Little Bird of Heaven (14 page)

This detective is saying to me, ‘Jacqueline DeLucca, you will come with us’ not even giving me time to take in what had happened to my friend, no time to cry for Zoe, I was in such shock they were telling me she’d been murdered, ‘There’s been a homicide here, this is a homicide scene’ they were saying, nobody gave a damn how I was crying, I was close to fainting with the shock of it, and them not letting me go upstairs—not letting me into my own house—my health is not so good—I have had ‘complications’ after some surgery—my blood pressure is high—there is diabetes in my family I am so afraid of getting—shaking and crying and the Sparta PD bastards did not give a damn like I was not sincere in my grief for Zoe—‘Chill it, Jacky. Tone it down’—like they knew me, and had a right to call me Jacky. I had to stay with friends, couldn’t even return to my own house for days, and then I had to—nobody warned me—
I had to clean Zoe’s bedroom
. You would think the police or somebody would do that awful work but no, you must do it yourself no matter how exhausted and grief-stricken. And now, I can’t even go upstairs. I sleep downstairs on a couch. I can’t sleep anyway, it’s like whoever came in here and hurt Zoe the way he did has hurt me, my heart pounds sometimes so hard I think it will burst. I keep thinking—what if he comes back, to kill me? What if he does the terrible things to me, he did to Zoe? The police say that I have to tell them everything I know, all the men’s names, they’ve had me looking at photographs, till I am exhausted. I was begging them, ‘I don’t want to die, officers! You can’t protect me every hour of my life.’ I told them that, and I told them that I knew of ‘police witnesses’ who were killed, and they looked at me like I was scum, and they said, ‘If you don’t tell us all that you know you can be arrested, Jacky,’—’cause they’d found some drugs in the house, only just painkillers, and a nickel bag of coke. There’s a law, they said, about ‘controlled substances’ on the premises, saying I am going to be charged with narcotics possession with intention to distribute if I don’t cooperate. A charge like that, you can be incarcerated for twenty years! Right then I near-about broke down. I could hardly get to a bathroom in time. They were more disgusted than I was, like I was sick to my stomach on purpose. What disgusts me is—if
there is less than one hundred dollars’ narcotics in this house—that came in with Zoe, and not with me—it is any kind of big deal compared to all the thousands of dollars these guys sell every day, all across the state, that the cops know about, and are getting a percentage of? Like they need to go after Jacky DeLucca, to tell them what they already know! As if I would give them the names of my friends. And the ones who are not my friends, I would be crazy to give them. I had the shakes so bad! Damn cops have no sympathy for a person like me, a woman who is not a wife or a mother, saying, ‘You need to go into rehab, Jacky. You’re a drunk and a junkie’—saying such insults, to my face. ‘You’re going to wind up like your friend Zoe, unless you cooperate with us.’ I told them that I didn’t know every single thing about Zoe’s private life, and this is so. I didn’t know who the man was, Zoe’s new friend she was so hopeful about, or even if he was a ‘new’ friend or some guy she’d been seeing in the past. Because Zoe was like that, if she broke up with a guy he wouldn’t go away, exactly. Like Delray did not ever go away, he was always trying to get back together with her. And Zoe had another man friend—I won’t say his name, Krista—he was a married man and crazy for her, she said, but there was ‘no future’ with him, he would not ever leave his family. His wife he might leave, but not his children, he just could not. So Zoe said it was hopeless and didn’t want to see him, but he’d call her, and he’d come around, they were like each other’s bad habit, that couldn’t be shaken. This man’s name, I had to give to the police—they’d have found out anyway, and make trouble for me. I was so scared, they would arrest me on ‘obstruction of justice’—‘interfering with a police investigation.’ They never did believe me that I didn’t know the man’s name—the one who was taking her to Vegas, that Zoe was so hopeful about. One night at Chet’s she was invited to sing with the jazz players there—just three of them—and Zoe was asked to sing—‘Both Sides Now’ was one of her best songs—and this guy is at the bar listening, he’s impressed he says, really impressed—he can arrange for an audition for her in Vegas at one of the casinos he says, where he has contacts. So I think it was the next day, they were headed for Vegas. I think that’s what
Zoe told me. She was saying, ‘Maybe I won’t ever come back, Jacky!’—kind of excited, kissing my cheek and hugging me and too nervous to sit still, ‘Tell Aaron good-bye from his mom, and for sure I will be calling him, maybe in a few months I will be a headliner there, at one of the casinos, I can send a plane ticket for Aaron and he can come join me.’ So I said sure Zoe, I would do that. And Zoe says, ‘And you too, Jacky—you can come visit me in Vegas’ like it’s going to happen, the way people talk when they’re high. When you are high you are
