“But the city changed. And then my wife left me, and it was just Erika and me. So I moved us out here… to this. A brown patch of grass and a pile of bricks under the power lines. I wanted to protect her, see? But I couldn’t protect her, Stefanos. You can’t stop it from reaching you. No, you can’t.”
“This is the world we’ve got,” said Stefanos.
Mitchell continued to stare through the window for another minute and then he stood straight. “Go ahead and give me the rest of it. I know there’s more.”
“Okay. Here’s what I think. Forjay is the top dog down around First and Kennedy. Randy Weston and Donnel Lawton were small-change dealers compared to him, but he still wanted them out. He also wanted Erika, who was tight with Weston, all to himself. He figured out a way to get everything he wanted at once.”
“What puts Forjay at the crime scene?”
“A tricked-out red Torino was spotted leaving the crime scene just after gunshots were heard around the time of death. I found that Torino last night, parked in Forjay’s garage.”
“So Forjay framed up Weston.”
“Yeah. He got ahold of the key to Weston’s apartment. It would have been easy for him to plant the gun. An anonymous call tipped the police to the whereabouts of the murder weapon. They made the arrest.”
Mitchell nodded slowly as he put it together. Stefanos didn’t feel the need to go the rest of the way: that it was Erika who had the key to Weston’s crib. That Erika, most likely, had made the anonymous call.
Mitchell said, “What’s going to happen to my little girl?”
“I don’t know,” said Stefanos. “But I still need you to alibi Randy Weston.”
Mitchell turned, his eyes rimmed red. “Randy Weston could not have killed Donnel Lawton. He was here in this living room when that boy was killed.”
“You’ll testify to that?”
“Yes.” Mitchell looked down at Stefanos. “What you said to me the other day, about me bein’ no better than those criminals out there… You were wrong.”
“I know it. The truth is, I knew it then.”
“You try to keep Erika out of this,” said Mitchell.
“I’m going to meet with Weston’s defense counsel this afternoon.” Stefanos stood and shook Mitchell’s hand. “I’ll do the best I can.”
“You’re a cheap date,” said Elaine Clay, watching Stefanos chew his food.
“Look at this,” he said, excitedly pointing the knife at his plate. “Chopped steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, tossed salad, and biscuits. The whole thing was, what, four and change?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How’s yours?”
“A little bland, to tell you the truth.”
“The food is good, but you have to spice it up yourself. They don’t salt it on account of all the potential heart attacks in this place. They keep the A-1 and soy sauce behind the register. You have to ask for it when you pass through.”
“You’re the Scholl’s expert, huh?”
“I’ve been coming here my whole life. Well, not here. My grandfather used to take me to the old Scholl’s at Vermont and K.”
Stefanos looked around the cafeteria, filled with old folks, working stiffs, and bus tourists, and a diligent multiethnic staff. Religious sayings and Christian icons hung on the walls. He nodded to an ancient geezer with a flowing gray beard, reading a newspaper with the aid of a magnifying glass.
“See that guy? He eats here the same time every day.”
“That’s great, Nick. Can we get back to the case?”
“You’re just upset because there’s no lawyers in this place.” “Yeah, I’m really feeling naked around all these common folk.” Elaine had a bite of chicken a la king and laid down her fork. “So Terrence Mitchell is definitely going to testify.”
“That’s right. You going to get Sean Forjay charged with the murder?”
“It’s not my job to get anybody charged with murder, you know that. I’ll feed the information you dug up to the D.A.’s office as a courtesy. Other than that, when Weston gets acquitted, I’m out.”
“The cops should have nailed this one to begin with.”
“They made what they thought was an easy and clean arrest. There’s too many unsolved homicides out there for them to overcomplicate the ones that fall into their laps solved.”
Stefanos swallowed a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Sean Forjay’s gonna walk, isn’t he?”
“The car proves nothing. The murder weapon had no prints. There are no witnesses. From where I sit, I don’t think they even have enough to charge him.”
“Unless they put Erika Mitchell on the stand.”
“They’re not going to know a thing about Erika Mitchell. I need Terrence Mitchell’s testimony. If he gets angry or fearful for his daughter and decides not to testify, Randy Weston goes to prison. I’m not going to jeopardize Weston’s acquittal for some vague concept of justice.”
“What’s justice got to do with any of this?”
“Nothing. You need to get past all that. If you want justice -”
“I know, I know.” Stefanos pushed his empty plate to the side and sat back in his chair. “Anyway, it’s a job.”
“You did a good job, Nick. Randy Weston is not a hard kid. You know what would have happened to him in prison? What he would have become? You saved his life.”
“I hear you. Thanks.”
“I owe you for this one.”
“There is something you can do.”
He asked Elaine to run a background check on Manuel Ruiz and Jaime Gutierrez. He gave her the address of their garage. The lease records would have their home addresses. Knowing this would prevent Elaine from confusing them with anyone else.
“Here’s one more name while you’re running those checks,” said Stefanos. “A guy named Thomas Wilson.”
Elaine hesitated for a moment. “What’s going on? You taking side jobs again?”
“No.”
“Okay, go ahead and play it like that if you want to. Anything else?”
“Well, yes. You could reimburse me for a flashlight.”
“Why would I do that?” said Elaine.
“I broke it on the job,” said Stefanos. “If it’s all right with you, I’ll just go ahead and send you the bill.”
THIRTY-ONE
William Jonas picked up his phone and punched a number into its grid. While he listened to the phone ring, he rubbed his finger on the checkered grip of the service revolver that was lying in his lap. He sat behind the bay window of his house, looking out onto Hamlin.
The call was answered, and the voice on the other end said, “Boyle.” Jonas heard a young kid and a teenage kid arguing in the background.
“Danny, it’s Bill Jonas.”
“Hey, Bill. Sorry I haven’t gotten back to you on the letter and envelope.”
“That’s why I’m calling. I’ve been contacted again by the man who sent the letter.”
“Through the mail?”
“By phone. I’d like to see you, Dan. I need to see you tonight.”
“Any idea where he was calling from?”
“He’s in town. He followed my son. He threatened my son.”
“All right,” said Boyle. “Have you contacted anyone else yet?”
