‘Where is she, honey?’
‘In bed, of course. You know people sleep in bed.’
The loud music stopped, and the smaller child yelled for a new record. The seven-year-old hurried away, fussy and exasperated-like Mommy. I found the bedroom.
Anne Terry lay on top of the bedspread covered awkwardly with a blanket. Her face was quiet and slack, her eyes closed, her hands on her stomach. A glass of water on the bed table had bubbles of stale air in it. A bowl of cereal and a plate of doughnuts were untouched on the bed table. From her slack face, the odour, the stiffness of her cold legs, I guess that she had been dead for maybe two days.
I took off the blanket. She wore a black slack suit and a white blouse. There was no blood, no marks, no wounds. A small bottle of pills on the bed table was half full. No violence, no pain on her face, only death. I went back out.
The smaller child was singing with her record. The older was back stirring her soup. There was a brightness to the seedy rooms as if the little girls, despite the older one’s mothering, knew they were only children and needed light and noise.
I touched the older child. ‘What’s your name, honey?’
‘Sally Anne Terrell. Is Mommy awake now?’
‘Not yet. Can you tell me how long she’s been asleep?’
‘A long time.’
‘Today is Monday. Do you know that, Sally Anne?’
‘I know that!’ She was insulted.
‘Good. Do you know what day your mother went to sleep?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Yesterday?’
‘Oh, no. Before that.’
‘She came home early. When was that?’
‘On Friday, silly. It’s always Friday when she comes.’
‘She went to sleep Friday night?’
‘Oh, no! She read to us on Friday. Daddy was gone. Next morning she went away. Saturday, I guess. Cartoons were on.’
‘She went out Saturday, and came back?’
‘Daddy was away. Mommy came back and played. Only she got tired. She broke two glasses at dinner! She walked funny. She went to sleep. She won’t wake up. We always watch Lassie. That’s on Sunday, I know that. I gave Aggy her milk money today. She’s only kindergarten, but it’s important to get good habits. I stayed home with Mommy.’
‘That was good. When your mother said she might sleep for a long time, did she do anything? Tell you anything?’
‘No. Oh, she took some aspirin, of course.’
‘Your Dad hasn’t been home since Friday?’
‘He was mad, I think. He went to drink. He gets pains.’
‘You didn’t call him? At his work? Today?’
‘Oh, he doesn’t work except sometimes. We don’t have any telephone.’
‘All right, Sally Anne. I’m going to find a telephone. Your mother is sick. I’m going to get some help.’
‘Okay. I’ll feed Aggy.’
I had to go to the main street to find a booth. I called the police. When I got back to the house, the little girls were playing a game with a kind of plastic bucket that shot coloured balls all over the room. The object was to chase the balls and get them back to receptacles on the bucket first, each player having a different colour. I got green. The three of us were still chasing balls and shouting when the police arrived.
Chapter Eight
A Lieutenant Denniken was in charge. I didn’t know him, Queens isn’t my beat, but I saw the kind he was. A ‘cop’ who lay awake nights hating the Supreme Court for coddling ‘evil’. Law and order; but order before law. Injustice better than disorder.
‘You talk when we ask, Fortune. Go sit down.’
Yet he was human. He found a neighbour woman, not next door where it was still dark, but three houses down. He sent Sally Anne and Aggy with the neighbour before the assistant Medical Examiner arrived. She agreed to keep them until something was decided, if it wasn’t too long, she had her own affairs. She knew nothing about the husband except that he was a bum.
‘There’s a sister,’ I said. ‘Sarah Wiggen. She doesn’t seem to know about kids. Mrs Terrell lived a double life.’ I could have added that Anne Terry had really lived a triple life, but Denniken wasn’t going to care about my abstractions.
‘Shamski, get the sister’s address from Fortune here, and give him the spiel,’ Denniken ordered.
The ‘spiel’ was the recitation of my constitutional rights. Denniken couldn’t even bring himself to say them.
‘Okay, Mister Fortune, now tell your yarn,’ he said.
I told him the whole story except that I left Ricardo Vega out. He scowled when I had finished.
‘Missing Persons and her Village Precinct are looking for her? You’re sure?’ He didn’t like anyone in on his cases, especially not the Centre Street brass.
‘I’m sure, Lieutenant.’
‘How come you followed up on your own? You didn’t report the lead brought you out here?’
‘A hunch, not a lead. I’ll report now.’
‘No, mister. I’ll report. You’ll answer questions.’
The assistant Medical Examiner came out of the bedroom wiping his hands with distaste. It suddenly brought home the fact to me: Anne Terry was dead. The beautiful body, the hard work, the dedication and the ambition, the strong self-reliance, were all gone. The good actress, the struggling girl, and the mother. I could hear her bony voice, ‘So long, Gunner.’ I had liked her. To the M.E. she was only decay, unpleasant.
‘We’ll have to autopsy before I can tell you, Denni-ken,’ the M.E. said. ‘A tough one. She had-’
‘Hold it, Doc,’ Denniken snapped. ‘Fortune here doesn’t need to know.’
‘I’ve got a client, Lieutenant.’
‘To find the girl. You found her. Take him in, Shamski.’
‘For what?’ I said.
‘Material witness. We need your statement-tomorrow.’
‘Like that?’
‘You want to argue?’ Denniken didn’t smile.
I walked to the door without answering. I waited there for Detective Shamski. Denniken didn’t seem to like my attitude, but that didn’t bother me. Anne Terry could have died of natural causes. Most people do, even at twenty-two. There were no signs of violence, and the whole thing could be over for me. What bothered me was the little girls, the toys on the floor. Children make me feel sad, vulnerable, as I get older.
Detective Shamski walked me out to the squad car. He was silent, embarrassed. I didn’t try to make him feel better. He had to get used to working with the Denni-kens. We drove to the station, and he marched me inside. He huddled with the desk sergeant. Neither of them seemed happy. The sergeant nodded me to the desk. Shamski left looking relieved.
‘I need your personal junk, Fortune,’ the sergeant half apologized. ‘Lieutenant says hold you. Material witness, your own protection. I guess he can justify it, and the Captain keeps his hands off the squad room if he can.’
‘Don’t make waves, I understand. Can I make one call?’
Now he looked embarrassed. ‘Denniken said no lawyer yet. I got to work here.’
