Hounded (2 page)

“Hey, Pete,” I say.

“Where are you?”

“At a crossword puzzle tournament.”

“Wow, life in the fast lane.”

“At some point I need to slow down,” I say. “But right now I’m having too much fun.”

“Laurie with you?” he asks.

“Yup.”

“I need you both down here.”

“Where?”

“Thirty-third. Between eighteenth and nineteenth. Leave now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Danny Diaz got himself killed.”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say. “But what do you need me for?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Just make sure you bring Laurie.”

Click
.

I don’t know much about Danny Diaz.

All I know is that Pete arrested him, probably five years ago, on an assault charge. He served some time in prison, but when he got out he was fairly successful in turning his life around. Pete took an interest in him, and I think he works as a mechanic, or something like that.

Pete actually mentioned him a few months ago, when Diaz’s wife left him. I’m not sure of the details, and I really had no reason to be interested. But I do know that Pete liked him a lot, and has a pretty close relationship with Diaz’s son.

What I don’t know is why he wants me to come down to the scene. “It doesn’t make sense,” I say to Laurie in the car. “Even if they’ve arrested someone, why would Pete want me to represent the suspect? If he thought the person was innocent, why arrest him in the first place?”

“We’ll know soon enough,” Laurie says.

“And why would he make it such a point that you come, unless you’re going to be involved as well?” Since Laurie is a former cop and my private investigator, perhaps Pete thinks that I’ll need her expertise for whatever he has in mind for me.

It’s fair to say that I’m not happy about this. I sure as hell don’t want a client, but I have trouble saying no to friends, and Pete is a good one. “No,” I say.

“What are you talking about?” Laurie asks.

“I’m practicing saying ‘no’ to Pete.”

“Maybe he won’t be asking you to do anything. A friend of his died; maybe he just wants another friend there to comfort him.”

“You think he wants me around for comfort? For moral support? Me?”

She thinks for a few moments, then, “You’re right. Keep practicing.”

“No, Pete,” I say. “Pete, no, I just can’t. No means no. Pete, which part of no don’t you understand?”

We arrive at the Thirty-third Street block that Pete directed us to, and it’s not hard to tell which is Danny Diaz’s house. While the houses are all basically the same size and shape, and are separated only by narrow driveways, one stands out from the others. This is mainly because there are at least ten police cars, lights flashing, in the street in front of it.

As is the case in all major crime scenes, a whole bunch of cops are outside, standing around and waiting for something to do. A number of them are handling crowd control, though the neighbors that have gathered seem to be standing peacefully behind barricades.

But the real action must be going on inside, and that’s where Laurie and I start heading, at least until we run into one of Paterson’s finest. His name is Sergeant William Costello, a genial guy who has a smile for pretty much everyone but me.

I embarrassed him on the witness stand about four years ago. He deserved it, but he sort of never saw it that way, and mentioned to me about six months later that he was pondering ripping my eyes out and feeding them to his cat. Somehow, a close friendship never sprang from that.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he sneers. Then, when he sees Laurie, he brightens. They know each other from back when she was on the force. “Pete called and asked us to come down,” she says.

He looks at us both, then says to Laurie, “You. Not him.”

Laurie looks at me, as if for guidance, and I say, “Go ahead. I’ll wait out here with Wyatt Earp.”

Laurie goes inside, and I wait there for five minutes, with Costello frequently looking over at me as if he’s afraid I might take one of the barricades, slip it into my pocket, and walk off with it.

Laurie finally comes out, and she’s with Pete. She waves to me, but they don’t head in my direction; instead they go next door to another house, with Pete carrying what looks like a small suitcase. I don’t know what is going on, but it’s a safe bet that whatever it is, I’m not a crucial part of it.

Costello looks over at me again, and I say, “You are doing one hell of a job. I’ve never felt safer.”

After another ten endless minutes, Pete comes out of the house next door, and walks over to me. “Come on,” he says, and as I follow him past the barricades, I offer Sergeant Costello my sweetest smile.

“What’s going on?” I ask Pete.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“What is it?” I say, as we’re approaching the house. Before he can answer, I hear a dog barking.

