The Night Gardener (25 page)

It was true that in the late ’80s, when they had married, they had run into some of that old negativity at holiday gatherings and around town. Early on, Ramone and Regina had agreed to jettison any family members and so-called friends who gave off that vibe, neither of them having any desire to reach out to or “understand” folks who were still that way.

Not that the two of them were untainted. Ramone freely admitted to having remnants of racial prejudice inside him that would never go away, as did Regina. They were products of their upbringing and time. But they also knew that the upcoming generation would be much more liberated of those prejudices, and because of that it was likely that their family would be strong and fine. And it seemed to be so. It was rare for Ramone to catch anyone in the D.C. area double-taking him when he was out with his wife and kids. And when they did, it didn’t dawn on him immediately that his family was being noticed because of their different shades. His first thought was, Is my zipper down? or, Do I have something stuck between my teeth?

It didn’t mean his kids weren’t going to face racism out in the world. He saw evidence of it damn near every day. It was hard for him to sit on his hands when his son got slighted due to his blackness or the way he dressed. Because what could you do, put every convenience store clerk up against a wall who had told his son to get out the shop, or threaten every township-quality cop who tried to bust Diego down? You had to choose your spots. Otherwise you’d go crazy behind the rage.

Ramone wasn’t trying to make any statements. It was difficult enough just to get through his day-to-day.

He pulled to a stop in front of his house. Regina’s Volvo was parked in the driveway, and she had left the porch light on as well as the light in the upstairs hall. Alana slept better knowing the hall was lit. He looked up at the light in Diego’s window. Diego was probably still awake, lying in his bed with his headphones on, listening to music. Thinking of a girl he liked or daydreaming of catching the long ball as the seconds ticked off the clock. All was good.

He sat behind the wheel of the SUV. He was close to drunk and as confused as he had ever been about Asa’s death. He had seen something that day, or heard it in an interview. It was glancing at him like a flirtatious woman. Now Ramone was waiting on the kiss.

His cell phone sounded. He read the name on the caller ID. Ramone hit “talk” and put the phone to his ear.

“What’s goin on, Rhonda?”

“Got something, Gus. You know that ballistics test I ordered?”

“Talk about it.”

“The markings on the slugs recovered from the bodies of Asa Johnson and Jamal White are a match.”

“You sayin —”

“Yeah,” said Rhonda. “They came from the same gun.”

Five minutes later, Ramone entered his house. He locked up his badge and gun, went up the stairs, checked on Alana and Diego, and then walked into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He went to the bathroom, gargled mouthwash, brushed his teeth, and swallowed a couple of aspirin. Back in his bedroom, he stumbled while taking off his pants and heard Regina stir in bed. He removed his boxers as well and dropped them on the floor. He turned off the bedside lamp and slipped naked under the sheets. He got close to Regina and kissed her behind her ear. In the darkness, he kissed her neck.

“Where you been, Gus?”

“Place called Leo’s.”

“You drunk?”

“A little.”

Ramone slid his hand under the elastic band of Regina’s pajama bottoms. She did not resist him. He began to stroke her and she guided his fingers to a better place, and when he found it she made a small sound and opened her mouth. Ramone kissed her cool lips. She pulled her bottoms down further and kicked them away. He got up on one elbow, facing her, and she took him in her hand and rubbed him against her inner thigh and as she turned into him she pressed the head of his cock onto her warm, flat belly.

“Remember me?” said Ramone.

“You do feel familiar.”

That night, they made love intensely.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
saw a buzz of activity in the VCB offices. Two bodies had dropped overnight, and assignments and pairings were being discussed. Also, it was Friday, so detectives were preparing for the increase in fatalities that came naturally with the weekend. Added to that was the fact that it was both a government payday and welfare check day, which meant higher alcohol and drug intake in the evening, which generally resulted in an uptick in violent crime.

Ramone, Bo Green, and Bill Wilkins stood around Rhonda Willis, seated at her desk like the queen bee.

“How’d you know?” said Wilkins.

“I didn’t,” said Rhonda. “It was a long shot, but hey. I’ll take it.”

“I don’t see what connects Asa Johnson to Jamal White,” said Ramone. “Dominique Lyons had motive with the White killing, but why would he do Asa?”

They thought about it without conjecture. They stared at Rhonda’s desktop and up at the drop ceiling.

“Twenty-four hours between the two killings,” said Green. “Could be two different shooters.”

“Like the gun got passed on or sold,” said Wilkins.

“Or it was a hack,” said Green. “Whoever killed Asa Johnson rented it to Lyons.”

“It happens,” said Wilkins.

Ramone looked at Rhonda.

“Well, we need to find Mr. Lyons, regardless,” said Rhonda. “Then it will all become more clear.”

“Any action on W Street?” said Ramone.

“He hasn’t posted at the apartment yet. Neither has Darcia.”

“What’s your day plan?”

