Double Homicide

9

“Well, that was a total bust!”

Even over her crackling cell, Dorothy heard the frustration in her partner’s voice. “Spring Mathers wasn’t home?”

“She never made it home,” McCain said. “And I had to be the one to tell her parents about the shooting in the club. They hadn’t a clue. They thought she was asleep, all tucked in cozy and warm. They charged into her bedroom, and when they found her bed still made up, they freaked. Started calling everyone they could think of to find out where she was.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yeah, oh boy!” McCain griped. “So instead of finding the one witness who may have been with Julius when he was shot, we now got a pair of hysterical parents who are filing a missing-person report and demanding answers. I’ll tell you, Dorothy, this one’s gonna bite the town in the ass. College is our tourist trade. Parents get too scared to send their kids here, we’re in trouble. I’m not talking about Harvard or MIT. Cambridge is its own fiefdom. BU is an institution, sure. But what about all the Boston schools that feed off those babies?”

He was working himself up. Dorothy tried to keep her voice even. “I know. Sometimes it would be nice if things just went right.”

There was a pause. McCain said, “I shouldn’t be bitching. Your morning wasn’t exactly coffee and the paper in bed. How’d it go with Ellen Van Beest?”

“As expected. The father was there, too. Leo. He played pro for a couple of seasons, although I don’t remember him.”

“Me, either. Jeez, I’m sorry. Must have been tough for you.”

Images of despair crept into Dorothy’s brain, of parents’ faces when the doc on the monitor took off the sheet. Luckily she was able to convince them to do it via camera. Seeing the body in person would have been just too much.

Dorothy shuddered. “I’m going to bed, Micky. I told Doc C. to wake me up when he’s done with the autopsy. I figure we’ll go down for the briefing.”

“C.”s doing the cutting himself, huh?“

Dorothy winced at his words. It made a difference, knowing the dead boy and his mother. The whole thing was nauseating. She was working hard to maintain her professionalism.

“You know what it’s like,” she said. “Big-time case. So what’s on your schedule?”

“Sleep sounds good. Who do you think put the squeeze on, the mayor or all the way up to the governor?”

“Maybe both. It happened in Boston proper, but the governor has good reason to sweep it under the rug because both colleges are in Massachusetts.” Dorothy shifted her cell from one ear to the other. “Either way, politics is going to take over. We’ll get our asses whipped if we don’t get a cut-and-dried solve.”

“Any luck finding the matching weapon?”

“Techs are still going through the confiscated firearms. If we find the right gun, maybe Pappy left a usable print behind. He wasn’t gloved when he discharged the gun. We know that from the powder marks.”

“Except most prints are smeared by the kick of the recoil.”

“Then maybe a palm print.”

“Speaking of the son of a bitch, what’s going on with Pappy?”

“He ain’t a rich boy, but someone posted bail for him.”

“Bail on murder?”

“Discharging a firearm’s all it is so far.”

McCain cursed. “Politics. Isn’t it against NCAA rules for him to take gifts? Isn’t bail a gift?”

“I doubt that’s in the rule book, Micky. And Pappy has more important things to deal with than the NCAA board.”

“Scumbag. We both know damn well that he was the shooter, even if he didn’t mean to hit Julius. Let’s just hope we can keep a good case against him. You know witnesses. Their memory gets foggy after the panic wears off. Even without politics, we gotta hope to get this nailed down in a couple of days or else things will start to get very murky.”

“Look how long it took them to arrest that kid from Baylor… What was his name?”

“Carlton Dotson,” McCain said. “Yeah, I forgot about that. What’s with these basketball players anyhow?”

The question was rhetorical. Dorothy ignored it. “What was it? Six months before they issued the warrant?”

“Difference was Dotson confessed to one of his friends that he shot the other kid-Dennehy. And it took a while because there was no body. We sure have a body, but maybe I’d trade it for a confession.”