hopeful
. Take away the high and you take away
hope
. And that night…Jesus!” Jacky paused, wiping at her mascara-smeared eyes with a paper napkin. On her cheeks were streaks of something ashy-dark like muddy tears. “I don’t know what is worse—to think that, if I’d been here, and I wasn’t, Zoe would not have been killed; or, if I’d been here, and this guy came for Zoe, he’d have killed me, too. I tried to tell the police this, but they just kept asking me the same questions. Like I did not know the man from Vegas’s name, or if I did, it didn’t sink in. And this guy I was with that night, we drove over to the Oneida casino where he got drunk and lost big at blackjack—staked me to five hundred dollars which I wish to hell I’d saved some out of instead of losing it all—like I said when you get high you get hopeful and that fucks you up. The thing was, the name he gave me was a fake name it turned out, ‘Cornell George Hardy’ he called himself like he was from a classy family but the police found out that wasn’t his name, naturally they act like I was the one who made it up—‘Cornell George Hardy.’ Says he was some kind of ‘investment banker’ in Syracuse—he’d turn up sometimes, weekends—stayed at a big suite at the Marriott, he’d have parties—lots of coke, he was generous with—how’d I know that ‘Cornell George Hardy’ wasn’t his name? First thing, I’d thought he was saying ‘Colonel’—like in the army. Or is it navy? But it wasn’t ‘Colonel’ it was ‘Cornel.’ Anyway it was a fake. But we had good times together. He treated me O.K. He wasn’t a mean drunk but got funny-sad and sleepy. Police checked with the desk clerk at the motel we stayed in to see if I was telling them the truth and it turns out I am, so why’d they need to even know the name of the guy I was with, if ‘Cornell George Hardy’ was with
me all night and I was with him? No matter his name he couldn’t be the one who’d hurt Zoe—could he? No more than I could be! So, finally they let me go. ‘We ain’t gonna bust you, Jacky. We’re homicide not vice.’ Ha-ha. How’d I get back here that day?—had to call some guy I knew, woke him in the middle of the day and asked him to get me. Bastards wouldn’t even drive me. Because I didn’t know where else to go. Because if I went home, my mother would say, ‘Jacqueline, Jesus can help you if you give Him room in your heart.’ This is scary to me, I believe that my mother is probably right but it isn’t the time for Jesus in my heart right now—there is too much else there. I am not worthy. Most days I feel just so sick about Zoe. Oh God, I mean losing Zoe. My closest friend and my sister Zoe. And there was poor Zoe’s blood smeared on the wall. Soaked into the bed. All the bedclothes, she’d borrowed from me. There was a nice pink comforter. And he’ d strangled her, too—with a towel, they said. Some people would say with his hands but that was not correct, it was with a towel. And he’d hit her head so bad, he cracked the skull. That caused all the blood. A head wound bleeds like hell, the detective said. He said whoever did it used the towel like a ‘garrote’—you can tighten, and loosen, and tighten again. He’d hit her with something like a claw hammer, they said. They did not find this hammer on the premises. The killer took it with him, threw it into the river probably and it will never be found. Who’d ever find it? They were asking did I keep a hammer in the house and I told them no, I didn’t think so, but the house is rented, it might’ve been in the cellar or some closet somewhere. But if he’d brought it with him into the house it would mean that he’d meant to kill her ahead of time and this really scared me—maybe he’d come back, and kill
me?
This guy opened a window, they said, so snow was blown into the bedroom so the air was real cold and Zoe’s body got to be part-frozen they said, and he’d pulled some covers up over her, and some of her clothes he covered her with, and—this makes me shiver—he took talcum powder of mine, white talcum powder—‘White Shoulders’—he sprinkled on Zoe, and on the bed—all over. On the walls where the blood was wet and sticky, and it froze there. And all over the floor. He’d tracked his footprints in it on the
floor. So it looked like a ‘frost’ the cops said. First thing they thought it had to be coke, cocaine—but no, ‘White Shoulders’—that smells like lily of the valley—talcum powder Zoe shared with me. And this powder everywhere mixed in with blood, I had to clean up, too. I was sobbing, and trembling, this was so awful! I couldn’t just vacuum up the powder—the blood would’ve gotten inside the vacuum and ruined it. Had to use paper towels, a sponge mop, till I got sick, and now I am not going upstairs anymore…not anywhere near that room, not ever. ‘Why’d he do that, with the talcum powder,’ I asked the detective, the one who’s always looking at me like there’s a bad smell on me, but he’s kind of teasing and smirking, too, and calls me ‘Jacky’ like we are old friends—his name is Egloff—I never heard of any ‘Egloff ’ and wonder what nationality it is—I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him—and he says, ‘Why’d any of them do anything, there’s no logic to what an animal will do.’ A sneer in his face like he’s thinking
Friends of yours, aren’t they?

