Double Homicide

8

Back Bay was landfill heaped into a dredged, stagnant bog, hence the name of its most famous landmark, Fenway Park. During the Victorian era, the bay had boasted some of the most fashionable houses in Boston. Scenic and charming, with cobblestone sidewalks and the breezes coming off the ocean, it was a heavily trod tourist spot during the warmer months. Throw in the ballpark and the clubs, and the area was a constant blur of action, as was most of D-4-the police district that patrolled it. McCain and Dorothy’s home base.

At five in the morning, the shifts were changing. Detective Cory Wilde could have used a tag team, but it didn’t work that way. Breton and McCain were picking up a good deal of the scut work, so he had little reason to bitch, but he’d been up for over twenty hours and it was getting to him. He suspected that Pappy Delveccio knew it, because the bastard wasn’t giving him a damn thing. When he offered the kid a smoke, Pappy shook his head vehemently.

“I don’t take that shit in my lungs. What you trying to do, man? Poison me?”

If only…

Wilde said, “Just trying to make you comfortable. You need a refill on water?”

Pappy leaned forward and glared. “I need to get outta here. Book me or let me go home, man.”

The kid was six-ten, two eighty. From the waist down, Patrick Luther Delveccio looked like a beanpole. That was the way it was for basketball players-skinny, long legs meant for running and jumping.

From the waist up, it was a different story. The Ducaine star forward was carrying a heap of muscle around the arms and shoulders. His face was long and dark with fine features-almost Ethiopian.

Delveccio. Had to be part Italian. Or not. Look at Shaquille O’Neal and Tracy McGrady. Wilde was sixty percent Irish, had once thought the world was a simple place.

He faced Pappy again. Fancy boy, the hair all zigzagged in an intricate pattern, cornrows or whatever dripping down the nape of a long, muscled neck. Delveccio’s brow was thick, his eyes were dark slits, and his lips were curled in a sneer.

Wilde tried not to sneer back. “You can speed it up by telling me the truth, Pappy.”

The slits grew feral. “Have you been listenin‘, man? I am telling you the truth.” His hands were inked with tattoos. Barely visible against the dark skin. Why bother?

Probably his arms, too, but Wilde couldn’t see that. Pappy was wearing a long-sleeved white shirt. He’d taken off his olive-green silk suit jacket. It hung over his chair, smooth and gleaming. So long it puddled on the floor.

“I’ve been listening.” Wilde shrugged. “But I don’t believe you. You know why I don’t believe you? Because you’re not credible.”

“I didn’t shoot no one.” Delveccio crossed his arms over his chest.

“See, there you go again with that truth problem. We tested your hands for gunpowder residue, Pappy. You fired a gun.”

“I didn’t shoot no one at the club,” he amended. “I was fooling around with a gun yesterday.”

It was all Wilde could do not to snort. “When yesterday?”

“In the morning.”

“And you haven’t washed your hands since you fired that gun?”

“Matter of fact, I didn’t.”

“Haven’t wiped your hands with a napkin after you’ve eaten?”

“No.”

Wilde stared at him.

The kid retorted, “I’m a neat eater.”

“You know, Pappy, last night’s game was televised. All that sweat on your face and hands, just dripping and dripping and dripping. Not only did I see you wiping down your face and hands with a towel about twenty times, so did everyone who was watching the game. You want to change your story?”

“I want a lawyer.”

“You lawyer up, Pap, but then I can’t work with you. Then we can’t work out a deal. And you know if you’re gonna get out of this, you’re gonna have to work up a deal.”

Dorothy was watching from the other side of the interview room’s one-way mirror. She looked at D-4’s night captain. Phil O’Toole was beefy, florid, and white-haired, a third-generation Basic Irish Cop. He’d seen lots of changes in Back Bay: more immigrants, more drugs, more transients, and a lot more students. That meant more parties and more alcohol-related incidents. The upside was professionals coming back, fixing up old Victorian homes. No perps, those, just occasional victims.

“A Ducaine lawyer will be here any minute,” she said. “How long do you think we can stall before the lawyer starts making demands to see the client?”

“We can put it off for ten minutes at the most,” O’Toole replied. “What do we got on Delveccio-specifi-cally?”

“Witnesses that saw him pull out a gun.”

“How many witnesses?”

“Three or four and we’re still looking.”

“What else?”

“Residue on his hands. He obviously discharged a weapon, and it had to have been after the game.”

“But you don’t have anyone who saw him fire, right?”

“We’re still looking,” Dorothy repeated. “It’s hard to get witnesses to talk.”

