Steeled for Murder (11 page)

I was surprised I recognized her. Mandy. I’d never have thought of them as an item. Shows how much I’ve got to learn about how people get hooked up.

We watched as she straightened her skirt, went up to the cashier to pay her bill, and left.

“Didn’t anybody see Radman last night?” I asked.

“I imagine the foreman must have.” She wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and put it on the stacked platters. A plump, inviting mouth. “John was mad. I heard him tell the day foreman Radman’d left a whole list of things they’d have to take care of. Stupid stuff like moving the empty pallets from the loading dock and making sure no one’s smoking in the bathrooms.”

“Does Radman do that a lot? Come in during the middle of the night?”

“He seems to. I think even John has finally figured out that Radman’s been spying on all of us, trying to make trouble for anyone he can.”

I leaned back in my seat. “Why would he want to do that?”

“Who knows? Radman’s only worked here for a few years. He was hired from outside. They said they wanted fresh oversight. Maybe this is his idea of ‘fresh oversight.’”

“Doesn’t his wife work at the library?”

“Yeah.” Kelly gathered up all the empty sugar packets and put them on top of the platters. “She quit for a while last year when she married Radman. Plenty of money. But after a while, she asked for her old job back. She told everybody she didn’t like being home alone all day. Maybe she really meant being home alone all night.”

“She’s pretty. You’d think any man would want to stay home at night with a wife who looks like that.”

Kelly grinned. “You’d think, wouldn’t you? And she’s nice, too. Or she was when we were in high school. A little spoiled, maybe, but shy, not stuck up. She was an only child, and her parents gave her everything. She inherited her parents’ house and money, so she’s okay financially, too. Even without Radman.”

“You don’t think Radman could have introduced her to meth, do you?” I didn’t want to think of Mandy using, but she was very thin.

“Who knows? She doesn’t seem like the type, but then, who does?” Kelly stared into her now empty mug. “One thing for sure. Mitch had something going with Radman.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Mitch was absolutely golden. He could do no wrong. I had to pick up the slack, so I bitched to John. John was already aware of what was going on. I know John’s complained about him. He even tried to get him fired or transferred to another shift where he’d get better supervision. But no go.”

“Wouldn’t the union step in and try to save his job?”

“If it got to that. But it’s hard to keep that kind of union action quiet in the shop. So don’t think it ever got that far. Somebody’s protecting him. Probably somebody in management.”

“Why would they do that?”

“How can you ever tell why management does anything? Although a few years ago, they planted someone on the packing line. Cops trying to figure out a fencing operation.”

A chill ran down my spine. Were any of the people I was working with police informants? Like Aaron? “They get anybody?” I asked.

“Got the goods on a truck driver who was transporting stolen goods, but I heard he rolled over on his sources and wasn’t charged. Turned out nobody working here was involved, although they tried hard to pin something on the packing line group leader.”

Changing to another important subject that didn’t unsettle my now-full stomach, I said, “Union protection pretty good?” I would be grateful for that when I got it.
If
I got it. I still had a ways to go.

“Yeah. As long as you’re not a total goof-up.” Kelly put her mug on the table. “I’ve even seen Radman talk to Mitch a few times. Radman pretty much thinks he’s only required to talk directly to God. Otherwise, he leaves notes for the foremen or sends one of the office girls to carry his messages.”

“Do you think Radman could have killed Mitch?” Didn’t seem likely to me, but then, I’d known a lot of unlikely seeming criminals over the years.

“Who knows?” Kelly said again. “Although, it’s not like Radman to get his hands dirty. So even if he was involved, he’d get somebody else to do it for him. And he would have made sure he was far away when it happened. He wouldn’t be roaming around the plant.”

Being far away when it happened made sense to me, but leaving someone else around who could snitch him out didn’t.

She tossed money on the table. Enough for the check and a generous tip for the hardworking waitress. “You want me to wait for you to get done with your PO so I can give you a ride home?”

I was surprised. Why would she do that? “No. You done more than enough.”

“If you have to walk, you’ll get soaked,” she said.

I shrugged. Big deal. “Got no idea how long I’ll be. Sometimes they like to keep you waiting. It’s a game, like. Could be hours.”

“I can swing by after I get my shopping done.”

“Besides, if they decide to violate me, they’ll hold me for a hearing and lock me up right from there. I’d have no way of letting you know.” I wanted to add,
If they do that, I may never see you again. And I want to see you again.
But that sounded stupid, even in my mind.

She looked uncertain.

“You got to get some sleep,” I said. “Especially if your kids are coming home after school. They don’t need a mom who’s exhausted.”

“You’re right.” Kelly stood up and grabbed her jacket from the seat beside her. “I do need to get up when they get home. I’ll just drop you off.”

“My appointment’s not until ten. Why don’t you drop me off at the library? It’s right down the block, and I can read the newspapers or something.” Newspapers were a luxury too expensive for my budget.

“Sounds like a plan to me.” Kelly led the way to the door and began to struggle into her jacket.

I had enough sense to hold it so she could slip it on. My hand tingled where it brushed her hair. When she had it on, she smiled and tilted her face up at me. I was very tempted to put my arm around her shoulders and give those lips a quick kiss, but I thought much better of it.

Walking behind her out of the diner and to her car, I felt a whole new set of feelings raging inside me. It was all I could do to keep them from surfacing, much less try to sort them out. Alone at night, lying in my bed, would be the time to deal with them. Not here. And certainly not at the parole office.

