Brooklyn Bones (33 page)
She slid down, turned her back to me and returned to hugging her pillow. I went back to my room and stared out the window, looking for some kind of comfort, I guess, from the moon or the streetlights. Had I handled this well? Should I have come down harder? Should I have taken the necklace from her tonight, for safekeeping?
The moon wasn’t much help. The whole street was fast asleep, and finally I was ready to be too.
Sunlight streamed in through the shutter slats and there was pounding on the front door. I woke up with a start, checked the clock and saw I had overslept by an hour or so. I tumbled out of bed, made sure I was decently covered, and stumbled into the hallway. Joe’s voice was coming up from the kitchen and there were welcome sounds of life from behind Chris’ door.
Joe and one of his men were hauling in slabs of synthetic counter tops. I had a second of regret for the granite I could not afford, and then suppressed it to admire the sleek, clean surfaces they were manhandling into the kitchen.
Joe grinned. “As promised. Bet you didn’t know how scary you can be.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He promptly replied, “Exactly what I intended.”
I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up. “Joe, this is great.”
“How are you doing? Happy to have the princess home yet? No offense but you look a little frazzled.”
“Not so much to the second question, I don’t know to the first, and not enough sleep to the last comment.”
He put a cardboard container of coffee into my hand and led me to the chairs in the living room.
“Joe!” Chris screamed as she came in, bare footed, still in her sleep shorts and t-shirt.
“Hey, baby!” He threw one arm around her shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I brought bagels—I heard there might be a growing girl on the premises. Your mom can have one too, if she behaves.”
She giggled. “The house is coming along great. When is my new bathroom going in?”
“It would be that much faster if you hadn’t bailed on me.” He saw her face and said, “Hey, I’m kidding. Kidding!”
“Could we talk?” she said more soberly. “Friend to friend, like we did when we were tearing down walls together?” He pointed toward the deck and Chris went with him, meek as could be. I saw them talking intensely. Chris looked ready to walk away at one point, but then she seemed to be nodding, and they ended with a hug.
She came back, said only, “Joe explained it all to me,” and headed toward the kitchen and muffins.
Joe said to me, “She gets it now. She already did, but there’s something about hearing it from a non-parent.”
I wanted to protest but then his kindness got through to me. I clutched his hand a little harder, and said, “Thanks, buddy. I know. Rick used to be that person for me.”
He let go and stood up, “Kid meet that preppie yet?” He added quickly, “I know, I know, he has a name. And it’s only a work relationship for you, too. So, what did she think?”
I looked away quickly, trying to hide from him that my eyes were filling with tears, but he knows me too well.
“Hey! What’s wrong?” He turned me around. “Come on. Want me to straighten him out, Brooklyn style?” He faked a tough-guy accent that almost made me smile.
“She doesn’t even know?”
Chris walked in. “What don’t I know?”
“It would fill a book.”
Joe said, “I’ve got to hit the road, now. Other clients call. I squeezed you guys in today
.”
He rumpled my unbrushed hair, a gesture he knows I hate, and left whistling.
Chris disappeared too and came down in a few minutes, fully dressed. Standing up very straight, she said, “I still had his card and I called and he’s there now. I’ll go by myself. I can walk over and back.” Her face was serious. “I’ve womaned up to it. And I am going to ask about their progress solving the whole thing too. I don’t care if you don’t want me to.” She looked both defiant and determined, and a little scared.
Now that she was taking on some responsibility, I wanted to rush in and deny it all, to say, “No, no, you’re my baby and I am coming to hold your hand,” but what I actually said was, “Call me if you need me, anything at all, if those cops scare you or…or…just anything,?”
She let out a long sigh. “I will, I promise. Actually he sounded fine, like he was glad to hear from me, so maybe it won’t be so bad.” She swallowed hard, gave me a weak smile and said, “Off to the lion’s den.”
“Call me as soon as you’re done? Got your phone? Is it charged?”
“Mom! Stop it! Don’t worry.”
Of course I would worry, every minute, until I heard from her. What would they say to her? How upset would they be? Would she be in real trouble? I would cope by chaining myself to work, up in my room, away from the construction noise. I brushed my hair, made the bed I had barely slept in, and I was ready to begin a productive working day. No calls. No net surfing, get something done while Chris was out. I plowed ahead on my work project, but when I had not heard from my daughter in an hour, my concentration trickled away.
I calculated. Fifteen minutes to walk there. Maybe some waiting time before Russo could see her. Fifteen minutes to talk? Time to get home. But she was supposed to call as soon as she was done. On the other hand, this would not be the first time she had forgotten a promise like that.
No, it was too early to be reasonably worried. Not that I wasn’t anyway. After another half hour I decided it was time. I dug out Russo’s number and braced myself for two separate conversations. First, where was Chris
?
Was she in trouble there at the station; did she need me, if so, why hadn’t she called? Or was she on the way home?
I called Chris, leaving a pointed message about people who don’t keep promises to call. Then I called Lieutenant Russo, leaving him a message asking him to call me as soon as possible, that I had important information for him. I thought that would get a faster response than leaving him an anxious mother message. What I really wanted to know was what he had done with my daughter.
And then I called my father.
I had no idea why I was calling him. Over the years, we had a contentious relationship, but it used to be that he was the
dad who would always be there for me. Then he turned around and went off on his own. Moved across the country with his new woman friend. He was the one who left, not me, and I had decided I would manage without him.
Now my own new thing in my life had blown up in a particularly ugly way. Rick, my dad
in loco parentis
, was gone forever and I still did not know what really happened to him. Maybe I never would and that felt like losing him a second time. A lost young girl had died in my house, and right now I was becoming more antsy by the minute about Chris’ whereabouts.
