Four Blind Mice Page 12

  “No. Well, yes I did, actually. Here you are, helping Laurence, and I do absolutely nothing to make your visit more comfortable. Would you have dinner at the house tonight? I’m already cooking something, so please don’t say no. What do you have to lose? I’m a good cook, by the way.”

  Sampson hesitated and wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea. It wasn’t that he thought dinner with Billie Houston would be a chore. It was just, well, a potentially uncomfortable situation, maybe a conflict of interest.

  Still, the way she’d put it, what choice did he have? And what real harm could it do?

  “That’s a fine idea. I’d like to have dinner at the house. What time should I come by?”

  “Whatever suits you is fine. It’s nothing fancy, Detective. I’ll start up the grill as soon as you arrive.”

  “How about an hour? Is that all right? I’m John, by the way. Not ‘Detective.’”

  “I think you told me that. You already know I’m Billie, and if you don’t mind, I prefer that to Mrs. Houston. I’ll see you in about an hour.”

  She hung up, and Sampson held on to the receiver for another few seconds. Now that he thought about it, dinner with Billie Houston didn’t seem like a bad idea. He was looking forward to it as he stepped out of his clothes and headed for the shower.

  Nothing fancy sounded pretty good.

  Chapter 54

  SAMPSON PICKED UP a small bouquet of flowers and a bottle of red at Central Market in Bay Head. As he got to the beach house, he wondered if he was overdoing it. Flowers? Wine? What is going on here?

  Was he feeling guilty about the fact that this woman’s husband might have been murdered? Or that she was a widow before her time? Or did it have something to do with Ellis Cooper? Or was this just about Billie Houston and himself?

  He went round to the screen door that led into the kitchen of the beach house. He rapped his knuckles lightly on the wooden frame.

  “Hi? Billie?” he called out.

  Billie? Is that how he should be talking to her?

  He had no idea why, but he was concerned for her safety. Why? No one would want to hurt Billie Houston now, would they? Still, he felt what he felt. The real killers were out there somewhere. Why not here in New Jersey?

  “Door’s open. C’mon in,” she called. “I’m out here on the porch.”

  He went in through the kitchen and saw her setting a small dining table on the open front porch facing the ocean. Beautiful spot for dinner. Adirondack chairs spaced along the porch. A wicker rocker painted navy blue to match the shutters.

  He could see the ocean over the top of the dunes and the constantly waving sea grass.

  But his eyes went back to her. She had on a crisp white shirt with faded Levis, no shoes again. Her hair was clipped back in a ponytail. She’d put on a little lipstick, just a touch.

  “Hi there. I thought that we’d eat out here. It’s not too cold for you, is it?” she asked with a wink.

  Sampson stepped out onto a spacious wooden porch. The breeze was coming off the ocean, but it was comfortable on the porch. He could smell the ocean, but also sea lavender and asters in the air.

  “It’s just about perfect,” he said. That was true. The temperature was just right, and so was the table she’d set, and the view of the ocean was definitely something else. There sure wasn’t anything like this in Southeast D.C.

  “Let me do something to help,” he said.

  “Good idea. You can chop vegetables and finish up the salad. Or you can cook on the grill.”

  Sampson found himself smiling. “Not much of a choice there. I’ll do the salad. Nah, I’m kidding. I’d be happy to grill. Just as long as I don’t have to wear a hat or apron with a snappy slogan on it.”

  She laughed. “Don’t have any of those. You passed a CD player on your way from the kitchen. I left a bunch of CDs out. Pick what you like.”

  “This a test?” he asked.

  Billie laughed again. “No, you already passed all your tests. That’s why I asked you to supper. Stop worrying about me and you. We won’t break. This is going to be fun. Better than you think.”

  Chapter 55

  SHE WAS RIGHT about the night being special. It embarrassed him, but he just about forgot Ellis Cooper for a few hours. Sampson was usually quiet unless he knew somebody pretty well. Part of it was shyness, because he’d always been so tall and stood out in every social group. But he was honest enough with himself to know he didn’t want to waste time on people who didn’t mean anything to him, and never would.

