Chapter Thirty One
Fran gives
m
e the V.I.P. booth in the back. The restaurant is al
m
ost
e
m
pty. Her
m
ain business, except for a few cops and senior citizens, is breakfast and lunch.
She isn’t happy with
m
e.
“You’re
m
eeting Vinnie Patcher here? T
h
e
m
an’s a lunatic. Leave him
alone.”
“I’ll pay for any da
m
ag
e
s.”
“That’s not what I
m
ean and you know it
.
”
She sets the table and bangs down a carafe of coffee, rattling the cups a
n
d
saucers.
“So
m
ething to eat?”
I haven
’
t eaten since breakfast. I can
’
t
,
m
y
sto
m
a
ch is in knots. Just the thought of food
m
akes
m
e
bilious. A blue SUV cruises sl
ow
ly by the front window and pulls i
n
to the parking lot across the street. I watch as
Patcher
m
akes a beeline for Fran’s and Belle sha
m
bles behind, just barely catching the screen
door as it bangs shu
t
.
He
slides
into
the booth. Belle sits next to hi
m
. She is sweating and her cheeks are flushed.
Fran hovers at the table
’
s edge, jabbing at
her order pad with a pencil. “Dinner
’
s over. Care
f
or dessert? I got peach, apple, Boston crea
m
, and custard pie, chocolate or coconut layer cake and ice crea
m
.”
“No thank you, coffee’s fine,” Belle says.
Fran turns on a sq
u
eaky rubber heel and walks away.
“
W
here is my daughter?” Patcher looks at
m
e and through me at the same ti
m
e.
“First things first. I have so
m
e quest
i
ons for you.”
He narro
w
s his eyes and purses his li
p
s, drawing his face into an arrow
pointed at the
m
iddle of
m
y forehead. “
W
hat do you want to know
?
”
“
W
hy are you investigating Ben’s death, and what have you found out
?
”
He raises a shaggy eyebrow. Long hairs
curl toward his forehead. “My daughter
’
s husband killed hi
m
self. I owe it to her to f
i
nd out what happened. For your infor
m
ation, I didn
’
t find anything to
m
ake
m
e think it wasn
’
t suicide. Now, tell
m
e where
m
y daughter is.”
“I think you had reason to want Ben dead. He didn
’
t fit what you wanted in a son-in-law.”
Belle shrinks back in her seat.
Vinnie
stiffens. “Your
insinuation
is
both insulting and libelous. I
’
d urge you to be careful
w
ith what you say.”
“If you did have so
m
ething to do with Ben’s suicide, you could have easily covered your tracks with t
h
e help of your friend, Sher
i
ff Collier, whose deputies, I understand
f
rom
my sources, did a less than
stellar investigation into Ben
’
s death.”
“Your source
s
? Eddie
R
i
m
bauer is a souse, not a source.” His face spli
n
ters i
n
to tiny laugh lines. Just as quickly he cla
m
ps
his lips back together. “I didn
’
t like
m
y daughter
’
s husband, for your information, b
u
t I
d
i
dn
’
t kill
h
im or
m
ake him
kill hi
m
s
elf. April deserved better than hi
m
. Only she got herself pregnant.”
“It was an accident. She didn’t do it on purpose,” Belle says
.
“Didn’t she? She knew exactly what she was doing. Make no
m
i
stake. She was
m
anipulating him
so she
could get away from
you.”
He looks at
m
e, not at Belle, as he talks. “April is headstrong.
It
’
s never been easy to get her to see reason. She pushes
m
y wife around. I can
’
t
be there all the ti
m
e to
supervise. Now, if you have no
m
ore conspiracy theories to prese
n
t, take
m
e to
m
y
d
a
ughter.”
“Did you know Ben’s parents were d
r
ug addicts?
Did A
p
ril tell you
?
”
“As a
m
atter of fact, I told
April. She thought his parents died in a car accident. The truth is they overdosed on so
m
e
bad heroin in a low-re
n
t motel in Ea
s
t Kenilwo
r
t
h
. The cops found poor little Ben wandering a
r
ound in the parking lot crying for his Mommy and Daddy.” He turns to his wif
e
. “And you thought Ben was such a nice boy from
a good f
a
m
ily.”
He laughs, a
m
i
rthless, barking sound that startles
B
elle into spilling her coffee.
