McCoo said, "So now tell me about what you did next."
Jeremy picked up the cat and held it in his lap. Surprisingly, it didn't struggle or claw, but just settled down and closed its eyes. "Well, Aunt Cat said run. I didn't know why, but I figured it had to be important, so we ran. And she saw something bad, I guess, because there were all these
gunshots
!"
"That's very scary."
"So she said, Let's go down this thing like a slide, but made of cement, see, and we did, into the ground. And we thought we were safe, but then—"
Jeremy went on at some length, explaining everything we had done. He indulged in a bit of dramatization, but not much. He dwelled a long time on how bad the tunnels smelled, and he had been quite impressed by, as he put it, "coming right up out of the street."
McCoo said, "I'll bet you're not allowed to go out in the street by yourself."
He was right, of course. I hadn't thought about it at the time, but that was one reason why Jeremy had been so thrilled about climbing up out of the manhole.
"So, Jeremy, tell me about this guy who was chasing you."
He stroked the cat. "Well, he was 'normously
huge.
"
"How huge?"
"Very, very, very, very, very."
"Did you see him up close? Or from the front?"
"Not up close. He was in the— where the tunnel opened. I saw him when he came to the entrance."
"The entrance to the tunnel? Did you recognize him?"
This was the big question, of course. Jeremy drew in a deep breath. "He was like a shadow. Because— because— we were where it was dark."
"The light was behind him? So you couldn't see him well?"
"Yes. Only I saw he was
huge
."
"You saw a silhouette?"
"That's like an outline?"
"Pretty much. More like you cut the person out of a piece of paper. So, maybe you could see whether he was fat or skinny?"
"Sort of medium."
"Mmm. Anything in his hands? No? Didn't see? Any hat on his head?"
But Jeremy just didn't know. And I was glad at least that he didn't make anything up. A lot of adults couldn't have resisted adding details. Finally he said, "All I know is he was
huge
."
* * *
The door crashed open and Barry came rushing in, trailed by a short Asian police officer, who said, "I couldn't stop him, Chief."
"It's okay," McCoo said, no doubt greatly relieving the mind of the worried cop, who had begun to sweat at the idea of screwing up in front of the chief of detectives.
Barry paid no attention to either of them, running to Jeremy and sweeping him up into his arms. "Are you okay?"
Jeremy squirmed. "Yeah, Dad."
"They said somebody shot at you!"
"Well, yeah. But Aunt Cat escaped us."
Barry set Jeremy back down in a chair and felt his arms and legs as if he were looking for broken bones. "I thought you were home. I thought you were safe."
"He is safe, Mr. Marsala," McCoo said.
Barry looked around, apparently realizing for the first time that McCoo was there. "Harold McCoo," McCoo said, holding out his hand.
"Chief of detectives," I added.
"Why wasn't I told right away?" Barry demanded. "Instead of holding me there, asking me all kinds of questions. Spending two hours!"
"Well, Mr. Marsala, we didn't know—"
"You kept me there. I should have been here to take care of my child."
"Actually," McCoo said, "Jeremy and Cat have only been here about half an hour and we sent for you as soon as they arrived."
"I don't understand."
"Maybe Jeremy would like to tell you what happened."
Jeremy did. He was quite proud of his escape by now and told it with even more gusto than before. I'm pleased to say, though, that once again, despite dramatization, his facts were accurate.
"Oh, lord!" Barry said. "You're really not hurt? They shot at you? Are you hurt?"
He pulled Jeremy to him, but by this time Jeremy was embarrassed. "No, Dad. Come on. They didn't even come close."
* * *
A female police officer was called in to stay with Jeremy and the cat. She brought along a box of checkers and a foldable board. McCoo beckoned me and Barry and another cop into an interview room. These rooms have heavy metal staples set into the cement block walls for attaching prisoners' handcuffs. It's a very unpleasant kind of place, despite the fresh, light blue paint.
"I'm sorry about the room," McCoo said. "But I think it's less disruptive to Jeremy for him to stay there and for us to come here."
"All right, all right," Barry said. "What's the problem?"
"Sit down, Mr. Marsala," McCoo said. "This will take a few minutes."
"Get going then. I have Jeremy to think about."
"Let me tell you what Cat and Jennifer saw."
And he did.
Barry had heard that Jennifer had been shot and killed. Apparently, unless he was lying and had shot her himself, he had assumed that her death had been unrelated to Plumly's. Then, after hearing that Jeremy and I had been shot at, he thought Jennifer's death had been a mistake; they had been shooting at us. But he couldn't imagine why. Finally, after McCoo told him what Jennifer and I had seen, and that he was a suspect, he sat there, apparently stunned.
After maybe a minute, which is a long time if you're waiting for somebody to speak, he asked, "Cat, you really saw the same thing Jennifer saw?"
"I saw no blood on Plumly when he ran past us. The first time I saw blood on him was when we got to you, after he grabbed you."
He shook his head. "Not possible. I didn't notice any blood when he ran up to me, but he grabbed me before I really got a look at him." There was blood on Barry's sleeve. The tech had taken a sample of it, but we all knew it was Plumly's.
"Barry, if it had been just me, just my impression, I'd think I'd been hallucinating or something. But Jennifer saw exactly the same thing."
"But, Cat, you
know
me," he said. "I wouldn't kill anybody."
He turned to McCoo. "And the shooting," he said. "I don't get it. Why would I carry a gun on me?"
"Well," said McCoo, "why would anybody?"