  Billie was different and he knew it, from the first time she spoke to him. The surprising thing about her was that he liked hearing her talk about anything. Her daily routine in Mantoloking; her two grown children, Andrew, a freshman at Rutgers, Kari, a senior at Monmouth High; the ocean tides and how they affected surf casting for blues; half a dozen other things. In addition to the house-sitting, she still worked full-time as a nurse. She was in the Emergency Clinic and specialized in adult trauma. She’d flown in medevac helicopters to the larger trauma units in Newark and Philadelphia. Once upon a time, she’d even worked as a MASH unit nurse.

  They didn’t discuss her husband until after dinner. Sampson brought the subject up again. It had gotten cooler, and they’d moved back into the living room. Billie started a fire, which was crackling and popping and warming things up inside.

  “Do you mind if we talk about Laurence for a few more minutes?” he asked as they sat together on a small couch near the fire. “We don’t have to do this now if you don’t want to.”

  “No, it’s okay. It’s fine, really. That’s why you came here.”

  Suddenly, something caught Sampson’s eye. He rose up from the couch and walked to a glass case near the fireplace. He reached inside and took out a straw doll.

  Now this was very strange. He examined it closely. He was sure that it was a replica of the one he’d seen in Ellis Cooper’s house. It scared him because it was in Billie’s house. What is the doll doing here?

  “What is it?” she asked. “What is that creepy doll? I don’t remember seeing it before. Is something wrong? You look so serious suddenly.”

  “I saw this same doll at Ellis Cooper’s house,” he admitted. “It’s from Vietnam. I saw lots of them in villages over there. Something about evil spirits and the dead. These dolls are bad medicine.”

  She came over to the glass cabinet and stood beside him. “May I see, please?” She examined the straw doll and shook her head.

  “It looks like something Laurence might have brought home, I suppose. A souvenir. Memento mori. I honestly don’t remember ever seeing it, though. Isn’t that strange. That reminds me — the other day I found a big, ugly eye in that same cabinet. It was so . . . evil, I tossed it.”

  Sampson held her gaze. “Strange coincidence,” he said, shaking his head. He was thinking that Alex refused to believe in them, coincidences. “As far as you remember, your husband never mentioned Sergeant Ellis Cooper?” he asked.

  Billie shook her head. She seemed a little spooked now. “No. He rarely talked about the war. He didn’t like it when he was there. He liked it even less once he came back and had time to think about his combat experience.”

  “I can understand that. When I got back to D.C. I was stationed at Fort Myer in Arlington for a couple of months. I came home in my dress greens one Saturday. I got off a bus in downtown Washington. A white girl in bell-bottom jeans and sandals came up and spit on my uniform. She called me a baby murderer. I’ll never forget that for the rest of my life. I was so angry that I turned and walked away as fast as I could. The hippie girl had no idea what was happening over there, what it’s like to get shot at, to lose friends, to fight for your country.”

  Billie clasped her hands together and slowly rocked back and forth. “I don’t know what to tell you about Laurence. I think you probably would have liked him. Everybody did. He was very responsible, a good father to our children. He was a thoughtful, loving husband. Before h
e died, and I’m talking twenty minutes before he was executed, I sat with him in the prison. He stared into my eyes and said, ‘I did not kill that young man. Please make sure our kids know that. Make sure, Billie.’”

  “Yeah,” Sampson said. “Ellis Cooper said something like that too.”

  It got quiet in the living room. A little uncomfortable for the first time. Finally, Sampson was compelled to speak. “I’m glad you called, Billie. Tonight was great for me. Thank you. I need to go now. It’s getting late.”

  She was standing beside him and she didn’t move. Sampson leaned down and kissed her cheek. God, she was tiny.

  “You do think I’ll break,” she said, but then smiled. “That’s all right.”

  She walked him out to his car. They felt compelled to talk again — mostly about the night sky over the ocean, how expansive and beautiful it was.

