Murder Scene Page 3

  Will looked at his watch. Of the three mistakes he would make this day – the first being meeting with the boy in the first place – this would be the second.

  ‘We still have a little time,’ Will said. ‘Want to come up to my office? It’s not too far away.’

  Anthony seemed to weigh it all for a few moments.

  ‘Yeah,’ Anthony said. ‘Okay.’

  Will’s office was on the fourth floor. It was small and overcrowded and piled high with papers and textbooks, but it had two windows, one of which offered a view of Washington Square, and a corner of the famous arch.

  Anthony stood, his hands half in and half out of his pockets, clearly apprehensive and uncertain in this new space. He looked at the photos on the wall.

  ‘That’s my wife and daughter,’ Will said of a photograph of Amanda and Detta in front of the Schoenfeld Theater on 45th Street. It was taken on the night that Will’s good friend and savior Brian Zoldessy – it was on Brian’s couch Will had been camping the last three months – had just appeared in a starring role in The Normal Heart.

  Anthony gave each photograph on the wall a few seconds of his attention. He then turned to Will and said, ‘I guess it’s about that time, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not sure what you mean.’

  ‘It’s about that time when you say “our time is almost up”.’

  Of course, Will thought. Anthony Torres had seen many therapists in his short life.

  Will sat down, opened the file. He kept it tilted toward himself, out of Anthony’s line of sight. Anthony sat down on a chair in front of Will’s desk.

  ‘Tell me what happened,’ Will said. ‘On the day in question, as they say.’

  ‘I told them. Like, a million times. Two million times.’

  ‘I know what it says here. I’d just like to hear your side. Your words.’

  ‘It was that pregnant lady.’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She had two little kids. I opened the door for her when she was leaving the store.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I was on the sidewalk, right? I was holding the door because the lady had her hands full. I was trying to be a gentleman, you know? Trying to do a nice thing. Next thing I know the dude in the Hawaiian shirt comes running out and goes all RoboCop on me. Talkin’ about me robbing him. Laid hands on me, man.’

  ‘So you say you weren’t stealing the items?’

  ‘The DVDs were under my arm. I was going to walk back into the store. I wasn’t stealing. I don’t steal.’

  ‘What about this report stating that you assaulted the man?’

  ‘I put my hands up. I was defending myself and I accidentally hit him. What would you have done?’

  ‘So you didn’t strike him.’

  ‘I made contact, but I didn’t throw a punch. Didn’t even slap him, although I should have. Man.’

  There were so many reasons not to believe the boy. Will had heard every excuse, every dodge, every maneuver.

  ‘What about this other stuff?’ Will asked. ‘These incidents at PS 206?’

  ‘All of that was bullshit.’

  Anthony did not raise his voice, did not say this with any heat or malice or anger. ‘There’s bullshit and there’s bullshit,’ Will said. ‘What flavor is this?’

  Anthony shook his head, as if to say it was all the same flavor, and maybe it was. He remained silent. Will moved on.

  ‘There were four separate incidents at that school,’ Will said. ‘Let’s talk about the last one.’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘It says when the fire broke out in the teachers’ lounge, no one could put you in that room.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘But based on your history, when they brought you down to the office, they searched you. You had twenty disposable lighters in your pockets.’

  ‘Twenty?’

  ‘That’s what it says.’

  ‘See? Right there. That’s straight up bullshit.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘I had twenty-two.’

  Will tried to stifle his laugh. Laughing would be unprofessional. He laughed anyway.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Fair enough.’

  At this they were interrupted. At the door was Janelle Hirsch, an assistant to four profs in the department. Janelle was in her mid-forties, as efficient as she was discreet.

  She glanced at Anthony, back at Will. Her face registered that Anthony was not a student. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Will said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I just need you to sign something. I can come back.’

  Will glanced at Anthony. ‘Do you mind? It will only take a minute.’

  ‘All good.’