Oh, hell. Maybe I wanted someone else to be the grown-up for a while. I wanted a dad.
“Hey, cookie,” he said. “I knew it was you—I got caller ID on this new cell phone.”
At the sound of his voice I lost my own. “Oh, dad,” was all I could say.
“What’s wrong there? Something with Chris?”
“Not, not Chris. Well, I don’t know. Maybe…no, she’s. I…I needed…” I took a deep breath and told myself to stop dithering. “Please just tell me about some of the dumb things I did when I was Chris’ age. Remind me? So I know she’ll grow up and have some sense some day?”
As soon as I said it, I knew that’s why I had called. Even with all the other dark things swirling around in my life, that was the one thing I needed to hear most.
He chuckled, then said, “How much time do you have? I have a list right here.”
“It’s not funny.”
“I know, but I also know she hasn’t done anything really crazy. I know. And all kids do something stupid. Didn’t I ever tell you about the time when we were kids, me and Rick and some other guys hot-wired a neighbor’s Caddie—and him a cop!—and went joy riding? Never got caught neither.”
Somehow, across all those miles, he heard my need in my silence, or my breathing, and said again, “She will be fine. She is fine. You’re doing a good job. I know, because we talk, her and me.” He hesitated. “A girl needs her grandfather, even if a mother doesn’t need her own dad anymore.”
I almost took him up on that then and there—what nerve, when he was the one who deserted me—but I didn’t have the heart for it at that moment.
“Oh, and speaking of dumb things,
how the hell come you didn’t tell me about the crime scene in your life? I had to hear all about it from talking to Chris?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The body Chris found in the wall. That’s what.”
“Well, you could have asked me if you were so anxious to know.”
He sighed. “So I’m asking now. Why not talk to me about it?”
“Oh, dad. If I told you the whole story, it would take all afternoon. Between that and Rick…and that isn’t even all…”
“So? I have nothing to do except physical therapy. You want to start with Rick?”
I told him all about my futile detective work, step by step; how I had tried to find out what really happened, had been blocked everywhere, had to plan a service for him and it probably should not wait any more.
He said, “I’m coming home to help with that as soon as the docs clear me to fly. No arguments, got it?”
I got it. I didn’t even feel the slightest impulse to argue.
“Chris told me. I’ll be glad to see you.” I could hardly get the words out, and yet, once again, as soon as I said them I knew they were the truth.
“Now, tell me all about Chris. And about the body. Seems like it’s on her mind.”
I gulped. I didn’t want to hear what he might say and then I didn’t have to. Saved by the bell. Alexander Graham’s bell. And call waiting.
“Dad? Chris is calling so I’ve got to go, I’ll call tonight?”
“Be sure you do. I’ll be right here.”
It wasn’t Chris. A hard man’s voice said, “Mrs. Donato? You have something we want and we have something you want. It’s about five-foot four and maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.”
My house seemed to disappear around me and I stopped breathing.
“Good,” he said. “I have your attention. I do, don’t I?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“We want that file you are compiling, every word in it, every photo, every piece of paper.”
“I don’t…how do you…”
“We know, and it doesn’t matter how, though I’m sure you will figure it out eventually. Here’s what you do. There’s an empty little store at 27 Gerry Place, a nice, quiet, out of the way block. You know it? Not much foot traffic. Brown paper on the windows, hiding the renovation work.”
Through lips that barely moved, I said, “Used to be a cigarette store?”
“That’s it. Bring the package we want, and if you do it right—all the material is in it, you come alone, no cops, no friends—maybe we’ll give you the package you want. Clear?”
I jerked out of my fugue state, and said in a rising voice, “Is she there with you now? Is she all right? Let me talk to her right now!’
“Why, of course.” He sounded almost genial. “Here, honey,’ he said, away from the phone, “tell your mom to be good if she wants to have you come home.”
“Mommy?” Her voice shook. “I’m so sorry, I’m so….”
The connection was broken before she could respond to my shouted, “Are you all right?”
“Of course she is,” the voice said. “We don’t trade in damaged goods. We just want to get your attention about the price you’ll pay, if you don’t follow instructions. Let’s set up a time. Let’s say thirty minutes? Long enough to for you to get everything together and get you over here, not long enough for any side trips. You understand that?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Could you make that a little more emphatic so we don’t have to worry about any misunderstandings?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Of course I’ll come alone! And with everything! You hold all the aces.”
“Yes, we do, don’t we? Looking forward to seeing you. There’s a little alley alongside the building with a side door. Just give it a tap—we’ll be expecting you.”
The phone went dead.
My heart was pounding so hard, for a moment it was all I could feel or hear. Nothing around me seemed real. I felt like I was sleepwalking. If I woke up, and really thought about it, this would be worse than any nightmare. The only thing that was clear to me was that they wanted my papers. Well, they could have them if they would give me Chris unharmed.
I put the folder into a shopping bag and, almost without seeing, I tipped in the entire untidy stack on my desk. Clippings, Leary’s old notes, the Pastores’ photos, warehouse papers. Everything I could find.
They had Chris. They could have the deed to my house, the key to my car, my ATM card. My right arm.
I saw Mr. Pastore in the garden and didn’t say hello. I saw Mary running up the street, and ignored her wave. Later, other people told me they had seen me that day and worried when I walked by like a blind woman.
I was going out of the neighborhood, to the raw no man’s land almost under the expressway entrance, and it took a few minutes to get there. I could not move my legs fast enough; I felt as if I was walking against a strong tide.
