Authors: Thomas H. Cook
‘Afternoon, ma’am,’ Ben said politely as he stepped up to her.
Esther looked up from her work but did not speak. She continued to tear at the boxes, pulling at the locking flaps until they were flat. She wore a light-blue blouse, and a line of perspiration swept in an arc across her chest. Her hair was pulled back and knotted, and in the bright summer light she looked suddenly much younger than in the past few days. Only the expression in her face aged her, the weariness in her eyes.
‘I’m still working on your case,’ Ben said to her, ‘and I’ve found out a few things.’
Esther wiped her forehead with her arm, then began breaking down another box. ‘Go ahead, then,’ she said, almost absently, as if there were greater things to consider now, her niece’s death reduced in her mind to a small incident in a larger history.
‘Well, I may have found out who raped Doreen,’ Ben said. ‘It was a colored man. A guy named Bluto. Ever heard of him?’
‘No,’ Esther replied crisply.
‘He’s dead.’
Esther suddenly began to rip more violently at the box in her hands, tearing at its cardboard flaps.
‘Shot,’ Ben said. ‘Might have done it to himself.’
Esther nodded curtly and tossed a large piece of cardboard into the wooden bin at the back wall of the cafe. ‘Is that the end of it, then?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Ben told her.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, there’s something that keeps bothering me,’ Ben said matter-of-factly.
‘What?’
‘I can’t figure out how Doreen got to his place,’ Ben said. He picked up one of the boxes, tore apart one of the flaps and broke it down. ‘So I’d like to just ask you just a few more questions.’ He threw the box into the bin. ‘Is that all right with you?’
‘Go ahead,’ Esther said, her eyes turning from him oddly, as if she did not want him to see what was in them.
‘Did Doreen ever give you the idea that somebody was watching her or keeping track of her in any way?’
Esther shook her head. ‘I think she could have let me know if somebody was scaring her.’
Ben pulled out a picture of Bluto. ‘Have you ever seen this man?’
Esther stared expressionlessly at the photograph. ‘Is that him?’
‘Well, this was taken at the morgue,’ Ben said, ‘so it doesn’t look quite right. But, yes, it’s him.’
‘The man who raped Doreen?’
‘Maybe.’
Esther’s eyes shot away from the picture. ‘I don’t recognize him.’
‘You never saw him hanging around your house or neighborhood, or anything like that?’
‘No,’ Esther said crisply.
‘He was real big,’ Ben went on. ‘Did Doreen ever indicate that she knew or had seen a big man?’
‘No.’
Ben returned the photograph to his pocket. ‘You know the rubber plant not far from Bearmatch?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did Doreen ever mention going over there?’
‘No.’
‘Do you think she might have hung around that place?’ Ben asked. ‘Maybe with other kids?’
Esther looked at Ben, puzzled. ‘No. Why would she?’
‘That’s where the guy lived.’
‘Around the rubber plant?’
‘Inside the fence,’ Ben said. ‘In a storm drain.’
Esther’s eyes glistened. ‘Is that where …?’
‘It looks that way,’ Ben told her. ‘But I still can’t figure out how she got over there.’
‘Maybe he took her there,’ Esther said.
‘I thought about that,’ Ben said, ‘But Mr Davenport says that he let her out at around five in the afternoon. He says that she wanted to play with another little girl she saw in the ballfield. You got any idea who that little girl might have been?’
Esther thought for a moment. She seemed to move back toward him from some distant place she’d occupied during the few preceding minutes. ‘There’s a little girl named Ramona. She lives over near the ballfield. I’ve seen Doreen play with her.’
‘You know the address?’ Ben asked immediately.
‘It’s that light-blue house at the far end, the downtown corner.’
‘Twenty-second and First,’ Ben said.
‘That’s right,’ Esther told him. ‘hat corner.’
Ben threw the last box into the bin. From the corner of his eye he could see several dark faces staring at him from behind the dusty window at the back of the cafe.
‘They’re all watching us,’ he said to Esther.
‘Course they are,’ Esther said edgily. ‘What do you expect?’
‘Do they know about your niece?’
‘Just that she’s dead,’ Esther told him. ‘The rest of it, that’s nobody’s business.’
‘I’m going to find out who did it, Miss Ballinger,’ Ben said.