  Will stepped out, closed the door behind him. In fact there were three things for him to sign. All were related to the upcoming budget brawls over funding the department. Will dutifully signed, shot off two text messages. When he was done he re-entered his office.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Will said.

  ‘No problem.’ Anthony gestured at the family photos. ‘You really got it going on, man.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Living the life.’

  If you only knew, Will thought.

  Anthony walked over to the window, looked down at the street below. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. Will gave him the time.

  ‘I know we’re not here to talk about those DVDs,’ Anthony finally said. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Okay. What would you like to talk about?’

  Anthony rocked back on his heels, lowered his shoulders.

  ‘I like looking at it,’ he said. ‘That’s all I can say.’

  The statement caught Will off guard. The kid was opening up. It was a moment therapists live for, and Will suddenly felt conscious of every muscle, every nerve, every movement. He knew the answer to his question, but he asked anyway.

  ‘You’re talking about fire?’

  Anthony took a deep breath. On the exhale he said, softly: ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘They say it’s about damage, you know? About causing damage. About destroying things. Sometimes they say it’s about money, too. I don’t understand that. Burning things down for the insurance money. That’s just stealing, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ Will said. ‘It is.’

  ‘I don’t get that part. For me, when I look at it, I see . . . I don’t know . . . things.’

  ‘What sorts of things?’

  Another long, collecting pause.

  ‘I see faces. Faces of people I don’t even know. People I never met.’

  ‘Who do you see, Anthony?’

  The boy glanced up. This was clearly difficult for him. ‘My father,’ he said. ‘I’ve never met him, never even seen a picture of him, but sometimes, in the fire, I see my father’s face. He looks like me.’

  For a brief moment, Will felt all the air leave the room. He had not expected this boy’s wall to come down so soon, if at all.

  At that moment, a door slammed in the outer office. Anthony looked back at Will, the spell broken, and in that instant Will knew the boy was done talking.

  Will shuffled some papers on his desk, then brought the conversation back around to the moment. There were realities on the table here, and Will felt obligated to discuss them before they were done.

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Anthony. It doesn’t look good, you know? The incidents at PS 206 and now this. All these movies about fire. Like you said, we’re not just talking about a misdemeanor shoplifting charge. We both know you’ll walk on that, pick up another program, maybe go upstate for a while. We’re talking big picture. This stuff goes into a jacket, and it sticks with you for a long time. For the duration, if you want to know the truth. And I think you know the truth. I think you know how it all works.’

  ‘What about you? What are you gonna put in that jacket about me?’

  Will had not committed to releasing h
is notes on this session in any official capacity. In fact, he was nowhere on paper as having seen Anthony in any legal or formal sense.

  Against his better judgment, against every tenet of proper therapeutic conduct, Will made his third mistake of the day.

  ‘I want you to have this,’ he said. He reached into his messenger bag, took out a small package, unwrapped it.

  For a few seconds Anthony did not move. He looked at the cell phone in Will’s hand, then back at Will. Will understood the reticence. Here was a kid who’d had things given to him and taken away his whole life.

  ‘That’s for me?’

  ‘It’s yours,’ Will said.

  ‘For real?’

  ‘For real.’

  Will handed the phone to Anthony.

  ‘It’s topped up for three months or so,’ Will said. ‘The minute count will be up on that screen.’

  Anthony flipped open the phone. Will continued.

  ‘You press and hold down the number 1 to retrieve your voicemail. You press and hold down the number 2 to call me. I programmed in my cell number.’

  Anthony did not put the phone into his pocket. ‘I gotta ask.’

  ‘You want to know why.’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, it’s really cool and all, but I don’t really—’

  Will held up a hand, stopping him. ‘You know what a life preserver is, Anthony?’

  ‘That’s the thing in those boats, right? The little boats hanging off the side of the big boats?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They named that candy after it.’