Suddenly, Dorothy felt the crushing fatigue from the last twelve hours. “It’s a waste of time talking about it. Try to get some rest, Micky.”

“I’ll try,” McCain answered. “If I don’t succeed, there’s always drugs.”

Dorothy expected to find both boys gone, had hoped to unwind by having her tiny house to herself. Instead, they were home, their faces grave and filled with what could have been remorse for every sin they’d committed in their lifetime. Seeing a “hero” gunned down could do that to you.

Big-time remorse: They’d prepared breakfast for her: toast and jam, coffee, fresh-squeezed orange juice. Upon seeing her, Marcus marked his place in his anthropology text, and Spencer looked up from his algebra homework. They regarded their mother; she looked back at them. Dorothy spoke first.

“Don’t you boys have school?”

Marcus said, “Classes were canceled for the day.”

“What’s going on with the team?”

The older boy sighed and shrugged. “Everything’s on hold. We’ve got a meeting-the whole team’s got a meeting-at three.”

Dorothy looked at her younger son. “And you? What’s your excuse?”

Spencer bit his lip. “I’m way behind, Mama. I’m trying to catch up, so I figured-”

“You can catch up on your own time, young man. Get packing.”

“If you want, Mama, you can tell the school I have an unexcused absence. I can’t go back to class until I know what’s going on in algebra. It’ll be wasting my time and I won’t learn nothing. It’d be better if I studied here, but if you kick me out, I’ll just go to the library or something.”

Dorothy blew out air. “How long will it take you to catch up?”

“If I be working all day, maybe two days.”

“You bet sweet Jesus you’ll be working all day. Especially if I write you an excuse! No doing anything with your friends until you’re all caught up.” Spencer nodded and Dorothy sat down. “Thank you, boys, for making me some breakfast. I know that you’re both doing it because you are feeling real bad about Julius. And you’re feeling bad that I’m dealing with it… with his parents.”

“That must have been awful,” Spencer said.

Tears formed in Dorothy’s eyes. “No words for it.” She picked up a piece of toast and bit into it absently. “One of you guys pour me coffee.” She sipped her juice. “Did you make decaf or regular?”

“Decaf,” Marcus said. “Figured you might want to sleep.”

“Good thinking,” she said.

“Yeah, he’s the smart one,” Spencer said.

“Cut it out,” Marcus retorted.

“Don’t fight,” Dorothy said.

“No one’s fighting,” Spencer said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“I thought we were talking,” Dorothy said.

Spencer said nothing.

“Go on,” his mother urged.

“Maybe it’s not the right time-”

“Go on!” Dorothy said testily.

Spencer cleared his throat and looked at his older brother.

Marcus put down a cup of coffee for his mother. “I’ll be in the other room if you want.”

“No, stay here,” Spencer said. “I might need help.”

Dorothy’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you do this time?”

“I didn’t do nothing. Just listen, okay?”

And then it dawned on her why she was snapping at him. Because it made her feel like a normal parent. At this moment, if she didn’t act like a normal parent, she’d break down and sob, thanking the good Lord for her two beautiful sons and for keeping them healthy. She didn’t want to do that-to be weak and vulnerable and help-less-in front of the boys.

She said, “I’m listening, but you ain’t talking.”

Spencer frowned. “All right. I’m gonna work real hard in school, Mama. I’m gonna… I’m gonna try not to get distracted by all the stuff that goes down there-the guns, the drugs, the gangstas. Lots of shit goes down there.”

“Watch your mouth!”

“Sorry.”

“No more carrying guns, right?”

“Yeah, right,” Spencer said. “Can you let me finish?”

“Who’s stopping you?”

Spencer didn’t bother answering the obvious. “I’m gonna try real hard. But you have to know this. I know Marcus knows this. And I know I know this.”

“Know what?”

“I’m getting to that, okay?”

No one spoke.

