Fiddlers (20 page)

She looked at her photo in the yearbook again.

�You�re here because she met with a violent death. I�ve been happily married for almost thirty years now. My two daughters are married, too, both of them college graduates. My husband is a decent, faithful, hardworking man, and we live a block away from the church where we worship every Sunday. So does it matter that forty years ago I was a wallflower at Our Lady of Grace�s Friday night dances? Does it matter that the boys stood on line waiting for a chance to dance with Alicia or even one of her friends? Where are any of those other girls now? Are they as happy as I am?�

�Would you know where any of them are now, Mrs. Jennings?� Genero asked.

* * * *

Holding tight to her brother�s hand, the graying redhead led him up the street, Ollie a respectably invisible distance behind them. Damn if she wasn�t leading him into a small coffee shop. Were the siblings about to enjoy a good lunch, which Ollie himself could use along about now? His stomach growling in agreement, he took up a watchful position across the street, and was surprised when the pair came out some ten minutes later, each carrying a brown paper bag.

He watched.

The sister kissed Jerry on the cheek. Gave him some sisterly advice, Jerry nodding. Kissed him again in farewell, and then marched off, leaving him alone on the sidewalk.

Ollie waited.

A moment later, Jerry was in motion, brown paper bag clutched tight in his right hand. Was he heading back to the apartment? If so, Ollie would follow him right upstairs this time. No sister, no problem. But instead, he walked right past his building, and kept on walking south, crossing under the elevated-train structure on Dover Plains Avenue, and then past the next street over, something called Holman Avenue, and then to the street bordering the park, and onto a footpath leading into the park itself, Ollie some fifteen feet behind him now, and rapidly closing the distance between them. The moment Jerry found a bench and sat on it, Ollie moved in. Even before Jerry could reach into the brown paper bag, Ollie was sitting beside him.

�Hello, Jerry,� he said.

Jerry turned to him. Blue eyes opening wide in recognition and fear.

�I didn�t do nothing,� he said.

�I know you didn�t,� Ollie said. �What�ve you got there, a sandwich?�

Jerry looked puzzled for a moment. Then he realized Ollie was referring to the paper bag on his lap. �Yes,� he said. �And a Coca-Cola.�

�What kind of sandwich?� Ollie asked.

�Ham and cheese on a hard roll, butter and mustard,� Jerry said by rote.

�Wanna share it with me?� Ollie asked. �I�ll buy us a few more of them later.�

�Sure,� Jerry said, and grinned, and reached into the bag. He unwrapped the sandwich. The roll had already been sliced in two, which made things easy. Together, they sat on the park bench, chewing. Jerry popped the can of Coke, offered it to Ollie. Ollie took a long swallow, handed it back.

�So what is it you didn�t do?� he asked.

�Nothing with the father,� Jerry said, and shook his head.

�Father Nealy, you mean?�

�No. Father Michael.�

Ollie nodded, bit into his half of the sandwich.

�You knew Father Michael, huh?� he asked.

�Yes. When I was small.�

Forty, fifty years ago, Ollie figured. Time frame would�ve been right for when Father Michael was a pastor at Our Lady of Grace.

�You�re investigating, right?� Jerry said.

�Investigating what, Jerry?�

�What he done to us.�

�What�d he do to you, Jerry?�

�You know.�

�No, I don�t know. Tell me.�

�To both of us.�

�Uh-huh. What�d he do, Jerry? It�s all right, you can tell me. He�s dead now.�

Jerry�s blue eyes opened wide.

�He can�t hurt you anymore.�

�He made me and this other kid��

The blue eyes welled with tears. He buried his face in his hands. Shook his head in his hands. Sobbing into his hands.

�You and another boy?�

�Not together.�

�Separately?�

Jerry nodded into his hands. Mumbled yes into his hands.

Ollie sat still and silent for several moments.

Then he said, �What was this other boy�s name?�

�Was it Carlie?� Jerry asked.

* * * *

In her mid-fifties, Geraldine Davies was still an attractive woman, and the detectives could easily imagine her as one of Alicia�s inner circle of friends back then in those halcyon days at Mercer Junior High and Harding High. Wearing lavender slacks and a matching cotton T-shirt, strappy low-heeled sandals, she greeted them at the door to her apartment in Majesta, offered them iced tea, and then led them out to a terrace seventeen stories above the street. There, within viewing distance of the Majesta Bridge, they sat sipping tea and enjoying the cool early afternoon breezes.