  Will smiled. Somehow, this had never occurred to him. ‘I guess they did,’ he said. ‘Think of this phone as a life saver. You don’t ever have to use it, but if you need it, it’s there.’

  ‘So, I can keep this?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Will said. ‘It’s yours.’

  Anthony put the phone in his jacket pocket.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Will said. ‘I’d like to continue our work together, but only if you want to. You don’t have to decide now. Even if you and I don’t continue, I think you should move forward with therapy.’

  ‘What’s it going to cost me?’

  ‘It won’t cost you a dime.’

  Will could see that the young man was trying to process it all. Free phone, free therapy. There had to be a catch. There always was.

  ‘You have my number,’ Will said. ‘If you want to have another session, you call me and we’ll work it out.’

  Will extended his hand. Anthony took a moment, then shook hands with him. Anthony’s grip was hesitant at first, but firmed up.

  ‘Thanks for, you know,’ Anthony said, trailing off. He glanced out the window, back. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  As Will prepared to leave, putting the papers he needed for the night into his briefcase, he could not find his Day-Timer. In it were all his important contact numbers, as well as his schedule for the next few months. Although he had all the data on his phone, and his desktop, he still liked to use a paperbound book. It was a holdover from his mother. Sarah Hardy was a meticulous planner and note-taker.

  He gave the search a few extra minutes, then relented.

  He must have left it at home.

  6

  The man was taller than she remembered, but this was not as surprising as it might have been to some. He was nearing sixty, with dyed black hair and jumpy, little dog eyes. He wore a tan duffel coat, frayed at the cuffs.

  His name was Elton T Matthews, but she expected him to lie about this, if they got to that stage, just as he lied to the world about his height.

  This Rivertown Buffet had nearly fifty steam pans split between three lines: roast beef to Gulf shrimp to bread pudding to creamed spinach, even an omelet station. The management put up their all-you-can-shovel shingle on Route 44 around 4 p.m., and the place was starting to get mobbed.

  Elton Matthews was bringing up the rear of a group heading to the main entrée line. She edged up behind the man, stepped to the side, gave her hair a quick toss, then cleared her throat. When he glanced at her, she made eye contact. Deep eye contact.

  ‘Hey there,’ she said.

  The man looked her over, as if she were a Holstein, not the least bit shy in his appraisal. ‘Hey, yourself.’

  ‘Something smells really good.’ She made some high drama of sniffing the air.

  The man smiled. Yellowed uppers with a gold cap on the right. ‘Must be my Old Spice.’

  She wondered if they still made Old Spice. She’d long ago figured it went the way of English Leather, Brut and Hai Karate, but you never knew.

  ‘Name’s June,’ she said.

  Elton Matthews hesitated a telling second. ‘Arthur.’

  She was right. He lied about his name. Then again, so did she. June was her mother’s middle name.

  After picking up plastic trays, they each grabbed a dinner plate and a pre-rolled silverware package.

  ‘I’ve seen you around, you know,’ she said, seasoning the words with a little extra spice.

  ‘Have you now?’

  ‘I have. Good-looking man such as yourself gets noticed. Especially by an old bird like me.’

  ‘Old? I’ve got cardigan sweaters older than you, darlin’.’

  She laughed. She was supposed to blush, too, but it had been a while. Too long, in fact. She made a mental note to work on this.

  ‘I’ll tell you how old I am,’ she said. ‘You know how they say people start shrinking with age?’

  ‘I’ve heard that very thing.’

  ‘Well, I believe I’m getting smaller by the day.’ She picked up a pair of tongs, put some pulled pork on her plate. Then a little more. ‘Was a time when I was heading the other way, if the truth be known. Mama used to call me Dandy when I was a little girl. Short for dandelion because I grew like a weed in summer.’

  As they moved down the line, she checked the day’s date on her watch. ‘You were here last Tuesday, am I right about that?’

  Elton Matthews pretended to think about this for a long moment. ‘As a matter of fact I was.’

