Right as Rain

29

Strange lifted the framed photograph of Larry Brown and a young Chris Wilson, and placed the photograph on Wilson's bed. As Strange had suspected, the frame covered a hole of sorts in the wall. A tablet-sized notebook was wedged inside the hole among chips of particle-board, covered with a thick coat of dust. The hole was just large enough to accommodate the notebook; it looked as if Wilson himself had punched it through.

Leona Wilson had said that Chris had become visibly upset when she'd gone to straighten the picture. From everything Strange knew, Chris Wilson seemed to be the type of young man who would need an awful good reason to rise up at his own mom. Whatever Wilson had found – and Strange was certain that what he'd found was reflected in the notebook – he had kept it from his mother, his girlfriend, and the department as well.

Strange stashed the notebook in his day pack, along with the ticket stub from Safeway. The stub was redeemable at the Piney Branch Road location in Takoma, D.C., near his church.

In the living room, Leona Wilson peered out from behind her parted curtains at the Lumina parked on the street. She released the curtain and turned as Strange walked into the room.

'Did you find what you were looking for?'

'I did.'

'Then you're making progress.'

'Yes, I am.' Strange slung the day pack over his shoulder. 'Mrs Wilson?'

'Yes.'

'I believe I've located your daughter.'

Leona Wilson's lip trembled up into a smile. 'Thank you. Thank the good Lord.' She rubbed her hands together in front of her waist. 'Is she… what is her health?'

'She's gonna need help, Mrs Wilson. Professional help to get her off the kind of trouble she's found. You best… you need to start lookin' into it right away. There's programs and clinics; you can get a list through the church. You need to set that up now, understand? Do it today.'

'Why?'

"Cause I plan on bringin' Sondra home.'

Strange headed for the door.

Leona Wilson said, 'Who is that white man in the car out front? I'm afraid I can't make anything out but his color without my glasses.'

'An independent I been using.'

'Is he helping you with this?'

'Uh-huh.' Strange opened the door.

'Mr Strange-'

'I know. Just doin' what you're paying me for, Mrs Wilson. Don't forget, you will be gettin' a bill.'

'I'll say a prayer for you this Sunday, Mr Strange.'

'Yes, ma'am.'

He stepped outside and stood for a moment on the concrete porch. He'd gone and promised this woman something, and now he'd have to see it through.

'I saw the Wilson woman looking at me through the curtains,' said Quinn. 'She recognize me?'

'She wouldn't recognize her own face in the mirror without her glasses on,' said Strange. He blew a late yellow on Georgia, catching the red halfway through the intersection.

'I went to Chris Wilson's funeral. I tell you that?'

'No.'

'Word must have gotten around with the relatives that I was there. There weren't many white faces to begin with, except for a few cops. Anyway, Mrs Wilson found my eyes through the crowd – she was wearing her glasses that day – and I nodded to her. She gave me the coldest look-'

'What'd you expect?'

'It wasn't that I was expecting anything, exactly. I was hoping for something, that's all. I guess I was wrong to even hope for that.'

Strange didn't feel the need to respond. He passed Buchanan and continued north.

'Hey,' said Quinn, 'you missed your house.'

'I'm droppin' you off at your place, Terry. When I get close like this I need to think everything out my own self

'You're not gonna cut me out of this now, are you?'

Strange said, 'I'll phone you later tonight.'

After he dropped off Quinn, Strange stopped at the Safeway on Piney Branch. When the woman behind the glass handed him the packet of photographs, she said, 'These been in here a long time, Mr Wilson,' and Strange said, 'Thanks for keepin' 'em safe.'

He drove back to the car rental on Georgia, dropped off the Lumina, and picked up his Caprice, which he had left on the lot. Back at his row house, he fed Greco, showered, changed into sweats, went into his office, and had a seat at his desk. There was a message from Lydell Blue on his machine: the numbers on the cruiser matched up with a Crown Vic driven by a street cop named Adonis Delgado. Strange wrote down Delgado's name.

Strange angled his desk lamp down and studied the photographs he had picked up at Safeway. Halfway through them, his blood jumped. He said, 'I'll be goddamned,' and said it again as he went through the rest. He opened the notebook and read the ten log-style pages of text, detailing by date, time, and location the progress of Chris Wilson's own investigation. Strange reached for the phone, lifted the receiver, then replaced the receiver in its cradle. In an envelope in his file cabinet, he found the taped conversations he had recorded. He listened to them through. He rewound the tape to the sections that interested him and listened to those sections two more times.

Strange sat back in his chair. He reached down and patted Greco's head. He folded his arms and stared at the ceiling. He ran his finger through the dust that had settled on his desk. He exhaled slowly, sat forward, and pulled the telephone toward him. He dialed a number, and on the third ring a voice came on the other end of the line.

'Hello.'

'Derek here. You remember which house is mine?'

'Sure.'

'Better get on over here, man.'

'I'll be right there,' said Quinn.

Cherokee Coleman pressed 'end' on his cell and laid the phone on the green blotter of his desk. 'They're here.'

Big-Ass Angelo adjusted his shades so that they sat low on his nose. 'We ready for them to finish this thing?'

'Tomorrow night. We been sellin' this shit faster than I thought we would. We'll send our boys out there to Shitkickersville and let them bring back the last load. Bring back our money, too. Doom all those motherfuckers out there, so I can tell my Colombian brothers I went and avenged the deaths of their own. Stay in their good graces so we can keep on makin' that bank. Like to see those cracker cops out in Fredneck County when they find all those bodies, scratchin' their fat heads and shit, tryin' to figure out who and what and how come.'

'Let God sort 'em out.'

Coleman looked up. 'That's a good name for this next batch, Angie.'

'We used it, man.'

'Fucked in D.C.?'

'That ain't bad, right there.'

Coleman got up from his chair and walked to the office window. Two men got out of a black Maxima and were met by several younger men.

'Delgado got himself a brand new short,' said Coleman. 'Got some nice rims on it, too.'

'He just wants what we got,' said Angelo.

'Let him keep wantin' it. The want is what makes this world go round, black.'

'How his partner look?'

'Boy has got some teeth.'

'Wil-bur,' said Angelo, whinnying like a horse and using his foot, dragging it front to back on the floor, to count to three.

Coleman and Angelo were still laughing as the two men entered the office.

'Somethin' funny?' said Delgado.

'Angelo here was just tellin' me a joke,' said Coleman.

'How you doin', Bucky?' said Big-Ass Angelo to the second man.

'I told you not to call me that,' said the man. 'The name's Eugene Franklin, understand?'