“He is a nice boy. He was,” Belle says.
She is macerating her coffee soaked napkin, pushing the pieces into a soggy pile. I
can feel her leg jiggling under the table. “His parents’ proble
m
s aren’t his probl
e
m
s. She loved him,
and you did everything you could to break them
up. It didn’t work.”
“Didn’t it
?
”
She doesn’t answer and he turns to
m
e. “I have a question for you, Doctor.” The way he says it, doctor sounds
like a dirty word. “Did you know he was adopted
?
”
“Yes. His grandparents adopted hi
m
.”
“So what was his na
m
e before they adopted hi
m
?”
I feel like I’m on the losing end of a
cross-exa
m
ination “I don’t know. Why does it
m
atte
r
?”
“I didn’t think so. My inve
s
tigators are pros, not like
the
h
alf-dead retired cops Baxter hires on the cheap
to do his backgrounds.”
“Tell her, Vinnie, for God’s sake, so she can take us to April.”
“His birth na
m
e is Benja
m
in Sturgis.
W
hen
m
y
i
nvestigators ran a check on the Sturgis fa
m
ily, they got the whole story.”
He turns to Belle. “Your nice boy was a
m
anipulative little shit. Lied to everyone.
Never told anyone he was adopted because he’d have to ad
m
it he was related to fe
l
ons. Doesn’t look good on an application for a police officer’s job.”
He turns back to
m
e. “Know what’s really funny?
Your pal, Eddie R
i
m
bauer, was there
w
hen they found Ben’s parents. His na
m
e is on the police report. He’s so pickled in alcohol, I’ll bet he doesn’t
re
m
e
mber. Unless, of course, he recognized my son-in-l
a
w and pers
e
cuted him
until
h
e killed
hi
m
sel
f
.”
He cocks his head to one side. “Makes a compelling case for a law suit, doesn’t it
?
”
He pushes B
e
lle out of the booth and stands. “I’m
finished talking. Now, take
m
e to
m
y daughter.”
He grabs
m
y a
r
m
a
nd pulls
m
e toward the door. “As soon
as I see April, you can go.”
Fran co
m
es out of the kitchen with her s
h
eet rock trowel turned spatula in hand. “You need
m
e to call the cops
?
”
“No,” I say. “I’ll be fine, just fine.”
Chapter Thirty
T
wo
We drive, without speaking, through Kenilworth, across the freeway, into the flats of East Kenilworth. Belle and
V
i
nnie Patcher are
in the
f
r
ont seat. I’m hunkered down in the back.
The Good Shepherd Ho
m
e is a fad
e
d two s
t
ory Victorian, so gray it appears to
m
elt into the
concr
e
te i
n
dustrial b
u
ildings on
either side. Curtains are drawn over every window.
W
e
knock. The peephole scrapes open and
the door widens as far as the security chain will stretch, then closes again. The chain clicks and a wo
m
an with short gray hair opens the door. She is dressed in the habit of
m
odern nuns, a dark
blue skirt and cardigan with a white blouse and flat heeled shoes.
H
e
r only jewelry is a
large gold crucifix.
“I’m
Vincent Patcher. This is
m
y wife. My daughter, April Go
m
ez is a resident here.”
She looks at
m
e. “And who
m
i
ght you be?”
“A f
a
m
ily friend.”
She checks her watch.
“C
o
m
e in, please.” She motions us into a l
a
rge, di
m
ly lit foyer. A carving of Christ on the Cross hangs on one wall.
“I
’
m
Sister Kathryn. It never rains b
u
t it
p
ours. Until today, April
’
s had no visitors.” She l
o
oks at us with disd
a
i
n
f
or having neglected o
u
r fa
m
ilial obli
g
ations. “
W
ill you be taki
n
g April home tonig
h
t
?
”
“Can we?” Belle’s face lights up in
anti
c
ipation.
“There’s paperwork to co
m
plete.” Sister Kathryn looks at her watch again. “Please be quick about it. Our girls go to bed early.”
W
e
climb to
the second floor. The nuns have worked hard to
m
ake the residence
ho
m
ey and personal. Only a slight whiff of disin
f
ectant in the
a
ir b
e
trays the lur
k
ing pre
s
e
n
ce
of
instit
u
ti
o
nal li
f
e. April is alone in her roo
m
, dressed in jeans and a pullover. Her body has snapped back to a girlish post-partum
plumpness. A partially packed suitcase lays open on the bed. Belle pushes past her husband,
her ar
m
s open to e
m
brace her daug
h
ter. April l
o
oks up from
her pac
k
ing and retreats as though so
m
ething poisonous
has just slithered into the room.
