Fostering Death (14 page)

He turned his attention back to me. “Tell us about the checkbook.”

My heart sank. Of course they knew about the checkbook. “The gas was turned off. Mr. Coleman wrote a check to the gas company. I took it to the office to pay the bill and get the service turned back on. He has gas heat.”

“How much was it?”

“Over a thousand dollars,” I said.

“That’s a hell of a gas bill,” Montgomery said.

“True, that.” I would have retreated a step if I could have, but I was as far back against the wall as I could get. My hands were pressed into the wall and were beginning to ache. The cuffs were cutting off circulation and my hands tingled. “That’s why service was shut off.”

“We can check that, you know.”

Of course they could.

“What happened to the other checks?” Montgomery asked.

“The other checks?” I was puzzled.

Belkins’ face came even closer. “Yeah. There are a few checks missing. We figure you got them somewhere.”

I thought back. “They should be in the wastebasket in the kitchen,” I said. “Mr. Coleman was pretty out of it. He messed up a few checks.”

“So you admit he was ‘out of it’ when you made him write the checks,” Montgomery said. “Big man, making a grieving, feeble old man write checks to you.”

“I didn’t do that,” I protested.

“But before she died, you did make Mrs. Coleman write you checks. And give you money.”

“No.”

Montgomery stepped back and stood up straight again. “That’s pretty low, Jesse. Even for you.”

“I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Mrs. Coleman.”

“What I’d like to know,” Montgomery said, “is who was the woman who called 9-1-1? I thought it might be your girlfriend.”

I didn’t want Kelly mixed up in this. “It was Rosa.”

“Rosa?”

“Yeah. She was kind of a housekeeper or something.”

“And how,” Montgomery asked, drawing himself up to his full height, “do you know about the Colemans’ housekeeper?”

I should have kept my mouth shut. “Mr. Coleman mentioned her.”

“What else do you know about this Rosa? We can’t seem to find her.”

I was pretty sure that the Rose Aaron said Zee was screwing was the same person as Rosa the housekeeper. “She might be an illegal alien,” I said.

“The caller did have a Hispanic accent,” Montgomery said to Belkins.

Belkins wasn’t interested. “You say you wouldn’t do anything to hurt that poor old lady. But you just might shove her. Down the stairs.” He raised his hand and brought it down hard against my cheek. I tasted blood.

Montgomery stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “Stop. That’s going to leave a bruise.”

Belkins glared at me. “So?”

“So now if we take him in, he’ll have bruises. Not good.”

“He’s not going to complain. Not unless he wants to be arrested and booked. For murder.” Belkins took a fresh cigar from his pocket and unwrapped it. “Are you, Damon?”

If that happened, I was totally screwed. Even if by some miracle a magistrate did set bail, who would post it? “No, sir,” I said.

Montgomery was shaking his head. “It taints the testimony,” he said. “We need a clean case. I don’t want any grounds for appeal.”

“Damon knows better than that,” Belkins said, chomping on the cigar. “He wouldn’t push an appeal.”

Montgomery’s handsome face drew into a frown. “At that point, why not? If he’s facing another murder charge, what’s he got to lose? This might be a capital trial. He could get the death penalty. You know what kind of scrutiny those cases get from the courts? Not to mention the press?”

Belkins turned away from me in disgust. “He’s not worth it.”

“He may not be,” Montgomery agreed. “But that won’t stop it from happening. This would be the first capital case investigation I worked on. I don’t want it blowing up in my face for something inane.”

“You worry too much,” Belkins said.

“That may be, but I’m not going to lose this on appeal if there’s any way I can help it. Either we have a clean case, with testimony that can’t be successfully challenged, or we don’t bring it.”

Belkins shook his head in disgust. “So what do you want to do now?”

“Not bring him in for questioning, that’s for sure. Or lock him up. Not until that bruise is gone.”

Belkins gave me a mean grin. “Next time, I’ll make sure the bruises don’t show.”

“That’d be a little better,” Montgomery said. “But still dangerous. If we had him locked up, the nurse would see the bruises when he was processed. And they might be photographed.”

“He could have gotten them anywhere,” Belkins argued.

“Why take the chance at all? He’s not going anywhere.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, if he does take off, he’ll be violating parole. Ramirez will have him picked up. He won’t get far.”

They both stared at me. The wind was picking up, and a chill was beginning to set in. I wondered if the cat would miss me. Probably not me, but she’d want to be fed.

“Turn around, Jesse,” Montgomery said, taking a cuff key out of his pocket.

Belkins was still standing so close I brushed him as I turned around. I felt the cuffs loosen. I stood facing the wall, waiting for them to either leave or tell me I could turn around.

“Give him back his stuff,” Montgomery said.

Taking my wallet and keychain out of his pocket, Belkins tossed them into a slushy puddle. Anything I bought in the next few days would be paid for with damp money.

“Come on.” Montgomery turned and walked to the entrance of the alley.

I bent down to retrieve my things.

Belkins shoved the heel of his hand into the back of my head, slamming me face first into the asphalt. My forehead hit hard, and I felt blood gush from my nose.

I hadn’t expected that. I tried to get up and stumbled as I reached my feet.

He brought his knee sharply into my groin. I covered my crotch with my hands as I fell. My head hit the wall behind me. He drew back his foot and kicked me in the leg.

Montgomery came back and grabbed him. “Come on. Let him be.”

Belkins stood, watching as I lay in the slush on the sidewalk. “Might as well give him a few more bruises to heal, if we have to wait for that,” he said, drawing back his foot again.