  Sampson got into the Cougar and Billie started to walk back to the house. He watched her, and he felt sorry that the night was ending and he’d probably never see her again. He was also a little worried about her. How had the straw doll gotten into her house?

  She stopped at the stairs to the house, one hand on the banister. Then, almost as if she’d forgotten something, Billie walked back to his car.

  “I . . . uhm . . . ,” she said, then stopped. She seemed nervous for the first time since they’d met. Unsure of herself.

  Sampson took her hands in his. “I was wondering if I could have another cup of coffee,” he said.

  She laughed lightly and shook her head. “Are you always this gallant?”

  Sampson shrugged. “No,” he said. “I’ve never been this way in my whole life.”

  “Well, c’mon back inside.”

  Chapter 56

  IT WAS ALMOST midnight, and Jamilla and I were up to our necks in the shimmering mountain pool that looked down on Phoenix in the distance and on the desert up closer. The sky over our heads seemed to go on forever. A big jet took off from Phoenix, and all I could think of was the tragedy at the World Trade Center. I wondered if any of us would ever be able to look at a jet in the sky without having that thought.

  “I don’t want to get out of this water. Ever,” she said. “I love it here. The desert sky goes on and on.”

  I held Jam close to me, felt her strong heart beating against my chest. The night desert air was cool, and it made being in the pool feel even better.

  “I don’t want to leave here either,” I whispered against her cheek.

  “So why do we do what we do? Live in the big city. Hunt killers? Work long hours for low pay? Obsess over murders?”

  I looked into her deep brown eyes. Those were good questions, ones I’d asked myself dozens of times, but especially during the past few months. “It always seems like a good idea at the time. But not right now.”

  “You think you could ever quit? Get past the adrenaline? The need to feel what you do matters? I’m not sure that I can, Alex.”

  I had told Jamilla that I was probably going to leave the police force in Washington. She nodded and said she understood, but I wondered if she really did. How many times had she faced down killers? Had any of her partners died?

  “So,” she said, “we’ve been beating all around it. What do you think about us, Alex? Is there hope for two cops off the beat?”

  I smiled. “I think we’re doing great. Of course, that’s just me.”

  “I think I agree,” Jamilla smiled, “too early to tell for sure, right? But we’re having fun, aren’t we? I haven’t thought about being a detective all day. That’s a first.”

  I kissed her lips. “Neither have I. And don’t knock fun. I could use a lot more of it in my life. This beats solving homicides.”

  “Really, Alex?” She grinned and pulled me close against her. “Is this good for you? Well, it’s good for me too. That’s enough for right now. I love being here. I love tonight. And I trust you, Alex.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  At a little before midnight.

  In the mountainside pool overlooking Phoenix and the sprawl of the desert.

  “I trust you too,” I said as the big American Airlines jet passed right over our heads.

  Part Three

  THE FOOT SOLDIER

  Chapter 57

  I GOT BACK to Washington on Sunday night at eleven. There was more of a bounce in my step and a smile plastered on my face. I’d forgotten about the rigors of the murder investigation for a couple of days, and Jamilla was the reason why.

  Nana was waiting up in the kitchen. What was this? She sat at the table without her usual cup of tea and without a book to read. When she saw me come in, she waved me over and gave me a hug. “Hello, Alex. You have a good trip? You say hello to Jamilla for me? You better.”

  I looked down into her brown eyes. They seemed a little sad. Couldn’t hide it from me. “Something’s wrong.” Fear had grabbed at me already. Was she sick? How sick?

  Nana shook her head. “No, not really, sweetheart. I just couldn’t sleep. So tell me about the trip. How was Jamilla?” she asked, and her eyes brightened. Nana definitely liked Jamilla. No hiding that either.

  “Oh, she’s good and she says hello too. She misses everybody. I hope I can get her to come east again, but you know, she’s a California girl at heart.”

