Shot Girl (27 page)

I buzzed them in, unlocked the chain, and opened the door.

"She says she’s your friend," Riley said.

I nodded. "That’s right."

He flashed a smile at her, tipped his hat at me, and went back down the stairs. I closed the door as Priscilla flopped down on the couch. An odor had come in behind her.

"Who’s the bodyguard?" she asked.

"Where’s Ned?" I asked.

She tossed her head and flung her shoes on the floor. "He got some urgent phone call and had to leave. He put me in a fucking cab.
A fucking cab
."

"You’re the one who wanted to be friends with him," I said grimly. "Did he at least pay for it?"

She snorted. "No fucking way."

"But he paid for lunch?"

"And the drinks at the Playwright after."

That’s what I smelled. The booze. She was drunk.

"Where did Ned have to go that was so important?" I asked.

Priscilla shook her head, but it was too much for her. She jumped up and ran down toward my bedroom. I heard the bathroom door slam shut. From the recesses of my apartment, I could hear Priscilla getting sick. Damn. She wasn’t going home tonight. I couldn’t send her home.

I finished my beer and sat on the couch, my head back, my thoughts spinning out of control. If Tom didn’t show up soon, I’d go crazy just sitting here. I tried Vinny’s cell, but didn’t get an answer. I hit END without leaving a message.

Priscilla was moaning. I found her on the floor, her head hanging over the toilet. She’d flushed. Thank God.

"What the hell were you thinking, getting drunk?" I asked. I didn’t care that she was sick. She brought this on herself.

Priscilla managed to raise her head slightly and snorted.

"And what the hell is up with Ned?"

"Even though I hate him right now, I really don’t hate him. He just wants to be friends again. He misses us."

Yeah, and I missed him like the fucking prom.

"Are you finished here?" I asked, indicating the toilet.

She shook her head, and I went to the linen closet for a washcloth. I soaked it in cold water and came back into the bathroom, putting the cloth against the back of her neck. She made a soft sound, sort of like a cat purring. "Thanks."

I heard my cell phone ringing. Maybe it was Vinny. "I’ll be right back," I told Priscilla, who’d moved closer to the toilet again. I shut the door, trying to shut out her sounds.

The cell was in the bottom of my bag. I looked at the number; something about it looked vaguely familiar.

"Ms. Seymour?"

"Jamond?"

"Something bad has happened."

No shit, Sherlock.

"I don’t know who else to talk to."

"Define ’bad,’ Jamond. Growing pot plants in a community garden can be bad. Your friend shooting at Ashley is bad. Is this worse?"

"Hell, yeah." But he still wasn’t forthcoming.

"Listen, you called me. Why don’t you tell me?"

"I’m in trouble, and I can’t go to the cops. But you know them. Maybe you can talk to them."

I sighed, knowing Jamond was at the bottom of the priority list when it came to society. "What are you in trouble for?" My voice was soft as I thought about this kid who had nothing going for him. Jesus, my compassion gene must really have kicked in. God knows it wasn’t any sort of biological-clock thing. That alarm had never been set.

"I know you been lookin’ for her."

"Who, Jamond?" Butterflies started crashing against my insides.

"Felicia. I found Felicia. But someone else got to her first."

How the hell was I going to get out of this apartment without Riley seeing me?

Jamond said he’d found Felicia’s body up at Judges Cave at the top of West Rock. He said she’d been shot; the gun was next to the body. Problem was, he’d touched it before taking off, and now he was too scared to go back or call the cops.

Okay, so maybe he did shoot her. The thought did cross my mind. But why call
me
?

I told him he had to talk to the police. However, I didn’t want to turn him over to Riley downstairs. I had to take him to Tom myself. He agreed that if I went with him, he’d tell the cops everything he saw, take them to the body. I couldn’t have him come to the apartment; I’d have to meet him somewhere.

So I told him to meet me somewhere familiar to both of us. At the old student center on the Southern campus. It was a decrepit building now, but I remembered it in its heyday, when we’d all gather around and watch that new music phenomenon, MTV. Who knew that music could be
seen
?

