Read The Corporal Works of Murder Online
Authors: Carol Anne O'Marie
The Corporal Works of Murder (11 page)
Olivia! That was what was bothering him. She had said that she hadn't seen Junior Johnson around, that he must be busy with something. They hadn't spotted him all night either, which was unusual. Junior was “the man” around the neighborhood. He had a finger in almost everything illegal that was going on.
On any given night, Dineen and he would usually run into Junior more than once. Not that he'd give them cause to arrest him. Junior was too slick for that. But he was around, strutting like a rooster among his hensâbold as a cock with the lowlifes
in the neighborhood. If Junior was missing, he was up to something.
in the neighborhood. If Junior was missing, he was up to something.
Had he been the one who had killed Sarah Spencer? Now that the Department was putting on the heat, had he been forced to skip town? Maybe. Or had some beat cop picked him up? Dineen and he weren't the only ones aware of Junior's activities. Could Junior be missing because he had been collared and was in jail? That would be easy enough to find out.
Wong checked the clock over the stove. It was almost noon. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he'd be good for nothing tonight. Picking up the telephone, he dialed the jail and identified himself. Within minutes he had his answer. Junior Johnson had not been booked. He was not a guest of the City and County.
Well, where the hell is he
? Wong wondered, replacing the receiver. Running his fingers through his short, dark hair, he made his way back to his bedroom. First thing tonight, Dineen and he would have to figure that out, but for now he had to get some sleep.
? Wong wondered, replacing the receiver. Running his fingers through his short, dark hair, he made his way back to his bedroom. First thing tonight, Dineen and he would have to figure that out, but for now he had to get some sleep.
After lunch women slowly began to trickle back into the Refuge. Sister Mary Helen made several pots of coffee to keep up with the swell while Sister Anne and Judy, the volunteer, replenished the supply of sweets. Fortunately, that very morning Kevin, a Nabisco driver, had donated a dozen cartons of Fig Newtons. The cookies were disappearing almost as quickly as they appeared on the snack table.
“You be fattening us up, girlfriend,” Miss Bobbie said. Smiling at Mary Helen, she popped a fourth cookie into her mouth and chewed it slowly, savoring the taste.
She made it seem so delicious that Mary Helen was tempted to have one, too. Fortunately the snug feeling in the waistband of her skirt brought her to her senses.
“Anybody sitting here?” Peanuts asked, pointing to a vacant chair at Miss Bobbie's table.
Still chewing, Miss Bobbie shook her head.
The tiny woman, her short hair slicked back, revealing a few strands of gray, sat down. Methodically she stacked her cookies on the table in front of her, much as a miser might stack his gold. The two women munched in contented silence.
“We needs more sugar,” someone called from the snack table. Mary Helen picked up the empty container and hurried to the kitchen to refill it. Watching the white stream flow into the large bowl, she wondered how best to approach the subject of the whereabouts of Junior Johnson without her questions sounding like she was conducting an interrogation. Although his aunt Geraldine was her best bet, Mary Helen was positive that someone else in the room knewâsomeone she could ask in case Geraldine did not show up.
Still puzzling over the best approach, Mary Helen walked back into the gathering room and started toward the table.
“You hear about Junior Johnson?” Venus's voice greeted her. It was as if the woman were reading her mind.
Looking up, all ready to jump in, Mary Helen realized that Venus wasn't talking to her at all. Settled at Miss Bobbie's table, Venus was, in fact, talking to anyone who would listen.
Miss Bobbie nodded, ever so slightly, and tucked a stray piece of hair into one of her braids. “If I was you, girl, I'd watch my mouth,” she said.
“What I say wrong?” Venus's dark eyes narrowed into surly slits. “Ain't nothing wrong with asking a question.”
Peanuts leaned forward. “What you hear about Junior Johnson, makes you ask that question?” Her words dripped with menace.
Venus pretended not to notice. “I hear something,” she said coyly.
Sonia, sitting several tables away, perked up. “Tell us, girl,”
she said, taking a small dented compact from her shoulder bag. Carefully she examined her lipstick, then added more to her already very red bottom lip.
she said, taking a small dented compact from her shoulder bag. Carefully she examined her lipstick, then added more to her already very red bottom lip.
Venus smiled, showing her missing front tooth. “What you getting all fixed up for, Sonia, girl, if Junior not around?”