“So you’ll work on them.”

“Of course.”

O’Toole said, “Discharging a weapon… We have enough to keep him locked up until someone schedules an arraignment and makes bail. What’s that? Three hours?”

“About.”

They both regarded Wilde through the window. The detective rubbed his eyes and said, “Tell me about the shooting, Pappy. Tell me what happened. If it was self-defense, I want to know about it. The DA will want to know about it. Self-defense is a whole different thing.”

The forward stared at Wilde, appearing to weigh his options. Then he said, “Your eyes are two different colors. What happen? Your mama bang two men at the same time?”

Wilde smiled. “I’ll ask her the next time I see her.”

“I’ve had enough.” O’Toole picked up the phone and called Wilde out of the interview room. As soon as Wilde emerged, he started to defend himself. But O’Toole interrupted. “He asked for his lawyer, Cory. We’re gonna have to book him based on what we have: witnesses to the fight, witnesses who saw him pullin‘ out a weapon, the residue on his hands.”

“Give me a few more minutes with him,” Wilde pleaded.

O’Toole’s pink face turned the color of rare steak. “You deaf, Detective? He already asked for his lawyer. And some suit from Ducaine is on the way.”

“So I’ll tell him that. I’ll tell him he don’t have to talk to me. But let me keep him company, okay?”

O’Toole didn’t answer.

“Just company,” said Wilde. “Nothing that’ll fuck up Miranda.” He crossed himself.

“Fine,” said O’Toole. “Company. Just until the suit gets here.”

At that moment, McCain walked into the room. The captain stared at him. “Where have you been?”

“Talking to witnesses.”

“And?”

“After much cajoling and threatening, I got two young ladies to admit they saw Pappy pull out and discharge a weapon-a handgun.”

“Hallelujah!” Wilde said.

O’Toole said, “How reliable are they?”

“As reliable as anyone at the club. Which means they’re shaky right now. We’re gonna have to babysit them for a while.”

“Did either one see Pappy point the gun in Julius’s direction?”

“We’re still nailing down the details.”

“Anyone see what kind of gun Pappy fired?”

“No, sir, no one was paying that close attention. Too many people panicking when the bullets started flying. Everyone hit the floor.” McCain consulted his notes. “I’ve also got a lead on a woman who was possibly with Julius on the upper level when he was shot. Her name is Spring Mathers, and she lives with her parents in Rox-bury.” McCain checked his watch. “It’s a little after five. I figure I’ll go over there in a few hours.”

“No, you’ll go over there now and wake them up,” O’Toole said. “We need all the help we can get because our bad boy isn’t saying much.”

The door to the interview room opened. Officer Rias Adajinian was young and cute except for the dark circles under her eyes. A newcomer, she had been assigned the graveyard shift. It didn’t agree with her biorhythm. “Someone from Ducaine University has arrived, demanding to speak with Mr. Delveccio. Also…” She sighed. “Ellen Van Beest is here, too.”

O’Toole looked at Dorothy. Immediately, she said, “I know her. I’ll do it.” She looked at the young officer. “Where’d you set her up?”

“Five.”

“I’ll need a full pitcher of water, two glasses, and a big box of tissues.” Dorothy paused. “Make that two boxes of tissues. Tell her I’ll be there in just a second. I need a moment to myself.”

“How did this happen?” Ellen grabbed Dorothy’s arm, squeezing her fingers until her knuckles blanched. She was shaking, her voice wet with tears and profound sadness. “How did this happen? How could…” She broke into sobs that would no longer allow speech.

Tears in her own eyes, Dorothy reached out to embrace her, and the distraught woman permitted herself to take comfort. Like Dorothy, Ellen was a large woman-tall and heavy-but in grief, she was insubstantial.

“How could this happen? How could this happen? How could it, Dorothy, how could it?”

Water overflowed Dorothy’s eyes. “We’re going to find out everything, Ellen. I promise you, personally, I will not rest until we have the perpetrator behind bars.”

“Just tell me this: Was it the pig who fouled my Julius? Did he take him down?”

“From what I heard, that boy wasn’t even at the club.”

“Boy.” Ellen looked ready to spit. “It wasn’t anyone from Ducaine?”

At Dorothy’s silence, Ellen became fierce. “It wasn’t him, it was his friend, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? A Ducaine pig. Tell me the truth, Dorothy. Tell me! Tell me!”

“There were some players from Ducaine-”

“I knew it!” Ellen broke away. “I knew it! I knew it! The game! It’s not a game when they allow monsters and thugs to play. This world’s insane!” She was shouting now. “Insane!”