Belle looks
around the roo
m
. There is no bassinet, no baby clothes.
“
W
here’s my grandbaby
?
”
“How did you know where I was?”
She tur
n
s to
m
e. “Bitch,” she
m
ouths silently.
Belle is opening closets and dra
w
ers. Patcher is standing stock still.
Sister Kathryn speaks from
the doorway. “Haven’t y
o
u told t
h
e
m
?”
“Told us what
?
” Belle asks.
“I gave the baby to a couple
from
Ohio. Nice people. They couldn
’
t have any of their own. They ca
m
e and got her today. She was three days early. I didn’t think they would get here so quick, but they
did. They left a couple of hours ago.”
She turns back to her packing. “I need to get out of t
h
is place.” She looks at Sister Kathryn. “The sisters are okay, but there’s nothing
to do unless you’re going to keep your baby and then t
h
ere’s clas
s
es and stuff.”
Belle sinks to the bed. “You gave our baby away
?
”
“My baby, Mother, not our baby.”
“You gave her to strangers?
Our own flesh and blood
?
”
“Get off it, will yo
u
?
” April’s face
is purple a
n
d splotchy. “I don’t kn
o
w whose flesh and blood it is, and I don
’
t fucking care. I’d have hoovered it if there was ti
m
e.”
“Ben isn’t t
h
e baby
’
s father?” I ask.
S
he
shrugs.
B
elle covers
h
er face with her hands, whimpering softly. Patcher turns away
and walks toward the door.
I walk after hi
m
. “Are you the father?
Did you get your daughter pregnant
?
”
Before he has a chance to answer, Ap
r
il turns on
m
e. “That’s disgusting. I hate my father. I don’t even let him
hug
m
e. You are sick. Get out of
m
y room.”
“Not until I know who got you pregnant.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was knocking boots
with a bunch of guys. I let Ben think he was the father so we’d get
m
arried. After he
got fired, I didn
’
t care w
h
at he thought. I told him
I was going to give the kid away and split.” She sta
r
ts p
u
shing cl
o
th
e
s into h
e
r suitcase. “Why are you ragging on me about Ben?
I’m
the one who got pregnant and al
m
ost died.”
Belle leaps from
the bed. “You slut. You selfish little slut. Do you know what I did for you?” She is sla
p
ping at April’s
f
ace, tearing at her
h
air. “Do you know how much
m
on
e
y you cost us?”
Patcher grabs Belle by the ar
m
s and pulls her off April. “
W
hat do you mean? What
m
oney?
W
hat are you talking about
?
”
Then he slaps her hard enough to leave a red blaze
o
n her cheek. For a
m
o
m
e
nt, we all freeze. T
h
en
Belle sha
k
es herself loose. Her lips are curled up over her teeth,
her hands balled into
little
f
i
sts.
“I bought
B
en
’
s job for hi
m
. Paid money
so our grandbaby would have a decent ho
m
e with two parents.”
A coterie of wide eyed, big-belli
e
d teen age girls
h
as collected around the door, cl
u
t
ching each other.
“You and your insane a
m
bitions.
W
ithout
m
y help, he would never have been hired.” Belle breaks free
and runs out of the roo
m
, pushing her way through the crowd of girls and over the stair railing. There
is a collective gasp and a mo
m
ent of
st
unned silence as
her body thuds down the steps. Then shrieking and crying and hysteria.
Patcher races out of the roo
m
. Ap
r
il sinks to
the floor in tears. She looks up at
m
e, her face scratched and bleeding. “
Y
ou see?
It would
never have worked. The best thing I could do for
m
y baby was to get h
e
r as far away from
m
e and
m
y fa
m
ily as I could.”
Our eyes
m
eet for a second as I leave the roo
m
,
m
aking way for the other residents who push inside in a rush to comfort their stricken friend. I can hear sirens wailing. Patcher is kneeling at
the bottom
of the stairs, next
to his wife’s cru
m
pled fo
r
m
. She isn
’
t
m
o
ving. He looks up. I am
s
urprised to
see that his eyes are filled with tears.