I didn’t try to move. I closed my eyes and waited for the next kick.

“What kind of idiot are you?” Montgomery hissed. “You promised me you wouldn’t drink before we went out on this investigation.”

“Yeah, well, the road to hell and all that,” Belkins said.

I forced my eyes open. Montgomery had Belkins by the arm and was dragging him out of the alley.

Chapter 10

M
Y
G
ROIN
T
HROBBED
. I could feel a sticky trickle of blood on my face. I was soaked and dirty from lying in the filthy, half-frozen puddle. And cold. My head throbbed.

I closed my eyes again. I was so tired. The thought that maybe I could take a short nap here flashed through my mind. Then maybe I could get up and struggle to my apartment. I was shivering in the cold. But if I got just a little sleep, I’d feel so much better.

“Hey, mister, what’s the matter?” a voice said near at hand.

I hadn’t heard anyone approach. A dangerous lapse. I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. My head spun when I looked up.

A thin, bearded figure stood in front of me. Saffron robes flapped around his bare legs. One of the young men from the temple. I tried to look up again at his face, but my neck didn’t seem to be working, and all I could see were those hairy legs and his bony feet in sandals.

“Must have slipped on some ice,” I said, trying to gather my legs underneath me. My voice sounded thick and slurred.

“Two men just came out of this alley. A short white one and a tall black one. I saw them. Did they mug you? Shall I call the police?”

Despite how I felt, the thought of someone reporting Belkins and Montgomery to the police for mugging me made me smile. I had a pretty good idea how that would play out.

“No. Don’t call the police.” My breath was beginning to come back.

“At least they didn’t get your wallet,” he said, picking it up along with my keychain and handing it to me. “I didn’t check to see if they took the money.”

“Wasn’t much in there anyhow,” I said, reaching out for it and almost dropping it again. My hand didn’t seem to be working well, either. “Thanks.”

He reached a bronzed arm, wiry but strong, out of the folds of saffron fabric and extended a hand for me to grab. Gratefully, I did so and lurched to my feet. I had to concentrate on keeping from falling again.

“You probably ought to go to the emergency room,” he said. “It looks like you hit your head pretty good. And your face is all bloody.”

“Nah. I’ll be okay. Thanks for the help, though. I don’t know how much longer I would have been lying there if you hadn’t come along.”

“I’m a member of the Tabernacle,” he said, nodding toward the building. As if his robes and unkempt beard left any question. “We’re supposed to help anyone we see who needs it.”

“Thanks,” I said again.

“My name’s Isaac. Not my birth name, of course. But the one I was baptized into the Tabernacle with. I’ve seen you around.”

I winced as I took a step. “Yeah. I live in the basement apartment. My name’s Jesse.”

He nodded. “The murderer.”

In spite of the pain, I grinned. “Yeah. The murderer.”

“It’s cold out here. Do you want me to help you into your apartment?”

Trying to stand up straight, I said “I should be all right, thanks.” I took another step. My leg buckled under me.

Isaac grabbed my elbow. “Let me help you.”

With his support, I made it to the stairs and reached for the railing. I stood at the top, dumbly staring down. When had the steps gotten so steep? I felt myself sway.

Once again, Isaac caught me. He put one arm around my back and slipped the other under my arm. “Lean against me,” he commanded. “We can make it down there.”

The progress was slow, but he was right; we made it. The key dangled uselessly in my hand. He took it and opened the door.

As always, the room was dark and gloomy. But warm. Isaac flipped on the overhead light and eased me over to one of the two rickety chairs by the equally rickety table. He laid the key on the table.

Wincing, I sank into the chair. “Thanks,” I mumbled.

He nodded at the phone on the wall. “You want me to call 9-1-1? You don’t look all that good.”

“Nah.” What would I tell them? And my health insurance from work hadn’t kicked in yet. How would I pay for an emergency room visit?

Frowning, he said, “You might have a concussion.”

“Yeah, well, if I do, I’ll deal with it. Maybe knock some sense into me.”

He didn’t give any indication that he appreciated my weak attempt at humor. “Well, at least you’re out of the weather here. You want me to fix you a cup of coffee or something?”

I glanced up at him gratefully. “That sounds good. I got instant. Fix yourself one, too, if you want.”

“We’re really not supposed to use caffeine. It’s a drug, you know.”

“Yeah. At least it’s a legal one. But suit yourself.”

He filled the kettle with water and put it on the burner. Then he took both mugs from the drainer next to the sink and dumped a spoonful of the dark crystals in each one.

Standing next to the stove, Isaac glanced over at me. “Are you really a murderer?”

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I hated it when people asked things like that. Usually I just let the conviction speak for itself. But Isaac was looking at me thoughtfully, and he had just helped me out. I said, “I was convicted of murder and sent to prison.”

“How long were you in prison?”

“Almost twenty years.”

He looked surprised. “You don’t look that old. How old were you then?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sixteen? I thought you had to be eighteen to go to prison. A sixteen-year-old goes to juvenile court.”

“Not for murder or rape. That goes right to adult court.”

“Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Kill someone.”

“Not directly.”

“What do you mean, not directly?”

I sighed. “I was involved in a felony that resulted in a death. That fits the definition of murder in this state. So technically, I’m guilty.”

He took the kettle with the now-boiling water off the burner and filled the mugs. “What kind of a felony?” He stirred the coffee.

I took the mug he handed me. The warmth felt good on my hands. “I was with my two older brothers, standing lookout. I thought they had gone to a crack house to make a buy. They’d gone to rip off the dealer.”