Sonia snapped the compact shut and glared at Venus. “Who say Junior not around?” she asked.
Mary Helen couldn't tell from her tone whether she was pleased or displeased at the prospect.
“I just hears it,” Venus said, then took a sip of her coffee. “I hear that Junior Johnson not such a big man no more. It got hot and he gone missing.”
“What you saying, Ho, about my nephew Junior Johnson?” Geraldine's angry voice shot through the room.
Mary Helen hadn't noticed the older woman come in. Neither, apparently, had Venus. Her face paled. The room took on an unnatural silence. The only sound was water filtering into the coffee pot.
“You, Venus,” Geraldine's eyes blazed and her body seemed to fill the doorway. She pointed toward Venus. “I be asking you a question, girl,” she said, the veins in her neck protruding.
Mary Helen held her breath and watched Venus.
Uh-oh,
she thought. From the way the young woman hesitated, it was apparent that she was struggling with how to react. Should she save face and strike out or should she play it safe and fold?
Uh-oh,
she thought. From the way the young woman hesitated, it was apparent that she was struggling with how to react. Should she save face and strike out or should she play it safe and fold?
With a belligerent stare, she slowly hauled herself up from the table. Mary Helen feared that saving face had won. Still holding the sugar bowl, like a frozen photograph, she wondered how best to defuse this situation. They had enough trouble already. They didn't need any more violence.
“You hear me, girl?” Geraldine's words sounded as if they had slipped off the end of a knife. “I be talking to you!”
Sneering, Venus squared her shoulders, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. She glowered at Geraldine.
Geraldine's mouth twisted. Raising her chin, she slipped her hand into her jacket pocket. “You hear me?” she taunted, daring Venus not to answer.
In the flat silence Mary Helen heard her heart thudding. She sensed that Venus was about to lunge forward. Did Geraldine have a knife in that pocket? “Stop!” she tried to shout, but the word stuck in her throat.
Lord, help us
, she prayed, glancing around for Anne. Now would be the time to call Kate Murphy. She was afraid to take her eyes off the two women who had begun to move closer to one another. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to act. It was only a matter of seconds, she feared, until one of them would.
Lord, help us
, she prayed, glancing around for Anne. Now would be the time to call Kate Murphy. She was afraid to take her eyes off the two women who had begun to move closer to one another. Each seemed to be waiting for the other to act. It was only a matter of seconds, she feared, until one of them would.
With a startling strong bang, the front door flew open. Its force knocked Geraldine aside. Venus grunted in surprise.
Framed in the back glow of the doorway was Crazy Alice. Her eyes, shining manically, swept the room. Her head jerked. Carefully she folded her hands in front of her and took a breath, like a prima donna about to begin an aria. “
There was a little man, and he had a little gun
,” she chanted grimly, “
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead. He went to the brook, and saw a little duck, and shot it through the head, head
,
head.”
She ended with a radiant smile.
There was a little man, and he had a little gun
,” she chanted grimly, “
And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead. He went to the brook, and saw a little duck, and shot it through the head, head
,
head.”
She ended with a radiant smile.
Shock covered the room like frost. The other women stared in disbelief. “She ain't nothing normal,” Sonia said in a whisper.
Without warning Crazy Alice began to titter. She covered her mouth, trying to stop it. Still it grew into a giggle and grew and grew until the shrill, wildly insane sound filled the entire room like a scream.
It took several minutes for the women at the Refuge to settle down. Sister Mary Helen was continually amazed at how quickly they were able to assimilate the most bizarre events and go on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Or perhaps what, to her, seemed very unusual was to them simply ho-hum.
Glancing around, she noticed that Venus was gone. It was
just as well. That way neither she nor Geraldine felt obliged to prove anything.
just as well. That way neither she nor Geraldine felt obliged to prove anything.
“What happened?” Anne whispered. Although she had missed all but Crazy Alice's shrill laughter, she knew by the tension still hanging like cobwebs in the corners of the gathering room that something had happened.
Quickly Mary Helen filled her in. She was careful to omit her inability to get out the word, “Stop!” There was no sense upsetting Anne any more than she already was.
With the help of the volunteer, the two nuns brought out some sliced fruit that Anne had saved for an occasion such as thisâone when no more sweets were needed to add to the hyperactivity.