�I was always sorry I lost touch with Alicia,� she told them. �She was a very important part of my life back then. Well, all of us. Any of us who were fortunate enough to get close to her. She was a very special person. It�s a pity what happened to her. Well, getting killed the way she did, of course. But now I understand there was some sort of drug connection as well, is that right? Didn�t I see on television that she was selling drugs or something, some sort of Korean connection, was it? Is that true? If so, it�s a shame. She was so special.�

Then why did someone want her dead? Parker wondered.

Genero said it out loud.

�Can you think of anyone back then who might have had reason to kill her now? Anyone bearing a grudge, for example?�

Long time to be bearing a grudge,� Geraldine said, and raised her eyebrows.

�Lots of nuts out there,� Parker said.

�Even so.�

On the bridge, even from this distance, they could hear the rumble of heavy trucks making the river crossing to Isola.

�Well, you never know, I suppose,� Geraldine said, thinking.

�Yes?� Parker said.

�But there was this one boy

�Yes?�

�� had a terrible crush on her. What was his name again?�

The detectives waited.

�I remember one night� at Our Lady of Grace� they used to have these Friday night dances at the church, they were very popular, used to draw a big crowd. This boy used to follow Alicia around like a lost puppy, panting at her heels� well, she was really quite beautiful, you know, I can�t say I blamed him, what was his name?

�Anyway, this one Friday night� they had the dances in this huge recreation hall at the church, you know� well, it seemed huge to me, I was only thirteen. We would sit on these wooden chairs lined up against the wall, waiting for boys to ask us to dance. I have to tell you, nobody in Alicia�s crowd had to wait very long. I don�t want to sound conceited, but we were the most popular girls at Mercer, and later at Harding. The boys flocked around us like bees to honey. That sounds terrible, I know, but it�s true.

�This one Friday night� this boy who everybody said had tendencies, you know what I mean? Like he, uh, walked light, you know what I mean?�

She was suddenly a teenager again.

And not a very nice one, they realized.

Smiling now, remembering, she told of how this boy with tendencies came walking across the entire long length of this huge recreation hall, and stopped in front of where Alicia and she were laughing at something one of them had just said�

�She was wearing a yellow dress, I remember, ruffled, short to show off her legs, she had terrific legs, well, listen, she was just a terrific girl�

�� and he asked her to dance� what was his name, I can�t imagine what�s wrong with my memory these days! Held out his hand to her. �Would you care to dance?� he said, such a wuss. Alicia looked up at him. Ray Charles was on the record player, I remember now. Looked him dead in the eye. Said, �Get lost, faggot.� Which he deserved. I mean, everybody said he was.

�He just turned and walked away. But you should have seen the look on his face. If looks could kill

Geraldine shook her head.

�Walked that whole long distance back across the rec hall again, went out the door, and out of the church for all I know. Never followed Alicia around again, you can bet on that. Never. I wonder whatever happened to him. Such a wuss. I can�t even remember his name.�

�Mrs. Jennings,� Parker said, �try to remember his name.�

�Chuck Something?� she said.

* * * *

9.

THE DEPARTMENT of Veterans Affairs provided a list of local Vietnam vets who�d served in either D Company (or perhaps B Company, depending on which relative you believed) of the 2nd Brigade of the 25th Infantry Division during Operation Ala Moana. But getting a straight story from any of them wasn�t as easy as Meyer and Carella had hoped.

Some were reluctant to talk about the worst experience they�d ever had in their lives. All of them were remembering events that had taken place close to forty years ago. Obscured by the fog of war, separate encounters took on almost surreal significance�

�� the jungles in Nau Nghia Province are thick and dense, you never know who�s behind what tree, you can�t tell which trail Charlie has already booby-trapped��

�� Max Sobolov, yeah, he was our sergeant. And it was D Company, D for Dog, not B, you got that wrong ��

�This was only thirty miles northwest of Saigon, but you�d think you were in the heart of Africa someplace��

�� something to do with a Vietnamese woman, Sobolov and this kid in his squad. They were taking her back for questioning��

�� the stuff was stashed in this village, these huts they had, you know? Buried in these huts. AT mines, and rice, and sugar, and pickled fish, all therefor Charlie to use whenever he dropped in��

* * * *

Mark was in his room watching television when Teddy walked in on him at four o�clock that Monday afternoon. April was at a sleepover; Teddy felt perfectly safe talking to her son. She went immediately to the television set, turned it off, stood in front of the screen facing him, and began signing at once, as if she�d been preparing for this a long while, the words tumbling from her hands in a rush.

