The Murderer's Daughters (40 page)

Paul backed away from the door. “I’ll get her. Right now.”

“And I don’t want the bitch judge. Get me a man. A white man.”

Ruby whimpered. Cassandra sat straight and still on her chair, except for sneaking out her foot to touch her sister’s.

I ripped the skin of my palms with my nails. I ordered myself calm.

“I understand, Victor.”

“You don’t understand shit.”

“I do. You’re angry. You think no one does anything for you and everyone’s out to get you.”

“It’s true. This shit ain’t my doing.”

One more red light and I’d start screaming.

Audra’s family had kept me at the hospital so long that I was going to be horribly late picking up the kids. Poor Merry would be going crazy waiting for me. Hadn’t she said she had a meeting? A hearing? A court something?

Merry had saved me that morning. I’d been too hard on her lately. I steered around a double-parked car on Washington Street, finally only a few blocks from the court.

Persuading her to pick up the kids had been pitifully easy. Within moments of my call, she’d changed clients’ appointments and borrowed Valerie’s car to get the girls. Maybe Merry thought coming to my aid would help knit us back together.

“Don’t worry,” she had said. “The girls will be fine.”

They’d probably be more than fine. Merry’s patience with them outstripped mine by miles, I hoped because being an aunt is an easier job than being the mother, and not because she was nicer.

All these years I’d hounded her about seeing Dad, was she in fact the better person for visiting him while I’d hidden him like a dirty rag? Had I let Dad’s actions determine mine for my entire life? Perhaps I’d been his prisoner.

Traffic slowed. Another red light. Christ. I drummed my fingers on the dash, a habit Drew hated.

Audra had decided not to take more cancer drugs. She’d wanted me with her because she couldn’t fight her children and the oncologist. Audra needed someone to give her permission to stop fighting.

The light changed. I managed one more block before traffic stopped again. I stepped on the brakes, impatient, bored with my thoughts and my own company. Police cars clogged the street, driving me wild, since the courthouse was practically in sight. An ambulance screeched up from behind. Shootings, murder; this poor neighborhood had every crappy thing. I turned on NPR, but the news depressed me so I switched to an oldies station. Chuck Berry sang “no particular place to go.”

I looked at my watch. I had somewhere to go. Merry must be going insane. I’d made her late for her court date, I bet. She probably thought it was my way of saying my job was more important than hers. Did Merry think I spent my life finding ways to put her down?

A crowd grew on the sidewalk and spilled into the street. They had the excited look people get when they’re at the fringe of disaster, involved yet safe. Strangers ask each other what’s happening, becoming temporary best friends.

I put the car in park and opened my door. I craned my neck, trying to see beyond the Jeep Cherokee in front of me. Horns honked. Stuck drivers screamed, “What the hell? What’s going on?”

I peered around, figuring out my options. Fog cast a pall over the already ugly street. To my right an auto repair shop had a full lot. Iron grates that seemed permanently rusted covered the windows of a grocery store. Gawkers appeared to be settling in.

“What’s happening?” I yelled repeatedly, trying to catch someone’s eye. Finally, a middle-aged woman wearing a bright turban took pity on me.

“Some crazy is holding hostages.” She shook her head. “The world’s gone mad.”

People say that as though the craziness started just today, as though yesterday was all peach pie. I leaned back against the headrest. Christmas music played. Holiday songs drove me nuts, but at least this was one of the less offensive tunes. “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” Pathos at Christmas seemed like the right emotion. Just keep me from the happy jolly holly.

I made tonight’s supper in my mind. Turkey meat loaf. Fast, but with the shine of homemade. Drew would appreciate it. How often did he get to have home-cooked food made by someone other than himself? Thank God, Drew had handball and poker, or I’d have driven him crazy by now.

This is 103.3 news on the hour. Reports, still sketchy, on the courthouse hostage situation indicate that a child is being held in the probation department of Dorchester Court—

I turned off the car and got out, running down the street.

