“Well … he’s been pretty good tonight. I think we’re coming to understand one another.”

“Splendid.” Ben pushed himself to his feet.

“Ben?”

He turned. “Yes?”

“What are you going to do about your mother?”

Ben frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you have to decide what you’re going to do. She can’t live here in your apartment forever.”

“I rather assumed she would be heading home soon. …”

“With the baby, right?”

“Well …” Ben squirmed.

“I thought so. That’s exactly what you’re hoping she’ll do.”

“It shouldn’t be for very long. Jones is still searching for Julia. For all we know, she could come back for Joey tomorrow.”

“Ben, you’re not being realistic. Julia has no intention of returning anytime soon. If she did, she wouldn’t have left him in the first place.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” Ben threw his hands into the air. “Christina, I can’t raise a baby! I don’t know the first thing about it.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“My mother is infinitely better qualified to raise children than I am.”

“Julia left him with you, not your mother.”

“Only because she wasn’t home.”

“You don’t know that for a fact.”

“It makes more sense for Mother to do it. She’s had experience.”

Christina’s eyes seemed to catch fire. “Ben, your mother is sixty-six years old.”

“So?”

“So that’s no time to be taking on a major responsibility like a baby. She should be relaxing, taking life easy.”

“She’ll hire help.”

“Oh, that’s a great attitude. Let the servants do it.” She muttered under her breath. “You’re no better than those country-club slobs you keep putting down.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Christina, you’re being irrational.”

“Ben, when are you going to stop avoiding every family obligation? Are you planning to go through your whole life without being responsible for anyone?”

Ben tried to answer, but he was too slow. Christina took the still-sleeping baby and marched out of the room.

Reluctantly, Ben entered the kitchen. He found his mother facing the stove, poking a wooden fork into a frying pan. She was wearing an elegant pleated skirt, a silk blouse, and an Oriental jacket. And over it, she had draped Ben’s apron, which announced in big black letters
LAWYERS DO IT IN THEIR BRIEFS.

“It was a gift from Christina,” he blurted out.

Mrs. Kincaid turned and stared at him oddly. “This fork?”

“No, the—never mind. What are you doing?”

She smiled. “Fixing your dinner.”

“Again? What is it?”

“Well … I’m not entirely sure yet. Chicken and something. I’m a bit rusty on my recipes, you know.”

“I still can’t believe you can cook!”

Mrs. Kincaid breathed heavily. “I always told your father we should take more pictures. Maybe even movies. ‘Little boys don’t remember,’ I told him. But he said, ‘Nonsense. A boy always remembers his mommy and daddy.’ ” She shook her head sadly. “I was right.”

She fumbled for a moment in the pocket of the apron. “I’ve been carrying a picture around in my purse. I thought you might be interested.”

Ben took the small black-and-white photo from her. The man in the forefront was Ben’s father, although he was much younger than Ben ever recalled seeing him before. He was leaning over a little boy, tickling him.

A little boy with light brown hair and a thinnish face.

The boy was laughing hysterically, and gazing up at the man with loving eyes.

Ben’s eyes.

Ben shoved the picture in his pocket. “You didn’t need to cook dinner—”

“I wanted to do it. I used to be a wonderful cook. People raved about my food. Why do you think the relatives always came to our house on Thanksgiving?”

“I rather suspected they hoped to be included in the will. …”

Mrs. Kincaid ignored him. “We didn’t hire Rhiana until you were almost eight, when we needed more help, mostly with you, because you kept sneaking out of the house and going to the library or whatever when you were supposed to be doing your chores. But Rhiana was a splendid cook and it was easier to just let her do it.”

She smiled, then returned her attention to the frying pan. “That’s why I’m enjoying my stay at your place so much. I have to admit, I was planning to just take the baby and leave, but I’m having such a good time I’ve decided to stay.”