Your father and I have been talking, she signed. You have to tell us what�s going on.

�Nothing, Mom.�

Then why�d you burst into tears on the way home from practice yesterday?

�It�s just that April and I aren�t as close anymore,� he said, �that�s all. Mom, really, it�s nothing.�

Then why couldn�t you just tell that to Dad?

�April and I need to work it out for ourselves,� Mark said, and shrugged. �Kids, you know?� he said, and tried a lame smile.

Teddy looked him dead in the eye.

There�s something you�re not telling us, she signed. What is it, Mark?

�Nothing.�

Has her friend stolen something else?

�No. I don�t know. April hasn�t said anything about��

Because if that girl is a thief�

�It isn�t that, Mom.�

Then what the hell is it, Mark! Teddy signed, her eyes blazing, her fingers flying. Tell me right this minute!

Mark hesitated.

M-a-a-rk, she signed, her hands stretching the simple word into a warning.

�They were doing pot,� he said.

Who?

Eyes and fingers snapping.

�Lorraine and the older boys.�

Where?

�At the party last Tuesday. Some of the other girls, too.�

April? Teddy asked at once.

�I don�t know. They were all in Lorraine�s bedroom. The door was locked.�

Was April in there with them?

Again, he hesitated.

Was she?

�Yes, Mom.�

Are you sure about this, Mark?

�I know what it smells like, Mom.�

Teddy nodded.

Thanks, son, she signed.

�Did I just get her in trouble again?� Mark asked.

No, you just got her out of it, Teddy signed, and hugged her son close, and kissed the top of his head.

Then she went directly into her own bedroom, and opened her laptop there, and immediately e-mailed her husband at work.

* * * *

�Patricia?�

�Hey, hi, Oll!�

�How you doing?�

�Great. I just got home a few minutes ago. Whussup?�

�I�ve been doing some thinking. You know, it�s been frantic here, these Glock Murders��

�Oh, I�ll bet.�

�So I thought� let me try this on you� I may not have the time to go shopping for the kind of dinner I�d like to make for you this Saturday��

�Oh sure, Oil. You want to make it some other night?�

�Well, not exactly. I thought if you could come over here for brunch Sunday morning� instead of dinner the night before� it would be a lot simpler. I could make pancakes for us��

�Yummy, I love pancakes. But that�s the Fourth, isn�t it? Sunday?�

�Yes,� he said, suddenly thinking he was making a wrong move here. �Yes, it is. Will that be a problem?�

�No, no. In fact, we could hang out together all day, and then go see the fireworks at night.�

�That�s just what I thought. We�d make it real casual, you know. Blue jeans. Like that.�

�Sounds good to me,� Patricia said. �Just a nice, easy, relaxed Sunday.�

�And fireworks later,� Ollie reminded her.

�Lo-fat pancakes, though, right?�

�Right, lo-fat.�

�Terrific. Good idea, Oil. What time did you have in mind?�

�Eleven o�clock all right?�

�Perfect. I�ll see you then.�

�Good,� he said. �Good, Patricia. Casual, right? Blue jeans.�

�Blue jeans, got it. See you then.�

�See you, Patricia,� he said, and hung up.

His heart was pounding.

He felt as if he�d just planned a candy store holdup.

* * * *

On and on the veterans� stories went�

�� this wasn�t my squad, it was another squad in D Company. You know how this works? Or do you? There�s your company, has two to four platoons in it, and then there�s your platoon, has two to four squads. There are only nine, ten soldiers in a squad, you get it? This kid who shot the woman uas in another squad��

�� we flushed out seven bunkers and two tunnels in the area just to the rear of us. Captured twelve 81-millimeter rounds and 11,200 small-arms rounds, more than a ton of rice, and a Russian-made radio��