  Nana nodded. “I hope she comes back,” she said. “Jamilla is a real strong woman. You’ve met your match with that one. I won’t hold it against her that she’s from out west. Anyway, I guess Oakland is more like D.C. than San Francisco. Don’t you think?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  I continued to look into Nana’s eyes. I didn’t get it. She wasn’t giving me a hard time the way she usually does. What was up? We were quiet for the next minute or so. Unusual for us. We usually jabber back and forth until one of us surrenders.

  “You know, I’m eighty-two years old. I never felt like I was seventy, or seventy-five, or even eighty. But Alex, suddenly I feel my age. I’m eighty-two. Give or take.”

  She took my hand in hers and squeezed it. The sadness was back in her eyes, maybe even a little fear. I felt a lump in my throat. Something was wrong with her. What was it? Why wouldn’t she tell me?

  “I’ve had a pain lately in my chest. Shortness of breath. Angina or whatever. Not so good, not so good.”

  “Have you seen Dr. Rodman? Or Bill Montgomery?” I asked.

  “I saw Kayla Coles. She was in the neighborhood treating a man a few houses down from us.”

  I didn’t understand. “Who’s Kayla Coles?”

  “Dr. Kayla makes house calls in Southeast. She’s organized about a dozen doctors and nurses who come into the neighborhood to help people here. She’s a fabulous doctor, and a good person, Alex. She’s doing a lot of good in Southeast. I like her tremendously.”

  I bristled a little. “Nana, you’re not some charity case. We have money for you to see a doctor of your choice.”

  Nana squeezed her eyes shut. “Please. Listen to me. And pay attention to what I’m saying. I’m eighty-two and I won’t be around forever. Much as I’d like to be. But I’m taking care of myself so far, and I plan to keep doing it. I like and trust Kayla Coles. She is my choice.”

  Nana got up slowly from the table, kissed me on the cheek, and then shuffled off to bed. At least we were fighting again.

  Chapter 58

  LATER THAT NIGHT, I went up to my attic office. Everyone was asleep and the house was quiet.

  I liked working when it was peaceful like this. I was back on the army case; I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Didn’t want to. The bodies painted in bright colors. The eerie straw dolls. The even spookier all-seeing eye. Innocent soldiers punished by wrongful executions.

  And who knew how many more soldiers might be scheduled for execution?

  There was plenty of material to go through. If even only some of these executions were linked, it would be a huge bombshell for the army. I continued my research, did some spadework on the straw doll and
the evil eye. I did a search on Lexis-Nexis, which held information from most local and national newspapers and the major international ones. A lot of detectives underestimate the usefulness of press research, but I don’t. I have solved crimes using information passed on to the press by police officers.

  I read reports about a former PFC in Hawaii. He’d been accused of murdering five men during a sex-slavery-and-torture spree that occurred from 1998 to 2000. He was currently on death row.

  I moved on. I felt I had no choice but to keep going on the case.

  An army captain had killed two junior officers in San Diego less than three months ago. He’d been convicted and was awaiting sentencing. His wife was appealing. He’d been convicted on the basis of DNA evidence.

  I made a note to myself: Maybe talk to this one.

  My reading was suddenly interrupted by the sound of footsteps pounding the stairs up into the attic.

  Someone was coming up.

  In a hurry.

  Adrenaline fired through my system. I reached into a desk drawer and put my hand on a gun.

  Damon suddenly burst into the room. He was soaked with sweat and looked like hell. Nana had told me that he was asleep in his room. Obviously, that hadn’t been the case. He hadn’t even been in the house, had he?

  “Damon?” I said as I rose. “Where have you been?”

  “Come with me, Dad. Please. It’s my friend. Ramon’s sick! Dad, I think he’s dying.”

  Chapter 59

  WE BOTH RAN down to my car, and Damon told me what had happened to his friend Ramon on the way. His hands were shaking badly as he spoke.

  “He took E, Dad. He’s been doing E for a couple of days.”

  I knew about E, which was one of the latest drugs of choice around D.C., especially among high school and college kids at George Washington and Georgetown.

  “Ramon hasn’t been going to school?” I asked.