We could never have imagined YouTube.

I tried Tom’s cell, but I got his voice mail. He was probably still working the scene at West Rock School. As I thought about it, it couldn’t be a coincidence that Felicia’s ID was found with that body, especially if her body was just up the ridge.

I left a message telling Tom he might want to check out the Judges Cave, there might be another body there, and he could reach me on my cell about it.

As much as I wanted to protect Jamond, it was my civic duty to at least tell Tom what he’d told me. It was the least I could do after not coming clean with him about the condo last night. I would do damage control later.

Priscilla was on my bed, the cold, wet cloth covering her eyes. I sat down next to her, accidentally bouncing the bed in a way that was not soothing for a person who’d just tossed her cookies.

"Mmmmm" came out of her throat as her stomach rumbled ominously.

"I have to leave," I said.

She was still as a statue, her arms at her sides, her bare feet pointed toward the ceiling. "Where?" she managed to croak.

"I have to meet this kid, Jamond. He says he found Felicia. She’s dead."

Her fingers twitched. She loved a good story, too, and this one was a doozy. "You’ve got that cop watching you."

I was eyeing the window that I’d locked so carefully before, the one from which I could step right out onto a fire escape and climb down into the alley between my brownstone and the buildings that lined Wooster Street. "I’ve got a plan."

Priscilla raised her arm and carefully lifted the cloth off one eye. It did not look happy with me. "Do I want to hear this?"

"Yeah, in case I don’t come back," I quipped, but only halfheartedly. I told her about going to Southern. She was dubious.

"Why don’t we call Vinny? He can go meet that kid for you. You really should stay here until Tom gets here."

I’d thought about that, but he still wasn’t picking up his phone. I’d left a message this time. "He knows where I’m headed," I said as I laced on a pair of sneakers.

I went into the living room and grabbed my bag before going back to the bedroom. I went over to the window, unlocked it, and lifted the glass. It was one of those old-fashioned storm windows with a screen in it, drafty as all hell during the winter. I slid the two buttons on the bottom at the same time and pulled up the screen.

Peering out at the fire escape and the ladder that descended from it, I felt a little dizzy. I’m not much for heights. But it wasn’t one of those fire escapes you see in the movies, where the ladder slides down and you have to drop about six feet to the ground. No, my landlord had actual stairs built up to my apartment and Walter’s upstairs.

Looking at it from this angle, I was surprised I’d never been burgled. It would be so easy.

"You’re not really doing that, are you?" Priscilla had taken the cloth off her eyes completely and was propped up on her elbows, the butterfly tattoo stretched wide on her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure," I said, but I wasn’t convincing even myself.

"Stay and wait for Tom," she said again.

"I promised Jamond," I said. "He’s scared."

"Doesn’t he have anyone else to call?"

I thought about that. What about Shaw? Why hadn’t Jamond called
him
? But then again, maybe he knew something about Shaw. Shaw was mixed up with Ralph in some way, and maybe Jamond knew how. Jamond knew about the guns, knew about Ashley and Felicia.

"Everyone knows where I’m going." I justified it to myself as well as to Priscilla. "I’m just going out the back way."

I swung my leg over the windowsill and stepped out onto the landing. My bag was slung over my shoulder, across my chest. The wall of heat slapped my skin, and I realized just how cool my apartment had gotten since Riley had fixed the air conditioner. "Close the window and keep the air inside," I instructed Priscilla as I headed down the stairs. She was back to being prone on the bed, though, the cloth covering her eyes, so it might be a while before she got to it.

The next problem was my car. So I hadn’t thought this through. The car was in front of the building, in front of Riley’s cruiser. How the hell was I going to get out to Southern?

New Haven does not have taxis trolling every block, looking for people to pick up. You have to call one to come get you. And it could take a while. New Haven also does not have a subway system or a local train system.

It does, however, have buses.

I had no clue about bus schedules.

