A Killer Past (2 page)

T
HE
TOWN
OF
Rivershore had been built along the banks of the Ash River back in the late 1800s, and for a time was a way-stop for travelers going from Kalamazoo to Lake Michigan. Its population decreased after a better road was developed farther south, then grew again when a national brand company built a factory to process and package the blueberries, grapes, and apples that local farmers grew. By the early 1990s, the town had attracted several small companies, along with residents who preferred living in a small town and were willing to drive to Kalamazoo or Grand Rapids for their jobs. Then came the economic downturn in 2008.

The town still hadn’t recovered, not completely, but early Friday morning, as Jack drove west along Main Street, heading for the police station, he noticed a sign in the window of what had been an empty storefront. One of those fancy coffee shops was coming soon.

Just what we need
, he thought, wondering how many restaurants and coffee shops a town of 5,000 could support.

So far, along the six blocks of Main Street that paralleled the river, there were three restaurants, two bars, and three ice cream shops. In the summer, two more huts opened up next to the city park, both selling soft drinks and snacks to the tourists who came to kayak and canoe down the river.

Of course, in addition to the eating places, Rivershore had the usual businesses that sustained a population, ranging from grocery and hardware stores to banks and credit unions. Most of the clothing stores, however, had gone bankrupt when the economy turned down, only two having managed to stay open.

There were gas stations and repair shops at both ends of town, and the town’s new fire station had been built on the west end, next to the hospital and what was, before an electrical fire, the police department. After the fire, the city council decided to hold off building a new police station until the economy improved. Jack had a feeling he’d be retired before that happened. For way too many years now a warehouse one block south of the fire station had been
Rivershore’s ‘temporary’ police station.

Jack parked in back of the warehouse but walked around to the front of the building and unlocked the door. This early, only the night shift officers were on duty, 911 calls going to county dispatch. The regular receptionist and day officers weren’t due in for another hour.

The building had an empty, cold feel, and Jack noticed a musty odor that probably meant there was mold in hidden areas. He immediately went over and turned up the heat. If the city council wanted to complain about the high gas bill, let them spend eight or more hours a day in this building.

A large window that looked out on First Street helped give the front area a light, cheery feel. Once beyond the ceiling-high dividing wall behind the receptionist’s area, only the harsh glow of halide lights illuminated the officers’ cubicles, two temporary holding cells, and a booking area. There was one enclosed office in the far back corner, probably originally built for the warehouse manager. The chief now used that room. It had the only other window in the rectangular building.

Jack, with twenty-four years’ seniority in the Rivershore Police Department, had been given the largest cubicle. His desk and file cabinets were back by the chief’s office. This was the coldest part of the building, as far as Jack was concerned. He turned on his space heater as soon as he reached his area.

From his desk, he could see the cubicles of Rivershore’s other sergeant, six full-time patrol officers, and two part-time officers. He knew the moment officers Stewart VanDerwell and Jennifer Mendoza came into the building.

‘You’re here early,’ Jennifer said as she headed for her desk.

‘I wanted to catch you two before you headed home, see what the status was with those teens from last night.’

‘You mean the ones in the shoot-out at the trailer park?’ she asked, slipping off her leather jacket.

‘No.’ That gang fight had been on the eleven o’clock news. ‘County boys got that, didn’t they?’

‘We offered our services,’ Stewart said. ‘They said they had it under control.’

‘Glad to hear that. No, I’m talking about the mugging on Archer Street.’

‘They’re not pressing charges.’ Stewart walked back to Jack’s cubicle and dropped into the chair next to Jack’s desk. ‘Neither one of them. They’re now saying they simply tripped and fell.’

‘You tell them you didn’t believe them?’

‘We told them,’ Jennifer answered, her voice easily carrying in the near-empty building. ‘I asked the one with the dislocated shoulder if he was always that accident prone. He just glared at me.’

Jack looked at Stewart. The officer was at the end of an eight-hour shift, but he looked like he’d been up for days. ‘You getting enough sleep?’

‘Not yesterday. Had to take my kid to the doctor.’

‘Anything serious?’

‘Asthma attack. Valerie thinks we should move somewhere warmer.’