Spencer sighed. “Mama, I ain’t a student. I don’t like school, I don’t like books, and I don’t like keeping my ass parked for five hours when nothing goes on except people yawning, throwing things at each other, or even worse.”

“There are some good teachers.”

“They try, Mama, but it’s a zoo. The classes are crowded, the books are old and boring, and I’m not interested in what they’re teaching me.” He looked desperately at his brother.

Marcus shrugged. “School’s not for everyone.”

“You shut up,” Dorothy said. “Now, you listen here, young man-”

“Mama, please!”

Dorothy started to speak but stopped herself.

“Can I finish?” Spencer whined. When there was no comment from the big lady, he said, “I don’t like dodging knives and bullets and drugs and people asking you to prove yourself or showing off their shit. I know, I know. My mouth. But that’s what I deal with day in and day out.”

“And what do you think I deal with?”

“The same thing. Which is why I came to this conclusion. If I’m gonna deal with the stuff-see, I said stuff-I might as well get paid for it. I don’t want to go to no college. I don’t have a college brain like Marcus does. Wait, Mama, don’t interrupt.”

“I didn’t say nothing.”

“It’s on your face.”

“Sure is,” Marcus muttered.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut it?” said Dorothy.

“Yes, Queen Dorothy, I apologize for my untimely interruption.”

Despite herself, she smiled.

Spencer bit a nail and said, “Ma, I want to go to the academy. That’s what I want to do if I don’t make it in the pros.”

Dorothy stared at her younger son. “The police academy?”

“No, Exeter.”

“Don’t be fresh.”

“Yeah, the police academy. I wanna be a cop if I don’t make it in b-ball.”

No one spoke. Finally, Marcus said, “Your coffee’s getting cold, Ma.”

“I don’t care about my coffee.”

“Don’t yell,” Spencer said.

“I’m not yelling, I’m talking with excitement! Spencer Martin Breton, I don’t want you being a cop. You’re too good for that.”

Spencer looked down at the table. His lips quivered.

“What?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

He kept his eyes averted. “I’m proud of what you do. Maybe one day, you’ll be proud of yourself, Mama.”

She had no answer for that.

“It’s not my first choice,” Spencer went on. “My first choice is playing pro ball. If I don’t make it into the NBA, I’ll go to Europe. I know even that’s a dream. And that’s why I have a backup plan. Still, I believe in myself. I really do. Our high school made it to the semis. I think I can bring them to the finals. My coach thinks I can bring them to the finals. He believes in me, too.”

“He’s right,” Marcus said.

“I believe in you, too, Spencer,” Dorothy said. “Because you are that good. Which is why you can get an athletic scholarship.”

“It’s a waste of time and money, Mama. Let ‘em give it to a kid that has a head for school. ”Cause I don’t. I hate it!“

“Everyone needs a college education these days.”

“No, Mama, everyone don’t need a college education. But everyone needs a plan and I got a good plan. And I want you to support me on this.”

Dorothy was silent.

“Or…” Spencer cleared his throat again. “Or if you can’t support me right now, at least think about it.”

“That seems fair,” Marcus said.

Dorothy glared at him. To Spencer she said, “You don’t know what you’re getting into. Being a cop is very serious stuff. It’s hard, it’s stressful, it’s long hours, and it isn’t the least bit glamorous.”

“I think I know what it is, Mama. This isn’t something that just popped into my head. I been thinkin‘ about this for a long time. And that’s all I have to say. Now, if you excuse me, I got studying to do.”

The boy picked up his pencil and started doing some computations.

Marcus and Dorothy exchanged looks. The young man shrugged, sat back down, and picked up his text.

So now Spence wanted to be a cop: her son’s flavor of the month. Teens changed their minds as often as they changed their socks. But the shooting did seem to add a new sobriety to Spencer’s demeanor. He had a plan. He seemed motivated. He spoke passionately and assuredly. Maybe it would last longer than three days, but Dorothy had her doubts.