I maneuvered through the alley and ended up on Wooster Street in front of Sally’s Apizza. A white clam pie and a beer sounded pretty good right about now, but they weren’t open yet and I had other plans. I’d seen buses go down Chapel Street, and maybe, just maybe, I could walk up Olive and over to Chapel without Riley seeing me. His cruiser was on Chapel, in front of my building, pointing in exactly my direction. He wasn’t expecting to see me a block away, so perhaps I could get away with it.

I jogged over to Chapel, glanced up the street, saw the cruiser, but couldn’t see Riley inside. I started down the sidewalk and jaywalked. I’d have to catch the bus on this side of the street.

I spotted a bus-stop sign and hovered beneath it, my back to the direction the bus would come from because I couldn’t risk Riley spotting me. I glanced at my watch, wishing a schedule were posted on the sign—I had seen that on bus-stop signs around the Green. Wouldn’t you know they’d make it tough if you were out of the loop, so to speak?

I shimmied around a tree with a trunk so thin it wasn’t a satisfactory shield, but it would have to do. I didn’t want to walk farther; it was too damn hot.

I thought about whoever had been watching me, taking those pictures. If it wasn’t Ralph, was I being watched right now? I reached inside my bag and curled my fingers around my keys. They were the closest to a weapon I had. I should’ve put a kitchen knife in my purse, but with my luck it would’ve stuck out the side and stabbed me or some other unsuspecting person on the bus.

Speaking of which, I finally heard a rumbling behind me. The hulking blue monster stopped, the doors opening for me. Go figure. Public transportation.

I’d slung my bag over my shoulder and pulled out my wallet as I stepped up into the bus. My nose caught the scent of body odor and diesel fuel. I had a dollar bill in my hand, uncertain what to do with it.

The bus driver frowned, pointed at a silver box. "It’s a dollar twenty-five," he said. "Exact."

I slid the bill into the machine and found a quarter and dropped it into a slot.

"What bus do I take to Southern?" I asked.

The bus driver looked at me with that look you give people you think are total losers. "The B1. You’ll need a transfer." A ticket popped up out of the silver box and he indicated I should take it, so I did. "You get off at the Green and then pick up the B1 there."

He pulled away from the curb, causing me to lose my balance a little, but I grabbed on to the railing next to him and surveyed the bus for a seat.

I was the only white person. Not that anyone was really paying attention except me.

I slid onto the first seat I saw and glanced around me, careful not to look at anyone too long, but long enough to notice the three kids in the back of the bus whose excessive use of the word "fuck" might have been a little too much even for me; a gray-haired, stout woman with a faux-leather bag who was trying to ignore the kids in the back; and a scruffy guy with googly eyes and dread-locks who creeped me out for no reason except I was pretty sure he was crazy.

We were at the Green in no time. I clutched my transfer ticket and got off, wondering how long I’d have to wait for that B1 bus. A B2 came by, but I didn’t think that would be right. The driver had been careful to say B1.

I had to wait but a few minutes, however. The B1 slid to a stop, its sign announcing that it was, indeed, heading to Southern. I stepped up through the door, put my transfer ticket into the little slot, and found a seat, feeling quite proud of myself.

Not that I was going to be taking the bus ever again, but at least I knew how it worked now.

I barely had time to sit down when I heard my cell phone ringing in the bottom of my bag. I dug it out and glanced at the number before flipping it up.

"Hey there," I said.

"Where the hell are you?" Vinny was pissed.

"I’m on the bus." I had to talk loud because I could barely hear myself over the engine. A few heads turned and looked at me. I pretended not to notice.

"The bus?"

"You have to speak up. I can’t hear shit." The last word got me a dirty look from the elderly woman who’d followed me off the Chapel Street bus and onto this one. I looked at the floor. "I’m headed to Southern."

"Why are you on the bus?" Vinny shouted.

I held the phone away from my ear a little and figured everyone would be privy to my conversation, so I should be somewhat discreet. "I couldn’t take my car because of the cop in front of my building."

He was quiet a second, then, "I’m not even going to ask. So how did you get to the bus?"

"Snuck down the fire escape."

Silence again. I thought I lost him. "Hello?"

"Yeah, I’m here. You’re fucking crazy, you know."