‘I thought you already had.’
It was only then that it struck Ben how little he thought he knew, how much more there was to know. He shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly, in a voice that seemed aimed at no one but himself.
It was almost evening before he glanced in his rearview mirror and saw a few weary stragglers as they trudged across the bare, unseeded ground toward the downtown corner of the old ballfield. All through the late afternoon hours, Ben had remained in his car, carefully eyeing each passerby who approached the small light-blue house. With each passing second, the air had seemed to grow heavier, and as he sat in his car and listened to the steady blare of sirens, he could sense that something had surely gone wrong on Fourth Avenue or beneath the swaying elms of Kelly Ingram Park. He could see it in the drawn angry faces of the people who glared at him as they slogged up the street in their sopping wet clothes and tangled hair. Their pants and skirts were ripped and caked with dirt, as if they’d been rolled in a muddy field, but Ben did not get out of his car to find out what had happened to them until, toward evening, he saw a tall, slender woman pass through the rusty gate of the light-blue house. A young girl clung to her hand, and she only appeared to grip it more tightly as Ben stepped out of his car and moved toward them.
‘Afternoon, ma’am,’ he said as he took off his hat.
The woman’s eyes stared at him fearfully. She did not speak.
‘I’m looking into something that happened to one of your neighbors,’ Ben added softly, ‘Doreen Ballinger’
The woman continued to watch him suspiciously. ‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘Well, I’m told that Doreen sometimes played in this old ballfield with a little girl named Ramona Davies,’ Ben said. He glanced down at the little girl, then back up at the woman. ‘Is this Ramona?’
The mother instinctively drew the little girl up against her waist. ‘What you want with her?’
‘Just to talk to her,’ Ben said. ‘About Doreen. It’s possible that your little girl was the last person to see her alive.’
‘You with the po-lice?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ben said.
‘They sprayed us today,’ the woman snapped bitterly. ‘And sicked them dogs on us.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Ben said.
‘They wasn’t no call fer ’em to do it,’ the woman said fiercely. ‘We was peaceful, all of us.’
Ben nodded gently. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And they just done it out of meanness,’ the woman added sharply. ‘Just pure ole meanness.’
Ben’s eyes fell toward the girl. He smiled quietly, but she only stared at him expressionlessly, her small fingers tightening around her mother’s hand.
‘You wasn’t there, was you?’ the woman asked.
Ben looked at her. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘How come?’
‘I guess you might say I’m trying to stay out of it,’ Ben told her. ‘I just want to figure out who killed Doreen Ballinger.’
The woman’s eyes seemed to search his face. ‘Well,’ she said after a moment, ‘I guess I could let you talk to Ramona.’
‘I’d appreciate it,’ Ben said.
The woman looked at her daughter. ‘You stay in the front yard with the man, here,’ she said. ‘I’ll go fix supper.’
The girl did not let go of her mother’s fingers.
‘It’s all right, Ramona,’ the woman assured her. ‘I’ll be right inside here.’ She tugged her fingers free of the little girl’s grasp. ‘You holler if you need anything,’ she added as she headed up the walkway toward the house.
The little girl’s eyes shifted over to Ben.
‘Hi,’ Ben said softly.
‘Hey.’
Ben sat down on the grass just inside the fence. ‘I know you probably want to go play,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep you too long.’
The girl shifted nervously on her feet.
‘I hear you played with Doreen from time to time,’ Ben said.
Ramona nodded.
‘Did you play with her last Sunday afternoon?’
The little girl stared at him blankly.
‘I’ll bet you go to church on Sunday night, don’t you?’ Ben asked.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Just before you went last time, did you see Doreen?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where’d you see her?’
Ramona pointed to the field. ‘Over there, behind them trees.’
Ben looked in the direction she indicated. There were three large trees in the far corner of the field, a rope swing had been hung from one of them, and it swayed very slowly in the early evening breeze.
‘I was swinging,’ Ramona said. ‘That’s when she come up.’
‘About what time was that, you got any idea?’
The little girl shrugged gently.
‘Was it close to suppertime?’
‘Right before.’
‘So that would have been around five, something like that?’ Ben asked.
‘Right before supper,’ Ramona repeated. ‘My mama come to call me.’