"If I shot anybody, where's the gun? I don't even own one. This is nuts!"
"Mr. Marsala, we don't know where the gun is. We've got people out searching for it. By tomorrow morning, we may have found and identified the gun. The park is a difficult area to search in the dark. If we don't find it tonight, we'll have more people out looking first thing tomorrow."
"Yes, Barry," I said. "They'll find it's registered to somebody else, and they'll find that person, and discover why this all happened."
"And what if they don't?"
I couldn't answer. In fact, it seemed very doubtful that whoever had fired those shots at Jennifer and Jeremy and me would leave the gun where it could be discovered by the police.
Barry thought for another long while. Finally, he said to me, "If you thought I killed Plumly, Cat, then you must have thought I shot at you."
"Barry, I saw what I saw. But I don't believe you killed Plumly. And I know you wouldn't have shot at Jeremy and me."
Riding right over my words, he said, "And if so, you must have thought I might be the person chasing you in the tunnel."
Not knowing what I could add that wouldn't make things worse, I kept quiet.
"You thought I tried to kill my own child."
Breathily, I said, "No. No. I just told you, no."
Turning away from me, he said, "So will you let me take him home, Chief McCoo?"
"Take Jeremy home? Of course. You're not under arrest. He's your son. I have no authority to stop you."
And now I knew McCoo had considered what I had been too stressed or stupid to think of. If Barry had been shooting at Jeremy, how could we turn Jeremy over to Barry? God, what a mess!
Barry suddenly looked drawn and old. "All right! If you're worried, I understand. But I don't want him to go home with you, Cat. I'm angry at you."
"I have the sofa. He could sleep there—"
"I'll call Dad and Mom. They have a guest room. They can come and get him."
"What will you tell Maud?"
"Maud! Oh, shit!"
Barry dropped his head into his hands. He said, "I'll call her. I don't want you to say one word to her about this until we get this straightened out. She's still hemorrhaging off and on."
"I'm sorry—"
"If it hasn't stopped by Monday, they want her in for cauterization."
"That sounds awful."
"They call it 'minimally invasive,' " he said, smiling without humor. "Which is like the saying about minor surgery. Minor surgery is surgery on somebody other than you."
Barry looked at me with loathing. He was exhausted. He'd had a lot to deal with even before tonight. Maud had to have help in the house after the baby was born. Her mother had come to stay for the first two weeks and had just gone back to Florida a couple of days ago because Maud's dad had a health problem, too. Maud had a day-help care-giver now.
Barry said, "If Jeremy goes to Mom and Dad's, he can't worry Maud by telling her what happened. Actually, this is a good idea. I should do a few things at the festival tonight. It's in an uproar."
Now he was rationalizing the decision to send Jeremy to our mom and dad's, but if it made him feel better, it was okay by me. I was feeling hideous enough for both of us.
Barry could only manage a short period of positive thinking, however. After a few more mumblings, he sank into a grim mood. Finally, sounding surly, he said, "I'll call Dad and Mom. But I'll call Maud first."
* * *
The phone call was painful for all of us. The phone wasn't really private, and we could hear him begging her. "Don't even think of coming into town. Jeremy is perfectly all right. He was nowhere nearby when Plumly died."
Not only was this not strictly true, but Barry had said nothing to her about Jennifer's murder, Jeremy and me being shot at, or our run through the tunnels.
"I just can't get away so soon, honey. Anyway, you know how he likes to play with Dad."
There followed quite a long period of Barry listening. Then he said, "One night without pajamas is not going to hurt him. Please, Maud, let's keep our eye on the ball here. If you get sicker, who's to take care of him? And the baby?"
Some more silence.
"Sure. I should be home by one A.M. or so. I want to find you asleep."
Pause.
"Well,
please
let her get up and feed Cynthia."
Pause.
"You know we agreed to have her take one bottle a day from the very beginning. All right. 'Night."
Then he called Mom and Dad.
* * *
Barry went someplace in the building. McCoo said he was finishing making his statement, which would then be typed up, and Barry would read it and sign it. He had left without saying another word to me.
McCoo said, "Cat, I know he's your brother, but we're going to handle this by the book."
"I never said you shouldn't. But Barry is not a killer."
"Whether he is or not, I believe Jeremy is safe with him, if he wants to take him home. You and Jeremy have told us what you saw, and he knows you have, so there's no reason for Barry, if he's the killer, to go after either of you."
"Barry would never hurt Jeremy."
"Not even to cover up two murders?"
Oh, lord. I didn't think so, but how could anybody claim to be a hundred percent sure of such a thing?
"Look, McCoo, he didn't have time. After Plumly was stabbed, Barry went to talk with security and then the cops."
"I know that."
"Then Jennifer came back to talk with me. She said the cops had temporarily finished with Barry, I admit that, and then she was shot. Immediately after that, Jeremy and I ran. And we were being chased almost from that minute to the time we came up out of the manhole. Lots of people must have seen Barry by then."
McCoo rubbed his face. He looked sad, but he was far too honest to fob me off with "Wait and see" or "We'll look into it."
He said, "From your description of your run through the tunnels, the person who chased you followed you until you headed out of the Grant Park Underground Garage. Maybe he followed you for another five minutes, but you have no evidence that he did, and if he did, you eluded him by taking random tunnels. You crept along for at least another thirty minutes after you left the garage, and in that time you never saw your pursuer. As far as you know, maybe he realized right away in the parking garage that he would never find you, so he simply turned back. Right?"