Jack knew Stewart’s wife didn’t like Michigan winters and had been pushing him to apply for a job with one of the police forces on the west coast. Once the economy picked up and the job market opened, Rivershore would probably lose him.

‘Go on home,’ he urged. ‘You can write up your report tonight.’

‘I think I will.’ Stewart yawned as he pulled out a notebook. ‘Here’s what we have so far. Names of the two victims are Manny Ortega and Carlos Perez. Ortega is the one with the dislocated shoulder; Perez has the broken nose and dislocated knee. Both age nineteen; both new to the area. Ortega had a green card. Perez said he was born in LA, and he does have a California driver’s license. No warrants for either, as far as I could tell.’

‘They say why they were in that area late last night?’ Jack asked.

‘Said they were looking at a house, thinking they might buy one,’ Jennifer said, coming over to stand beside her partner.

Stewart glanced up at her, then looked back at Jack. ‘One of the neighbors we interviewed said the two had been sitting on the steps in front of the house for at least an hour, smoking weed.’

‘Maybe that’s why they tripped and fell.’ Not that Jack believed that story.

‘Yeah, right,’ Stewart scoffed. ‘By the way, they had a couple of “friends” visiting them when we arrived at the ER to interview them. Those “friends” left as soon as we stepped into the room.’

‘Fellow gang members, I’m sure,’ Jennifer added. ‘No one said as much, but both had the RB tattoos and blue scarves.’

‘Which explains why the two aren’t pressing charges,’ Jack said. ‘They’re going to take care of this situation without our help.’

Jennifer nodded in agreement. ‘Worst part is, we still have no idea who the woman was or even if it was a woman. I interviewed Mrs Black, the woman you talked to.’ She chuckled. ‘You said you smelled liquor on her breath… . Well, she was absolutely out of it by the time I got to her. Best she could give me was “It looked like an old woman, she wasn’t very tall, and she limped.”’

‘Did she say if the woman was white or black? Color of hair? Anything?’ Over the years, Jack had learned every detail could help.

‘She said with that street light out and the person walking away from her, she couldn’t really tell, but she thought the person had dark hair. That or she was wearing a dark hat. Mrs Black was sure the woman had on a dark-colored jacket, dark slacks, and shoes.’

Jack leaned back in his chair. ‘We need to find that person.’

‘Radio and TV newscasts are asking anyone with information to call.’ Jennifer rolled her eyes. ‘But you know how likely that’s gonna happen.’

‘With them not pressing charges, I don’t see what more we can do,’ Stewart said.

Jack knew Stewart was right, but he also felt, if they didn’t do something, they’d be investigating a homicide in a very short time.

‘I think a few extra passes through that neighborhood tonight might be a good idea. Any sign of gang activity, give me a call.’

‘Will do, Sarge.’ Stewart stood, gave a mock salute, then headed for his desk. Jennifer stayed where she was.

‘That gray Chevy was still there this morning,’ she said. ‘It’s not illegally parked, but I checked the plates.’ She paused and smiled. ‘The car is owned by Harry Harrington, who just happens to be in his eighties and lives on Maple Street … two blocks away.’

The telephone rang and Mary groaned as she pushed herself away from the kitchen table and the cup of tea she’d been nursing. Although she’d taken a hot bath and downed two aspirin before going to bed, she’d had a rough time getting to sleep, and so far had accomplished little since waking. She would swear every muscle in her body ached, and even though her ankle wasn’t swollen, a large black-and-blue area was forming where her shin had hit the tall one’s legs. She also had a bruise on the side of her hand, on her wrist, and partway up her right arm. The long sleeves of her bulky black turtle-neck sweater, along with her orange-colored sweatpants, covered most of the discoloration, but the areas were super-sensitive to the touch.

And here she’d thought she was staying in shape.

All those hours she’d spent at the gym working out on the weight machines and fast-walking – never running – on the treadmill certainly hadn’t prepared her for last night. Or maybe they had. She smiled and slowly limped toward the phone. She might be hurting, but she’d bet those boys hurt even more.

‘Pick on an old lady, will you,’ she muttered as she lifted the receiver.

‘What?’ a high-pitched, quavering voice asked on the other end of the line. ‘That you, Mary?’