“Lady, they’re going to tow your car,” Turban Woman yelled.

I ignored the warning, ignored everything except checking to make sure my purse hung from my shoulder. I’d grabbed the bag automatically. Medical training. Emergency plans. I might need my license to get in. Doctors get privileges.

Elbows bumped, and people cursed as I thrust my way through the mob.

“Who the hell you think you are, woman?”

“Watch yourself!”

“Hey, you pushed me.”

“My kids!” I yelled as the thickening crowd closed off my path. “My kids are in the courthouse.”

“We all got people in there, lady.” A heavy woman pressed me back with an extra-hard shove.

“My children are being held.” My voice hoarsened as I screamed. Just feeling my words might be true gave me the strength to keep pressing forward. “I need to get to them.”

No one gave an inch.

“Move, damn it.” I pounded on any shoulder or back within reach. “The police are waiting for me.” My fist became a battering ram as I bellowed,
“Let me through!”

Finally, some man, tall, tall as God in the moment, took pity and parted
the sea of men and women. “Let her through, people. She needs to get through.”

Miracles come from an authoritative tone such as he possessed. I took in his height, a sense of a worn army jacket, an earring glinting in olive skin. A beard?

A gaunt older cop blocked my path when I finally arrived at the courthouse steps, his expression blank and uninterested. “You can’t come in, lady.”

I huffed, trying to regain my breath. “My kids. My children. In the courthouse.”

His face became human. “Girls or boys? How old?”

“Eight and ten,” I puffed out. “Girls. With my sister. Probation officer. Meredith Zachariah.”

He put an arm out and drew me toward him. “Come with me.”

He guided me to a large square room that fed into smaller offices. Another police officer, Hispanic and portly, with guns and hardware hanging from his belt, put his hand on my elbow.

He motioned me to a chair at the far end of the room, when all I wanted to do was kick it over and rescue my girls. Another officer gave me the rundown on what was happening. I shivered as he described the scene, the crackhead holding my babies. I’d kill him. Take one of their guns and kill him.

When they finally moved me farther into the room, in case they needed me for negotiations, I had a sight line to what they pointed out as Merry’s office. It was so close I recognized my sister’s back. The man came into view. So young. Young, probably high, and thinking that only this moment mattered. Believing he was the center of the entire world.

I saw Ruby and gasped. The young man held her.

“Quiet,” the detective in charge said. She’d introduced herself that way, the detective in charge. Dark hair hung in a bob around her face. She seemed too pretty to hold my daughter’s life in her hands. “Don’t say anything until we instruct you. Remain quiet. See what’s on the floor?”

I craned forward, narrowing my eyes until I saw a brass letter opener under the toe of Victor’s shoe.

“He held that at her neck earlier,” the detective in charge said. “Stay calm or we can’t have you here.”

I peered harder, concentrating on the open office door. Merry stood at the entrance; Cassandra sat ramrod straight on a chair on the outside of the desk. Ruby, my poor Ruby, he pressed close to his body, one hand around her neck. The silent room allowed me to hear their words.

“I thought these were your kids,” the man, really a kid, said.

“My nieces, they’re my nieces.” Merry’s firm tone sounded unfamiliar.

“You lied to me?”

“I never lied to you, Victor.”

Did Merry know what she was doing?

“What then? You playing with words?”

Had he tugged Ruby tighter to him?

“You willing to fuck with her life?” he said.

The police officer, not the detective in charge, placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Victor.” Merry sounded sincere, calm.

“My mother will kill me.” Tears clogged his voice. I listened for hysteria.

“I’ll talk to your mother,” Merry said. “I’ll explain.”

“You’re just shining me on. You don’t give a shit about me.”

He toyed with Ruby’s braid. Nervous, unspent energy. I stopped breathing.

“No one cares about me. Maybe my baby will. But you’re locking me up, so it don’t matter. You think I’m just another fuckup. Everyone does.”