‘Was Doreen with you when your mama called?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Where was she?’
‘She done left for home.’
‘How long did she play with you?’
‘Not long.’
‘An hour, something like that?’
‘She come across the field,’ Ramona said, this time pointing to the right, toward the opposite end of the ballfield.
‘She came from that direction?’ Ben asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Ramona said. ‘I seen the light flashing, and I looked, and then I seen Doreen.’
‘Flashing? A light?’
‘From the police car.’
‘You saw a police car?’
‘Yes, sir. It done stopped somebody.’
‘Another car?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did the police car look like?’
‘It was the Black Cat car.’
‘Why was it stopped?’
‘They was writing a ticket to somebody.’
‘They’d stopped a car?’
‘Yes, sir, they had,’ Ramona said. ‘And they was over leaning in the window, writing him a ticket.’
‘Both of them?’
‘They calls them the Black Cat boys,’ Ramona said, ‘them two brothers. Ever-body in Bearmatch knows who they is.’
Ben leaned toward her slightly. ‘What about the other car? Do you remember what kind it was?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What’d it look like?’
Ramona shook her head. ‘Just black, or blue or something like that.’
‘And that’s when you saw Doreen?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where was she?’
‘She was walking across the field right toward me.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘She was by herself, yes, sir,’ Ramona told him. ‘She didn’t have nobody with her.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘She looked real happy. She was sniggering to herself. She always sniggering. She can’t talk, you know.’
Ben nodded.
‘But she sure do snigger a lot,’ Ramona added with a smile.
‘And so she came across the field, and you two played for about an hour, is that right?’ Ben asked.
‘Played till she left.’
‘Which direction did she go in when she left?’
‘Right toward her house,’ Ramona said, once again pointing toward the opposite end of the field. ‘Right down that way.’
Ben nodded slowly. ‘Now this may seem like a funny question, but do you know where the rubber plant is?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the little girl answered immediately. ‘My daddy work there.’
‘It’s over there, isn’t it?’ Ben asked as he pointed in the opposite direction. ‘Are you sure Doreen didn’t walk toward the plant?’
‘Oh, no, sir,’ Ramona said loudly. ‘She walk toward her house.’ Again, she pointed in the direction opposite to the plant. ‘That way, just like always.’
Ben smiled quietly. ‘You didn’t happen to see anybody else around the ballfield that afternoon, did you?’
‘People was walking through it, like they always is.’
‘You ever heard of a man named Bluto?’
‘No, sir.’
‘He’s very big.’
‘Never heard of him.’
Ben took out the morgue photo and showed it to her. Ramona studied the picture carefully. ‘He asleep?’ she asked finally.
‘Yes, he is.’
Ramona’s eyes dropped back toward the picture. ‘He look like he sick or something.’
‘Have you ever seen him?’
‘No, sir, I ain’t seen him,’ Ramona said, her eyes still staring curiously at the photograph. ‘He kin to Doreen?’
‘No,’ Ben said. He slipped the picture from her fingers.
Ramona looked at him quizzically. ‘Who he is?’
‘Just a man,’ Ben said as he tucked the photograph back into his pocket.
‘He hurt Doreen?’
‘He might have,’ Ben said. He got to his feet, then stood a moment, poking the tip of his shoe into a ridge of dusty earth. ‘You got any idea if somebody else might have seen Doreen after you did?’
Ramona shook her head. ‘None as I know of.’ Her eyes drifted over to the far edge of the field. ‘’Cept maybe for them police boys and that fellow they was writing a ticket to.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Knots of firemen still lingered outside Police Headquarters as Ben pulled over to the curb, got out and headed slowly up the stairs. Some were still dressed in their black slicks as they stood alone, or huddled together, talking quietly as the air darkened steadily around them.
Lamar Beacham slumped against the front of the building, his long, slender body propped like a bamboo fishing pole against its granite façade.
‘What happened today?’ Ben asked as he reached the top of the stairs.
Beacham smiled thinly. ‘Where you been – Mars?’
‘Working a case.’
Beacham dropped his cigarette to the steps and crushed it with the tip of his boot. ‘They brought us into it, the Fire Department.’
‘How?’
‘Just lined us up across the street,’ Beacham said. ‘And the Chief says, “Turn on the hoses.”’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘So we did.’