  ‘I was here with my sister, see, and we came up to this barbecue bar for seconds. You were bellied up right about where you’re standing now.’

  ‘You do have a good memory.’

  ‘For some things.’

  ‘I like that in a woman.’

  He moved a little too close to her. It was a violation of her personal space, as they say in the big city, but she had expected this, too. Hell, she’d asked for it.

  ‘So, either I’m shrinking, or you’ve gotten a bit taller in the past week or so,’ she said.

  His expression slot-machined from trust to suspicion then back. In the end, he went with trust. It was a mistake.

  ‘You got me,’ he said.

  ‘I do?’

  Matthews looked around the restaurant with a conspirator’s eye, leaned in, and whispered, ‘Can you keep a secret?’

  ‘I’d like to tell you I can, but I simply cannot,’ she said. ‘Proceed with caution, sir.’

  He looked down, lifted a pant leg, revealing a gaudy red sock, and one of his cheap loafers. He said, even more softly now, ‘I’m wearing the lifts. Got them mail order a few years back. Secret Tall is the brand.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘I do so.’

  Plates piled high, they walked over to an empty booth. With a glance at the table he asked her to join him. With a nod she agreed. They put down their trays. Before they sat she said, ‘Got a question for you, Arthur.’

  ‘Shoot.’

  ‘If you were to slip off those shoes and lifts, and I were to measure from the floor to the tip of your nose, what do think I would find?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m thinking it would be precisely sixty-two and one-quarter inches. Give or take nothing at all.’

  Suddenly, Elton Matthews – who also went by the names Arthur Kendrick, William Pastor, and Findlay Grimes – was no longer
interested in invading her personal space. In fact, it appeared as if he wanted nothing better than to be out of her orbit all together. ‘What kind of question is that?’

  She reached into her bag, pulled out a five by seven color photograph. The picture was a racked-focus shot of a double hung window. She pointed at the top pane. ‘See that smudge right there? That smudge was made by a man’s nose.’

  It was clear that Matthews recognized the location, and the window. He said nothing. His hands began to tremble.

  ‘They tell me that the tip of a man’s nose is as unique as his fingerprints,’ she said. ‘No two alike in the entirety of the world. Ain’t that something?’

  She had no idea if this were true or not, but sweet Jesus in a gold Corvette it sounded good.

  ‘Of course, it would be higher up on the window if you were wearing your lifts, but you weren’t wearing them on the night in question. No, sir. You were wearing your running shoes. A pair of size nine Asics purchased from the Shoe Barn in Eastlake.’

  Matthews opened his mouth but, for a few seconds, nothing came out. ‘How did you—’

  ‘Running shoes for a man running afoul of the law. What you did was, you stood on the back porch – this one right here, at 5665 Cheshire Lane – and you peeked in the window. You always peek for awhile, don’t you? Then you broke down the back door and you attacked Miss Wanda Chester.’

  As Elton Matthews made a slow move for his weapon, a Buck knife he kept in a sheath at the small of his back, she edged over the hem on her suit coat to reveal the SIG-Sauer holstered on her hip. Right next to that was her badge. She’d considered packing her Beretta, but that was a more elegant weapon, as firearms go, and she reserved it for formal affairs.

  When Elton Matthews saw the firearm his eyes got appropriately wide. His hand stopped halfway to the sheath. Moments later two mammoth shadows drew across the table.

  For so many reasons, she had requested the Reese twins for this detail. Deputies Dale and Donald Reese – Dale had the sideburns, Donnie had the mustache, it was the only way to keep them straight, seeing as their nametags both read D REESE – clocked in at somewhere north of six-foot-two each, and close to five-hundred pounds total. They weren’t too good in a sprint, but they were all-state when it came to grappling.

  Chief of Police Ivy Lee Holgrave was hoping Elton Matthews would insist on a grapple. He did not disappoint.