“No, Victor.” Merry knelt lower, squatting next to Victor. “Do you mind? My legs hurt. You want to rest? We can both sit.” My sister lowered herself to the floor and crossed her legs. I held my breath.

The man sank down with Ruby between his legs, placing his hands on my baby’s shoulders, no longer grabbing her neck. Ruby winced. He must have been pressing deep into the little bones on either side.

I crossed my arms and dug my fingers into the soft flesh under my sweater. I wondered if the police had reached Drew. I wondered if I’d ever hold Ruby again. Cassandra strained to see me, her eyes wide and terrified.

“You’ll get out of this okay, Victor,” Merry said. “I can help.”

“Fuck it. Game’s over.” This man, this boy, he rested his head on top of my baby’s head, even as he squeezed her bones. “I might as well take myself out.”

“Tell everyone to stand down,” the detective told the man at her side. “No suicide by cop.”

“Don’t talk like that, Victor,” Merry said. “You have hope. Listen to me. I do this work because I care about you guys.”

He snorted. “Sure you do.”

Merry leaned forward, as though the two of them were cozying up for a long chat. “Why do you think I ride you so hard? Because I don’t want you becoming a hopeless man.”

Now my sister sounded teary. Play or real?

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I want you to be okay. I want all my guys to be okay.” Merry clasped her hands together in a prayerful position. “I understand you. I came up worse than you.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He crossed his arms over Ruby, as though hugging her, as though she were his. “I’ll back out of here. I’ll use the kid as a shield. That’ll work, right?”

“No, Victor.” Merry leaned her elbows on her knees. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Nah. I’ll make it.” He moved his hands around Ruby’s waist, readying himself to pick her up.

“Get him,” I said to the detective. “Go get him.”

She turned to me and whispered, “His rap sheet includes choking, assault with a gun butt, smacking his girlfriend’s head into concrete. Stabbing. We want this to go peacefully. Your sister’s doing well.”

“Your baby needs a daddy,” Merry said.

“Who’d want a piece a shit like me for their father?”

I couldn’t take my eyes off the brass letter opener. Was his hand moving? Were his fingers twitching? Was Merry watching?

“Children love their daddy. No matter what.”

Victor ignored her, running his hands over Ruby’s arms, shaking his head. He started to cry.

“My father’s in jail, Victor,” Merry said. “And I love him.”

He looked up. “Your father’s in prison?” He put Ruby in a loose headlock and stretched forward. “Fuck that. You’re lying.”

“It’s true. My father killed my mother. Then he tried to kill me. It ruined
my life.” Merry sounded as serious and honest as I’d ever heard her. “Here. I’ll show you.”

Merry moved her hand to the neck of her sweater and tugged down, revealing her ugly scars. “Do you want to ruin your baby’s life?”

He didn’t say anything, just kept staring at the angry ridges marking Merry’s chest. She released her sweater and once again hid her scars.

“I see my sister out there. Their mother.” Merry nodded at Ruby and Cassandra.

For a moment, his bloodshot eyes looked out, searching for me.

“She never told these girls what happened, because of her shame and anger. She said her father was dead. They’re just finding this out right now, this very minute. Right, girls?”

Ruby and Cassandra nodded. Shock covered their pale faces. Even a monster could see they weren’t lying. Victor’s hands lay limp on Ruby’s shoulders as he stared at my sister.

Merry started to get up, stopping and leaning on one knee. “I stuck with him because someone had to. I visit him in prison. Even though I hate going,” she confessed. “I work with you so your baby doesn’t end up visiting you in jail. My father became an old man in prison.” Merry looked him in the eye. “Don’t ruin your daughter’s life, Victor.”

Victor collapsed on top of Ruby, imprisoning my baby in his arms. Merry reached out and gently pulled the letter opener from under his foot. She rose to her knees and pulled his arms from around Ruby.