“I’m gonna go call on Darcia’s mother over in Petworth. See if she can scare up her daughter or point me to her. I don’t know, maybe lean on Darcia’s friend Shaylene a little harder. Just do a little door-knockin, Gus.”

“The old-fashioned way,” said Wilkins.

“Y’all?” said Rhonda.

“Bill’s gonna get into Asa’s computer,” said Ramone. “I’ll be up in the neighborhood. I’m not done there.”

“You want some company?” said Bo Green to Rhonda.

“Always nice to have some size with me,” said Rhonda, nodding at Green’s huge frame. “Gives me confidence.”

“Stay in touch,” said Ramone.

BILL WILKINS AND RAMONE
split up in the lot, agreeing to keep in contact during the day. Ramone found a blue Taurus that he knew ran reasonably well, then drove to a Starbucks at 8th and Penn and bought a coffee. He was feeling poorly and thought the caffeine might cure him.

He phoned Cynthia Best, the principal of Asa’s middle school, on his way uptown.

“Ronald and Richard Spriggs,” said Ramone.

“The twins,” said Best. “I know them well.”

“I was hoping to pull them out of class for a few minutes, with your permission. I’d like to speak with them if I can.”

“Just a minute.” Principal Best put him on hold and soon came back on the line. “They took a long weekend, apparently.”

“Sick?”

“Don’t know. We called their mother at work when they didn’t show up for first period and informed her of their absence. It’s standard procedure. We’ve found it’s the best deterrent to truancy.”

“Do the twins miss much school?”

“I wouldn’t describe them as model students, Detective.”

“I know where they live, but I need an apartment number. Could you give it to me?”

“I’ll transfer you to someone who can.”

The Spriggs twins lived on 9th, between Peabody and Missouri, in a group of brick apartments surrounded by a black iron, spear-topped fence. Across the street was another community garden, and in sight was the former Paul Junior High, now a charter school still carrying the name. An Eiffel-like radio tower behind the 4th District police station, and a smaller one beside it on the same side of 9th as the apartment house, were the neighborhood landmarks.

Ramone found the Spriggs unit and knocked on the door. Ronald Spriggs opened it, wearing a T-shirt with a character drawn on it in permanent glitter, a guy in a sideways baseball cap holding what looked to be a ray gun. The sleeves had been cut into thin strips at the shoulder and braided tightly, ending in tiny balls, the kind of ornamental touch found on a lampshade. Ronald had talent as an artist and an eye for design, and Diego owned a few of his custom T-shirts. It was Ronald’s hand that had drawn the “Dago” logo on Diego’s caps.

“What I do, Mr. Gus? Jaywalk or somethin?”

“Nothing that serious. I just wanted to talk with you and your brother about Asa.”

“Come on in,” said Ronald.

They went down the hall. In the living room, the blinds had been drawn and the air was still. Richard was sitting on a worn couch in the dim light, playing Madden 2006 on Xbox. Ramone recognized the game, as the sound track was often running in his own house.

“Richard, Mr. Gus is here.”

Richard Spriggs didn’t turn his head. “Hold up.” His finger worked the controller with dexterity.

“Put it on pause,” said Ronald. “So I can come back and punish you later on.”

Richard continued to play. They had programmed a Broncos-Eagles matchup. An animated version of Champ Bailey intercepted a Donovan McNabb toss intended for TO.

“Shit,” said Richard.

“
That
’s a blower,” said Ronald mockingly.

“I’m ’a smash you, Ronald.”

“Yeah?” said Ronald. “When?”

Richard locked the game on pause, and the television screen went blue. Ramone had a seat on an armchair facing a coffee table where the Xbox unit and controllers were, along with an empty Doritos bag and several open cans of soda. Ronald sat on the couch beside his brother. Richard wore long shorts fray-cut at the bottom, something like Dogpatch by way of D.C. Ramone guessed that these were another of Ronald’s creations.

“What, both of you guys caught the bug or somethin?” said Ramone.

“Half day,” said Ronald.

“They had those teachers’ meetings,” said Richard with a smile.

“They transfer you to truant squad, Mr. Gus?”

“Not my department. I’ll let your mother deal with it.”

“She was tweakin after the school called,” said Ronald.

“We told her we were sick,” said Richard. “Musta ate somethin bad, ’cause both of us got a stomach thing.”

Ramone just nodded his head. He’d known these two most of their lives. They weren’t bad kids. They could handle themselves if they had to, but they weren’t into violence or provocation. They lived with their mother, who was busy with both a full-time and a part-time job, working to support them and also to give them electronics, games, and things with labels that other boys had. It was a struggle to earn the money needed to buy Nike, North Face, and Lacoste products for her sons, and it kept her away from the apartment and further from their lives. Ramone and Regina, capable of making the same mistakes as anyone else, felt the pressure to do the same for their kids, and often succumbed to it, knowing it was wrong.

In their mother’s absence, and in the complete absence of a father, the Spriggs twins were beginning to find trouble. Their actions were not different or more serious than the minor thefts and vandalism Ramone and his friends had perpetrated when he was their age. They were boys with adrenaline, burning it off the wrong way.