A sense of peace began to descend on the Refuge. Several women spoke quietly to one another. A few even nodded off. Mary Helen seized the opportunity to single out Geraldine who, luckily, was alone at a table.
“How are you doing, Geraldine?” she asked, sitting down with a mug of coffee next to the older woman.
“Fine, Sister,” Geraldine said, looking up.
Mary Helen was shocked to see how worn out the woman looked. Deep lines etched her dark face, leaving the flesh under her eyes puffy. Her hair, usually neatly done up, was uncombed. Her liquid brown eyes had the vacant stare of one whose mind is miles away. Even her voice, usually strong and clear, quavered like an old woman's.
“I be sorry about shouting in here,” she said. “I didn't mean you no disrespect.”
“I know you didn't, Geraldine,” Mary Helen patted her hand.
“I just hates it when they be mocking my Junior.” Her face tightened and Mary Helen feared that she was about to get angry all over again.
“I'm sure Venus didn't mean to mock him,” Mary Helen was about to say, but thought better of it. As a rule nobody likes to
be told that she is wrong, especially when she is still furious. Mary Helen sensed that Geraldine was no exception. With heroic control, she said nothing, simply sipped her coffee.
be told that she is wrong, especially when she is still furious. Mary Helen sensed that Geraldine was no exception. With heroic control, she said nothing, simply sipped her coffee.
“My Junior be a good boy! He be a brave boy! If he be gone, something wrong! Lordy, I know something be wrong.” Geraldine rocked back and forth in her chair as if she were in pain. “Help me, Jesus.”
“Are you sure he's gone?” Mary Helen asked. “Maybe he's just not taking his calls.”
Geraldine looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “I called. Yes, ma'am, I called every place I knows. Talked to his friends. Nobody seen him.”
“For how long?” Mary Helen asked, trying not to sound worried.
Geraldine's eyelids fluttered as she paused to think. “Today be Tuesday. YesterdayâMonday. Nobody I talked to seen him since about noon Monday. So he be missing a whole day now.” She wagged her head woefully. “I don't understand. That not like Junior. Not like him at all!”
Unless he was responsible for Sarah Spencer's death
, Mary Helen thought.
Then it would be quite understandable
. With all the heat the police department was putting on, the most understandable thing for the killer to do was to get as far away from San Francisco as possible.
, Mary Helen thought.
Then it would be quite understandable
. With all the heat the police department was putting on, the most understandable thing for the killer to do was to get as far away from San Francisco as possible.
“I'm sure he'll show up soon,” Mary Helen said, not really sure at all. In one sense, his disappearance was progress. If he had killed Sarah Spencer, then taken off because he had, the case would soon be closed.
Feeling somewhat light-hearted, Mary Helen sipped her coffee and wondered how to gracefully excuse herself. She was relieved to hear a refugee ask for a towel roll for the shower.
When she was sure that the woman had what she needed and was under the hot water, Mary Helen stood by the bathroom door thinking.
As soon as she saw Kate Murphyâand she wouldn't be surprised if the woman dropped in later todayâshe would tell her about Junior Johnson's disappearance and her suspicions that he might be the guilty one.
The other item on her agenda todayâa minor oneâwas to find out Tim the tattoo man's last name, so that when she asked Kate about him, she'd sound, at least, informed. Walking toward the front door, Sister Mary Helen took a quick look around the gathering room. A number of the women had gone. Judy was sitting at a table chatting with a new refugee. Anne was in the laundry loading towels.
“I'm going down the street for a minute,” Mary Helen shouted over the sound of running water. “I'll be right back.”
Anne looked up and smiled.
That was easy
, Sister Mary Helen thought, hurrying down the street.
Too easy
, a little voice said, which she summarily ignored.
, Sister Mary Helen thought, hurrying down the street.
Too easy
, a little voice said, which she summarily ignored.
Scarcely noticing the traffic speeding past her on Eighth Street, Sister Mary Helen mulled over her meeting that morning with Tim. What had he seen? Why would she be better off not knowing? Was he serious about her being in danger? She doubted that he would be willing to elaborate on any of her questions, save “What was his last name?” Then again, what was the harm in trying?
“How do?” Sister Mary Helen called, opening the front door of the New You Tattoo Parlor. Aside from the tinkle of a small bell over the door jamb, the place was silent. “How do?” she called again, noisily shutting the front door. Surely he'd hear that.
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