“Did Diaz have a dog?” I ask.

“He did.”

“And you want me to take it?”

“I do.”

The request is not a surprise, and an easy one to grant. My former client, Willie Miller, and I have a dog rescue group called the Tara Foundation, named after my golden retriever. Unless Diaz’s dog is Cujo reincarnated, we can find it a great home with no problem.

“I can do that,” I say. “No need to worry.”

“Well, there’s more to the favor,” Pete says. “Actually, quite a bit more.”

We reach the front door of the house, and enter. “What else?”

“I think I’ll let Laurie tell you about it.”

Before I get a chance to ask him what the hell he is talking about, we turn the corner of the foyer into the den. Standing there is Laurie, and in her left hand is a leash, at the end of which is a basset hound.

But for the moment, I’m more concerned with what is in her right hand. It’s another hand, much smaller, which is attached to a small arm, which in turn is attached to a small boy. The hand, arm, and boy are all human.

Uh-oh.

“Andy, this is Ricky,” she says. “And that’s Sebastian.”

I don’t say anything; I just turn and look at Pete. “It’s a pretty big favor,” he says. “I will definitely owe you one.” Then, to Laurie, he says, “Call me and let me know how things are going, okay?”

She nods. “I will.”

Pete then leans over and gives Ricky a kiss on the top of his head. “See you soon, Ricky.”

“Bye, Uncle Pete.”

“Ricky and Sebastian are coming home with us for a while,” Laurie says.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” is what I’m thinking. What my mouth winds up saying is, “Great. Good to meet you, Ricky.”

We head for the car, me carrying a suitcase that I assume contains Ricky’s clothing, but for all I know it may have another child in it.

The day has taken an unexpected turn.

The ride home is fairly uncomfortable.

I try to make small talk with Ricky, but he’s not very responsive. And I can’t ask Laurie what the hell is going on while Ricky is there. Sebastian, for his part, is sound asleep. Stretched out on the backseat, he looks like a horizontal fire hydrant.

Ricky also falls asleep just before we get home, so Laurie carries him into the house. It’s up to me to get Sebastian and the suitcase in, which is no easy task, but I finally get it done.

Tara, who pretty much goes with the flow, looks at me curiously when I bring in Sebastian, and they sniff each other for a minute or so. Tara is used to me bringing home strange friends, so she takes it in stride. I have no idea if Sebastian is house-trained, but I grab two leashes and take him and Tara for a walk.

Usually our walks are at least twenty minutes, but I cut this one down to ten, because I’m anxious to talk to Laurie and find out what is happening. Sebastian does what he is supposed to do, which gives me hope that he’s house-trained after all.

We get back to the house, and Laurie is waiting for me downstairs. “Ricky is up in his room,” she says.

“Ricky has a room?”

She nods. “The one next to ours. I’m sorry we didn’t talk about this before, Andy, but I knew you wouldn’t refuse Pete.”

“What are you talking about? I was practicing refusing him in the car, remember?”

“That was about taking on a client. This is different; you would have agreed.”

“What exactly would I have agreed to?”

“Pete has a good relationship with people at Children’s Social Services. He’s going to work it out so that Ricky can stay here while his future is being decided, rather than being put into the system right away.”

“What kind of a time frame are we looking at?”

“Not very long,” she says.

“You’re saying that, but you really have no idea, right?”

“Right.”

I pause a short while to take stock of the situation. It’s obvious that this boat has sailed, so even if I wanted to resist it, there is no way I would get anywhere. I mean, the kid already has a room, and he is currently sleeping in it.

“So I can’t swear around the house anymore?” I ask.

She smiles. “Andy, you hardly ever swear.”

“I know, but it’s comforting to know that I could if I want to.”

“Write it out and slip it to me in a note,” she says. Then, “Andy, he found his father’s body.”

I fully realize that I’m being selfish in being unsure about this arrangement, but selfishness has always been my default reaction. “Poor kid,” I say.

“Yes.”

“I was talking about me.”

She smiles again; it is a smile for which I simply do not have a defense. “So was I.”

“Do they know who killed Diaz?”