I rode silently in the passenger seat of her car. The last time I’d been in a car without being handcuffed was years ago, when my brothers had stolen one and taken me joyriding with them. They had gotten so drunk, I’d had to drive, even though I was only fifteen and had never driven before. They’d had to tell me what to do. They’d thought it was hysterically funny.

The streets were slick. Drops of frozen rain lashed the windshield and melted, only to be swept away by the wipers. Kelly concentrated on her driving.

She pulled up in front of the library. Long, wide steps reached up to the heavy double front doors set between concrete pillars. I climbed out and thanked her.

“See you at work tonight,” she said.

I watched her drive away. I hoped I would see her, too.

I bounded up the steps and pulled open the door. The welcoming scent of paper and ink greeted me. A harried woman with several children stood at the front desk. Mandy was explaining how to fill out the forms to get library cards. She wore a green vest with sequined snowmen over a turtleneck shirt. Her hair, usually done up, swirled around her trim shoulders. I smiled at her, but she was too busy to notice.

The newspapers were laid out on a table by a few worn easy chairs. Only one of the chairs was occupied, by a gaunt man who sat staring blankly across the room. I’d seen him at the library before; he must’ve hung around a lot.

The headline of the local paper blared, “Holiday Parade a Success.”

I reached for it. I wanted to see what the paper had to say about Mitch’s death. Surely they’d have something, even if it was on an inside page.

The other man’s hand darted out and snagged the paper before I could pick it up. Surprised, I looked at him. He glared back at me, clutching the paper to his chest.

Okay. No big deal. I picked up the Washington Post. Regional and national news. Probably the paper I would get if I were buying. For one thing, it had great comics. Two pages of them.

I settled into a chair against the wall and flipped to the comic pages. I kept an eye on the other man. He wasn’t looking at the paper he had so rudely snatched away from me.

One of the scariest prospects for someone who’s been locked up for years is being released with no job and nowhere to go. Public libraries were known to be usually pretty tolerant of homeless people who wanted a warm, dry place out of the elements for a few hours. This guy looked like he fit the bill.

When the clock read half past nine, I folded the paper neatly and put it back. The strange man was still sitting there, still holding the local paper. Still not reading it. I wondered whether he ever gave the staff grief. I didn’t like the thought of Mandy having to deal with him.

Mandy was alone at the desk when I went by. I paused to say hello. She stopped her filing and smiled at me.

“Is that guy over there okay?” I kept my voice low and nodded toward the man.

Mandy looked over. “Yes. That’s Gustavus. He’s a little strange, but he’s okay. Been around for years. I think he stays at the homeless shelter. He does odd chores around the neighborhood. Sometimes my husband hires him to rake leaves or something.”

I wasn’t particularly reassured, but if Mandy was comfortable with him, it really wasn’t any of my business what he was up to. I shrugged.

“Not checking out any books?” Mandy asked.

“I got an appointment. Might stop on the way home if I have time.” I didn’t want to have to worry about library books in the parole office. Not a good place to leave stuff lying around.

“Take care now,” Mandy said. She shook her hair back.

Dusky round marks on her neck, partially hidden by her hair and the turtleneck. Bruises made by fingers? I tried to see without staring.

Mandy turned away and picked up a stack of books.

“You take care, too,” I said.

She nodded.

Nothing I could do. I zipped up my jacket and headed out the door.

Chapter 7

The basement waiting room for the parole office was hot and stuffy. The radiators up against the scarred paneled walls hissed and groaned. Moisture condensed in droplets on the windows set high in the wall.

The receptionist’s frosted glass window was closed, but a clipboard lay on the ledge. I took it and printed my name and time of arrival on the otherwise empty sheet of paper. Taking off my damp jacket, I bundled it up and tried to wipe a spot dry on the seat of a worn bench. I was early. No one else was there yet. I leaned back and waited, my jacket and lunchbox next to me.

The inner door opened, releasing a blast of dry, cooler air. A shapely woman I had never seen before took the clipboard in her well-groomed hand. Her name tag read, “Miss Haverford.”

I watched her through half-closed eyes.

She studied the clipboard, reaching through the helmet of her hair to scratch her head with a long scarlet fingernail. Snapping her gum, she looked around the room. I was still the only one there. Her gaze skimmed over me. She replaced the clipboard, turned on her spiked heel, and retreated, shutting the door and with it, the relief of the cooler air.

Not much for me to do but wait. Was Mr. Ramirez, my parole officer, even now calling for a police escort to take me upstairs to the local lockup pending a violation hearing? I’d seen people hauled off when they showed up for an appointment with their PO. Much easier than having the police go out and actually look for someone.

If Mr. Ramirez decided to hold a violation hearing, I had no illusions what the outcome would be. I would be violated and sent back to prison to serve out my sentence.

I couldn’t sit still. I got to my feet and paced.

“Jesse Damon?” Miss Haverford was holding the door open.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Please come back to my desk.”

At least they hadn’t just called to have me hauled in. I grabbed my things and followed her swaying hips. Her cloying perfume wafted back to me. I hoped it was strong enough to overpower my sweaty, oily smell.

She eased her rounded derriere into her desk chair and began to sort through some of the paperwork on her desk. Nothing for me to do but stand there patiently. She snapped her gum several more times.

Finally, she pulled a file folder up from one of the piles on her desk. She opened it and studied its contents.

“You’re on home detention,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you have the weekly monitoring fee?”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet with its meager supply of cash. I extracted two twenties and handed them to her. Pretty much the end of my folding money.

“Now.” She scrutinized the papers in the file more closely. “Thirty-five dollars’ weekly fee for urinalysis. Whether a sample is actually taken or not.”