I said.
Helen's face turned to stone. She said, 'It must be nice to live in a world where everyone who deserves justice gets it. My son was taken from me. I tried to save him…help him save himself. And now he's gone. And let me tell you what I want now, Henry… I want to live.
And if living means letting this end, letting the people out there think that someone is taking the fall, I can't say that's an ending I dislike.'
'You must know, though,' I said. 'You have to know who killed your son.'
'I don't know for certain,' Helen said. 'After James and I had our…talk…he left for the airport. He put the gun back down. We both knew I wasn't going to use it.
And I knew that was the last time I would ever see your father.'
'Then what did you do?' I asked.
'Then I went out. I needed a drink. Needed to smoke.
James didn't have that much money, only a few thousand dollars. I didn't know what was going to happen with Stephen. He was so scared, so afraid.'
'So your choice then was to go out rather than see him.'
'That's right. I did. I had to calm my nerves. I just needed something to get me by. And I thought if I could relax, I could figure out just how we were going to get out of the city. I must have been gone for, I don't know, two hours or so. When I came back to the apartment, I walked in and saw him…Stephen…facedown on the floor. Blood everywhere. And I just started screaming.'
'And you felt you were in danger.'
'I knew I was,' Helen said. 'Whoever killed him did it because they thought he knew something he wasn't supposed to. And if he knew, then chances were I would too. I left that night, before the cops ever came. And I remember the street, the quiet, the neighbors who didn't even know what had just gone on. I went right to BethAnn's apartment, and we went up to the lake. I had no idea they would find us there.'
'So you didn't see who killed Stephen,' I said.
'No. Just the people on the street. Neighbors, people I'd seen around before…' Helen trailed off, looked at Clarence.
'What is it, Mom?' he said.
'One man,' Helen said. 'There was one man standing on the street, staring at me as I left the apart ment. He was just there, standing by a lamppost, and I could have sworn he was crying. And honest to God, I think that boy looked at me and said…'
'Said what?' I asked.
'Said he was sorry. And all I could think to do was run.'
'I don't understand,' I said. 'Why didn't you call anyone? The cops? Someone?'
'Stephen told me a long time ago not to trust anyone in this city. He said the people he knew, the people he worked for, if they thought you might hurt them they would hurt you first, and hurt you worse than you could ever do to them. When he came home that night, scared out of his mind, he told me our only option was to run.
That if we told anybody, we would be in trouble. That's all he said. Trouble. But the thing is-' Helen stopped, looked at the floor.
'What is it?'
'The night he died,' she said, 'Stephen told me there might be one way out. He said he knew one person who might be able to help us. He knew about your father, about his family, and I told him there was a good chance
James Parker wouldn't give us a dime and we wouldn't be able to leave the country. So finally he told me there was one last option. There was someone he knew wasn't on the take, wouldn't hurt us. Someone who could give them more trouble than they ever imagined. He went out that night. Never told me who he was going to see. And then, a few hours later, he was dead.'
It felt like a piece of coal was burning in the pit of my stomach. I knew Stephen had been talking about me.
For some reason, he considered me his last hope. And then he died. Because I didn't trust him.
'You said the night Stephen died, you saw someone outside the apartment. A young man crying. Who was he?' I asked.
'I don't know. It was dark out,' Helen said, her voice sorrowful, apologetic. 'And my mind, I was so confused, so scared. I didn't see his face. All I remember is noticing something on his neck…a birthmark. Such a young man, younger than Stephen even…'
I nearly fell to the floor. The room went blurry on me.
Clarence got up, came to my side, helped me stand.
'You okay?' he said.
I nodded, but felt anything but okay. I knew who that man was. And now I knew who killed Stephen.
And I knew where he lived.
31
'I have to go,' I said, standing up. Right under my nose the whole time. My brother's killer. I didn't have time to talk to Helen. To worry about how disturbing it was that a mother would prefer to protect her own hide than find justice for her son's killer.
I couldn't think about how this might affect Helen.
She could be helped. She could be protected. And if her eyes hadn't deceived her that night, I knew who had killed Stephen Gaines.
'Tell me you'll be here,' I said to Helen, looking at
Clarence. 'I swear on my life I know people who can protect you. And if I'm right, you won't have to worry anymore, because the man who killed Stephen will be behind bars the rest of his life. There's nobody else who can hurt you.'
'You don't know that,' Helen whispered. 'Stephen was much stronger than I ever was. And look what happened to him.'
There was no boogeyman. No higher power. It was the law of the jungle. Kill or be killed. Stephen found himself on the shit end of that equation. And it was time for me to even the score.
'Please be here,' I said. 'If I'm right, you'll need to testify.'
'If you're wrong,' she said, 'neither of us will be around long enough for it to matter.'
I said nothing. I thanked Clarence for his help. Then, crossing over to Helen Gaines, I put my hand on her shoulder. The bones protruded, sharp angles. There was no muscle, no strength there. She was a skeleton with skin. A woman whose soul seemed to have left her long ago.
Helen Gaines smiled weakly at me. I didn't know if she would still be here later. There were only so many lives I could affect. My duty was to the truth, to uncover it at all costs.
'Watch after her,' I said to Clarence. His nod told me he would.
I left Bernita's apartment, exiting the building. The sun was hanging bright and hot over the city. Every second seemed to take an hour. Every moment he breathed thinking he'd gotten away with murder was one that made my blood boil.
Before I left, I took out my cell phone and my wallet, then removed the thick stack of business cards that had turned brown from the leather. Shuffling through them,
I picked out the one I needed. Then I called the cell phone number listed.
'Detective Makhoulian,' came the answer.
'Detective,' I said, 'it's Henry Parker. I know who killed Stephen Gaines.'
I gave him the address and told him when to be there.
Only, I would be there ten minutes earlier. We needed some time alone.
I headed toward the subway, my mind completely clear except for the anticipation of what was about to come. The judicial system would have its turn. But first