“I don’t think so,” she says. “But I really didn’t get into that with Pete. He was focused on helping Ricky.”

“I guess it could be worse. Pete could have had a client for me, and it would have meant me going back to work.”

“God forbid.”

“So what do we do now?” I ask.

“My friend Rosie Benson is a child therapist. I’ll give her a call tomorrow, and hopefully she can tell us how we handle this. But my guess is we just have to make Ricky feel secure and loved. He’s lost two parents in a very short time.”

“Where is his mother?”

“According to Pete, she’s his stepmother. But nobody seems to know where she is,” she says.

“Poor kid.” Now I say it with a little more feeling.

“You talking about him this time?” she asks.

“I am.”

I pour Laurie and myself glasses of wine, and we sit and talk some more. Tara and Sebastian hang out with us, sound asleep. They don’t seem to need wine to relax and unwind.

About an hour later we go up to bed. Laurie stops at the open door to Ricky’s bedroom, and we look in. He appears to be asleep, or at least he’s not moving or making a sound.

Laurie walks over to his bed, leans down, and kisses him lightly on the head. She walks back toward me, then stops and gives me a hug so sudden and intense I think she might be practicing a frontal Heimlich maneuver.

I hold on to her and realize that it is the first time I have ever seen Laurie cry.

I wake up at six-thirty, because I hear noise in the house.

As I get up, I remember about Ricky, and the fact that he’s in the room next door. Somehow I had forgotten all about it during my sleep, but it comes flooding back to me.

Laurie is not in bed; she must have gotten up without my realizing it. That’s fairly unusual; typically I get up first, bring us both coffee, and then take Tara for a walk. I’ve got a feeling we’re about to enter a period in which nothing is typical.

I look in Ricky’s room, but he’s not there. No one is in the kitchen either; all I see are a couple of empty plates with crumbs on them sitting on the table. Apparently, the rest of the house has been up for quite a while. I hope that’s not a sign of things to come.

I follow the sounds, which now seem to be muffled laughter, to the den, and look in. Tara and Sebastian are on the couch, and I can make out a human hand and bare foot under them. They are smothering Ricky, and based on the sound, he is loving it.

“Where’s Ricky?” Laurie asks, to no one in particular. Then, when she sees me walk in, she smoothly switches that to, “Andy, where’s Ricky?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe we should ask Tara or Sebastian.”

Laurie asks them the question, but they don’t seem inclined to respond. Finally, Ricky’s head peers out from under them.

“There he is!” Laurie yells in mock surprise.

Now that the “where’s Ricky?” question appears to be solved, I’m moving on to, “Where’s coffee?”

I get coffee for myself and Laurie. I am a creature of habit, and by this time I am always in the den, watching the
CBS Morning News
. I used to watch the
Today Show
, until they came up with something called “The Orange Room.” Basically, they go there to tell us what people are tweeting to the Today Show Orange Room. People who would take the time to tweet to the Today Show Orange Room are among the people in the world whose opinions interest me least, so I stopped watching it.

When I get back, though, the TV is on and Ricky has already chosen the station. Unless the
CBS Morning News
has switched to an all-cartoon format, I’m going to have to acquire new habits.

But he’s engrossed in it, so it gives Laurie and me a little time to talk. We don’t have that much more so say than we did last night, although apparently Laurie has spent enough time with Ricky this morning to pronounce him “a great kid.”

Laurie is just waiting until a decent hour to call her therapist friend, Rosie Benson, and she points out that for the time being at least, we can’t both be out of the house at the same time, unless we take Ricky with us. She asks if I had any plans for the day.

“I was hoping to go down to the police station and strangle Pete.”

“He did the right thing in calling us,” she says, and looking in on Ricky, I have to admit that she is right. He is in a much more comforting and welcoming environment than he would have been if he’d just been brought into the child welfare system, as well intentioned as the people running that system might be.

Once I’m showered and dressed, I head down to the police station to see Pete. In addition to torturing him about asking us to take Ricky and Sebastian, I want to find out if he has a long-term plan, and if he has discussed it with the proper children’s agencies.