Or,
Hell Jacky, you’re an animal too, right?
Once he laid his big meat-hand on my arm like it was an accident but I pretended not to notice. The worst thing, Krista, I try not to think about—Zoe’s son Aaron was the one who found her. He’s a sad kid anyway, takes after his father with that look of Indian melancholy—‘heavy-heartedness’—a kind of blunt hatchet-face like mixed-blood guys have—first look you have of them they’re ugly and hurtful just to see, next look you have they are kind of—well, good-looking, sexy. I mean even this kid, who’s just a kid. ‘Cause he’s tall already, like a man. Or almost. They said Aaron came over here around nine that morning—it’s a Sunday—kids get up early, I guess—he hadn’t seen his mother in a while he said so he came over here, he’s not old enough to drive so he walked, two-three miles it must be, the front door is unlocked so he pushes it open, walks inside and—he says—right away he ‘knew something was wrong’—‘could smell something bad’—he stood downstairs and called for Zoe and there was no answer—he thought she might be asleep, if she was there at all, so he went upstairs…Dear God, imagine finding her! Imagine, if you were Zoe’s son! A few hours later it would’ve been me, walking into Zoe’s room…She used to say how
guilty she felt about Aaron, it wasn’t really meant for her to be a mother so young, she’d dropped out of high school and married Delray who was older than her by six or seven years but still a hotheaded kid himself. Not that Zoe didn’t love her baby but she never felt she’d been meant to be a mother just then. Like Delray wasn’t meant to be a father. Del had these two Seneca Indian cousins he got in tight with and spent time in the juvie facility up at Black River, that Zoe said she didn’t know anything about except what he told her, that wasn’t the entire truth, see—one of Del’s cousins was in for
manslaughter second degree
which off the rez might’ve been
murder second degree
but they don’t give much of a shit for what a drunk Indian will do to another drunk Indian, it would be a different story if one of them stomped a white man to death, right?—so Zoe was always kind of wondering about that, to what degree Del was involved in that
manslaughter
and it scared her, for sure—when a guy drinks and has that background, you don’t know what direction it will take him in. ‘If I’d had a singing career first, then I could have a baby, right about now when I’m in my thirties I’d be fine with that,’ Zoe used to say, ‘but being a mother when you’re just a kid yourself gets in the way of your life, you know?’ and I said, ‘Well, Zoe—I wouldn’t know.’ I laughed to show that I wasn’t hurt, hell I wasn’t hurt, I said, ‘Maybe if my baby had lived, my life would’ve turned out better,’ and Zoe grabbed me and kissed me saying, ‘Oh Jacky, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to say such a thing. But Jacky, who knows?—maybe your life would’ve suffocated you. No baby ever saved anybody’s life that I ever heard of.’ I’d known Aaron when he was just a baby—dark-skinned and kind of fierce-looking with this coarse dark hair like some little rat—he’d cry so hard and get purple-faced but without actual tears just bellowing like a baby calf and kicking and you’d think
If that baby had teeth, he’d bite.
And Zoe laughed saying Aaron sucked so hard when he was nursing, he’d near-about knock her over, and it
hurt.
Almost any baby you see it’s a beautiful baby in some way but not Aaron until he was older—four or five—his face wasn’t so squished-together as he got older and his eyes not so crossed-looking. I didn’t know Zoe too well then but I think there was some trouble about Aaron starting school—he had some
‘reading disability’—
dixlia?
Took after his father with that short temper and thin skin like
he’s
the one insulted or hurt, not you. ‘It’s the Krullers,’ Zoe said. ‘Not just Del’s mixed-blood relatives but all of them. Like a clan. Don’t give a damn for how they trod over your feelings but the least thing you say to them, like
Excuse me! I hope I am not bleeding on your new clothes!
they take offense and flare up. Or they are hurt, their damn heart is broken and they need to break your heart, to even the score. They need to punish you.’ It was a surprise to me to see Aaron Kruller in February, when he was at the police station same time I was, Jesus!—he’d grown so tall, and looked a lot older than his age. That’s like the Senecas—you see a girl who could be eighteen, turns out she’s ten or eleven. It isn’t breasts they grow but muscles, and they’re built like fire hydrants. Aaron isn’t an easy boy to like, I have to say. I feel damn sorry for him and offered to make him some supper but he said no thanks not even looking at me. I’m kind of scared, this big kid hating me. Like all the Krullers hate me, like I am to blame for Zoe leaving home. Because Zoe and me, we’d go places together, in my car. When Zoe was desperate about Del, and this married man she’d been seeing kind of shook her off, or she shook him off, that was a bad time for Zoe and she came to me and what would I do, turn Zoe away? Zoe was my heart, I would
never.”