The Spriggs twins knew things, as they spent a lot of time out on the street. When Diego’s bike had been stolen out of their yard, Ramone had turned to Ronald and Richard, who had returned it without comment that night. Ramone hadn’t asked them how they had retrieved the bicycle, nor had he forgotten what they’d done. This past winter, Richard and Ronald had been taken into the 4D station for boosting items off the porches of nearby homes. Ramone had gone there with their mother and got them off without charges.

He worried about them, but only passively, because they were not his sons. Richard, who lacked motivation and direction, was the one who would probably find himself in deeper water as the years went on. It would be a shame if Ronald, who had the tools to do something special with his life, followed Richard out of loyalty and blood.

“So, about Asa,” said Ramone.

“We don’t know nothin about Asa,” said Ronald. “We sorry for what happened to him and all, but you know…”

“You guys hung with him, right?”

“Not so much anymore.”

“Why not?” said Ramone. “Something happen between you all?”

“Not really,” said Ronald.

“Why’d you stop hanging out, then?”

Roland and Richard exchanged glances.

“Why?” said Ramone.

“He ain’t like to do the stuff we do,” said Ronald.

“Like what, knockin down old ladies and taking their purses?”

“We ain’t never did that,” said Richard with an embarrassed smile.

“I’m playin with you,” said Ramone.

“I’m talking about regular stuff, like ballin,” said Ronald. “Goin to house parties and band shows.”

“Gettin with girls,” said Richard.

“His father wouldn’t let Asa come out, anyhow,” said Ronald. “I don’t know, we just kinda stopped seein him around.”

“What else?” said Ramone.

Richard, the cockier of the two, clucked his tongue in his mouth. “He got soft.”

“In what way?”

“He changed from how he was. Asa got to be all about books and shit.”

“You think there’s something wrong with that?” said Ramone.

“Sayin, I ain’t about to spend all my time at a library.”

“He was carryin a book the day we saw him, matter of fact,” said Ronald.

“What day?” said Ramone.

“The day he was killed. Me and Richard was headin towards home. We had just come from playin ball with Diego and Shaka.”

“Where were you, exactly?”

“We were a couple of blocks behind Coolidge. I guess we were on Underwood.”

“And which way was Asa headed?”

“Towards Piney Branch Road.”

“Did you guys talk?”

Ronald thought about it. “We said hey, but he kept goin. I asked him, ‘Where you off to, son?’ He answered me, but he didn’t stop.”

“What was his answer?” said Ramone.

“The Lincoln-Kennedy Monument is all he said.”

“The Lincoln Memorial?”

“
Monument,
”
said Ronald.

“Did you see the title of the book he was carrying?” said Ramone.

Ronald shook his head. “Nah.”

“Wasn’t no title, stupid,” said Richard.

“Say it again?” said Ramone.

“Book ain’t have no words on its cover,” said Richard. “I remember, ’cause I was thinkin, that’s a strange-ass book.”

It was a journal, thought Ramone.

“Don’t tell our mom we was playin the Xbox,” said Ronald.

“We told her we’d be studying,” said Richard.

“You shouldn’t lie to your mother,” said Ramone. “She’s a good woman.”

“I know it,” said Ronald. “But if we said the truth, that we didn’t feel like goin to school today, she’d get all pressed.”

“I ain’t tryin to get slapped,” said Richard.

Ronald nodded at the lower portion of Ramone’s suit jacket. “You carrying your Glock today?”

Ramone nodded.

Ronald smiled. “Good stoppin power, right?”

“Hope you guys feel better,” said Ramone, putting a business card down on the table as he stood. “Get some rest.”

Out in the car, Ramone cranked the ignition and drove in the direction of Terrance Johnson’s home with the intention of meeting Bill Wilkins, who would now be deep into Asa’s computer. Going east on Peabody, he got a call on his cell.

“Regina.”

“Gus…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t get upset.”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Diego got suspended from school.”

“
Again?
”

“That thing about his friend Toby and the fight he got into. Mr. Guy said he was an uncooperative witness and then some kind of jive about insubordination.”

“Bullshit.”

“Also, Mr. Guy mentioned that the principal has some questions about our residential status.”

“I’m guessing they found out we live in D.C.”

“Whatever. I’m going to pick up Diego now. I spoke to him on the school phone, and he’s upset. I guess I’ll try to talk to the principal when I get there.”

“Just pick him up,” said Ramone. “
I’ll
go talk to the principal.”

“You ought to chill before you roll up there.”

“Get Diego,” said Ramone. “I’ll call you later.”

Ramone curbed the Taurus. He phoned Bill Wilkins, at the Johnsons’, on his cell.

“Bill, it’s Gus. I’m not gonna get over there for a while.”

“I’m into Asa’s history files,” said Wilkins, his voice low. “There’s something you should have a look at.”