‘It’s me, Ella,’ Mary answered and eased herself onto the stool she kept near the telephone.

Ella Williams lived two doors down and across the street from Mary, and a call from her always turned into a long ordeal, which was why Mary kept the stool by the phone. Today she was glad she did.

‘Did you hear what happened last night?’ Ella said, slightly breathless.

‘No …’ Mary’s stomach tightened. ‘What happened?’

‘A couple of kids got beat up on Archer Street. Beat up bad, they say.’

‘How bad?’ Mary asked, hoping she hadn’t delivered any fatal blows or inflicted damage the boys couldn’t recover from.

‘Bad enough to put them in the hospital.’

‘They’re in the hospital?’

‘Were,’ Ella paused and yelled. ‘Cleopatra, get off the counter.’

Mary flinched as Ella’s voice pierced her ear. Ella yelling at her cats, of which she had way too many, was a common occurrence during their telephone conversations. Best to wait, Mary had learned, until Ella took care of whatever problem the cats were causing; otherwise, she’d be talking to dead air.

‘Now, where was I?’ Ella said when she came back on the line.

‘You said the boys were in the hospital. They’re now out? They’re OK?’

‘I guess. Nancy’s the one who told me about the incident. I stopped at the hospital for my flu shot, and she asked if I’d heard what happened.’

Nancy had been one of the nurses who had helped during Harry’s last days. She was a sweet woman, very caring, and she and her husband lived in the neighborhood, on the next block over. ‘Did Nancy say who attacked the boys?’ Mary asked, afraid that was the reason Ella was calling. If Ella knew she’d been involved, the whole world would soon know.

‘She said they kept changing their stories. First they said a woman attacked them, then they said it was a ninja, a guy all dressed in black.’

‘A ninja?’ Mary laughed and glanced toward the front door, where she’d hung her black windbreaker on one of the hooks.

‘It’s not funny,’ Ella snapped. ‘This neighborhood’s not what it used to be. Nancy said these guys were gang members, that she was scared just being near them. If they’re on Archer Street, how much longer before they’re on our street? I won’t even drive through that area anymore. It’s just blacks and Mexicans.’

‘Ella, your prejudices are showing.’

‘I don’t care. Things were better when you and I first moved here. People took care of their places, kept up their yards. You could go for a walk at night and not worry about gangs. I’m afraid to even turn on my light tonight for trick-or-treat. Did you see on the television there was another gang-shooting in the trailer park across the river?’

‘I saw.’ She’d been watching television all morning, waiting to see if there was anything about the boys or if anyone had recognized
her. One reporter on the 6.30 news said there’d been a gang fight on Archer Street, and anyone with information should call the police, but that was it. From seven o’clock on it was all about the gang-shooting in the trailer park.

No mention of her, and she certainly wasn’t going to call the police and tell them anything.

‘Aren’t you afraid?’ Ella asked.

‘Afraid?’ Mary repeated and thought about the word. For years she’d been afraid someone would recognize her, but time had eased that fear. And growing up she’d lived with fear: fear that her mother would leave her, and she’d be all alone; fear that she’d end up like her mother; and then, in her twenties, fear for her life. But somehow she’d survived. Now that she was in her seventies, she didn’t even fear death. Not that she wanted to die, but with Harry gone, the idea didn’t seem as terrifying. ‘Afraid of what?’

‘Being mugged,’ Ella said. ‘I mean, if it could happen to two teenagers, it could happen to us. Who knows who’s going to be on the streets tonight? I hope mothers are wise enough to go trick-or-treating with their children.’

‘I just hope I have enough candy.’

‘Speaking of children,’ Ella went on, ‘I see your car isn’t in your driveway. So did Robby drive you home last night?’

Mary avoided a direct answer by telling the truth. ‘He’s sure his mom is getting too old to take care of herself.’

‘Well, he’s got a point,’ Ella agreed. ‘I tell you, it’s not safe for someone our age to be out after dark. Not safe at all. How was your granddaughter’s birthday party?’

‘Good.’ Mary smiled, remembering. ‘Seems like just yesterday she was a baby, now she’s all grown up. I still can’t believe she’s a high school senior. Most of the talk last night was about where she’ll go to college.’