“I agree, but we don’t know everything just-”

“I know enough to know it’s insane!”

There was a knock at the door. Rias Adajinian came in. “Leo Van Beest is here.”

Ellen pulled up a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Lord, this is all I need.”

“You want me to put him in another room, Ellen?”

“Yes… no. No, he can come in.” She faced Rias. “Bring him in here.”

As soon as Adajinian left, Ellen started to pace. “We divorced when Julius was five. It was hard on the boy because Leo was still playing overseas. Not that Julius would have seen much of his father even if we had lived in Italy. With all his running around.”

Her face had turned stony.

“It was hard on Julius after we both remarried. I don’t think he ever forgave either one of us. He refused to take my husband’s last name even after Paul adopted him. That’s why I kept the name Van Beest. I wanted Julius to feel that connection… that we still belonged to each other. ”Cause Leo was never around.“

She swallowed hard and continued to walk off her nervous energy by circling around the room like a herding dog.

“Never around, never paid for a damn thing. Spending on Lord knows what. Certainly not on his kid. Not only Julius, not on his other kids, either. Not that Leo was a bad man. He just wasn’t a good man. He was just a regular man.”

Ellen bit her thumbnail.

“The last time Leo divorced, it hit him hard. Real hard. He was fat and old and full of pain. His feet were gone, his knees were gone, his back was gone. Couldn’t play ball and hardly any money left. Not that he was destitute. He’s got his house, but it wasn’t like his glory days, you know. The drinking started getting real heavy. I almost felt sorry for him. Julius… he did feel sorry for him. He made it a point to call him once a week, once every other week. Something like that. They got closer than they ever got.”

“That was nice,” said Dorothy.

“Yeah, it was nice. Julius was trying to reconnect. I think he was the only bright spot in Leo’s dreary life. And now that’s gone… Oh Lord, I need to sit down.”

Dorothy helped her into a chair. “When was the last time you spoke to Leo?”

“Tonight at the game, actually.” Ellen laughed bitterly. “We nodded to each other. That’s what we did when we saw each other. We’d nod, all polite.”

The door swung open, and Leo Van Beest barreled across the threshold. “Ellen!” He spread out his arms, but she was too weak to stand up. Instead, she just sobbed into her hands. He placed his own big mitts on her heaving shoulders. Tears were trailing down his cheeks. “Oh my, oh my, oh my!”

Leo had never been as tall as his son, had never had quite the athletic prowess. He’d played two seasons in the NBA before being cut, spent the next fifteen years overseas, always hoping to have that one magic season that would make the scouts back home stand up and take notice again. In his young years, at six-seven, he’d been as versatile at shooting guard as at small forward. But time had not been kind to him. He was now rotund, leathery, and gray. Looked like an oversize medicine ball. Sweat beaded his brow. He pulled out a handkerchief and dried off his face.

“How’d this happen?” he demanded of Dorothy.

“We’re still investigating-”

“I don’t want bullshit! I want answers!”

“And I will be happy to give them to you as soon as I know something.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Dorothy started to speak but thought better of it.

“What motherfucker shot my son?”

“We’re still sorting out the details.”

“I want that motherfucker strung up by his neck, you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“And if you people ain’t gonna do it, I know people who will.”

“Sir, the police are in control. We will find the perpetrator, I promise you.”

“Yeah, I know what a promise from the police is worth.”

Again, Dorothy didn’t reply.

Leo’s lower lip trembled. “Where is he? My son!”

“Oh Lord.” Ellen started to cry. “I can’t look at him like that, Leo. I just can’t do it!”

“I know, Ellen. I’ll do whatever needs to be done. You don’t have to do it. I’ll do it.” He faced Dorothy. “I want to see him!”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“Yeah, you go do that!” Leo ordered. “You arrange it right away, Detective. Right now! ”Cause Julius don’t belong here at a police station. You understand? My son don’t belong here.“ He started to cry. ”He don’t belong here!“

Helpless, Dorothy watched their pain and misery, making her problems appear very small. “Can I call someone for either of you? A minister maybe?”

“Pastor Ewing,” Ellen said.

“Church of the Faith,” Leo added. “He can help with… with what needs help with.”

“He can make the arrangements.” Ellen wiped off her face. In a clear voice, she announced to her husband that she’d accompany him to the morgue.

“You don’t have to do it, Ellen,” Leo said. “You don’t have to.”

“I know, but I’ll do it anyway.” She stood up, swayed a moment, but then regained her balance. “We brought him into the world together. We should say good-bye together.”