“No.”
“But you said you were both sitting on the same bench. You were turned facing the buildings across the street and he was turned toward you, facing the interior of the park. Is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right,” I answered. And here I flashed on something Jake had said about a shadow on the roof of the building across the street. And the newscaster, too, had reported that the bullet might have come from the rooftops. I was no ballistics expert, but thinking on it now, I knew that the shot that hit Christian Luna between the eyes couldn’t have come from the roof across the street. It had to have come from the woods…where Jake was. I saw a small smile turn up the corners of the detective’s mouth, then disappear. I think my face was like a movie screen for him, where he could watch my thoughts flicker in my expressions.
“The car, a black sixty-nine Pontiac Firebird, license plate number RXT 658, is registered to a man by the name of Harley Jacobsen, address 258 West 110th Street.”
He looked at me and I tried to make my face blank, shook my head. Harley? someone inside my head asked. Wasn’t that the name of Jake’s investigator friend? They had the same last name?
“Three assault charges, possession of an unlicensed firearm, breaking and entering,” the detective was saying.
I was starting to feel a little sick. But I kept silent.
“I consider myself a good judge of character, Ms. Jones, and this is not the kind of man I would imagine a woman like you spending time with.”
“You’re right,” I said after a second. “It isn’t. I’ve never heard of this man.”
Again that small, fleeting smile. “Can I call you Ridley?”
I nodded.
“Ridley, I don’t want to see you get in trouble protecting someone who doesn’t deserve it.”
His words stung a little. I could tell then that I was in the presence of a master. Detective Salvo was a man who knew how to size people up and subtly manipulate them into telling the truth. I wondered if this gift had led him to become a cop, or if he’d discovered it in the commission of his work.
“I don’t know who this man is,” I said. And that much was true. I had
“The guy was abandoned into the system when he was five years old. A problem kid. Was in and out of foster homes until he was fourteen, never adopted. He went to an orphanage in New Jersey then; stayed there until he was eighteen. He joined the Marines. Had some trouble there with fighting, conduct unbecoming, et cetera. His tour ended in ninety-six and he didn’t reenlist. Got his New York State private investigator’s license in ninety- seven.”
There was a loud pounding in my right ear, this weird noise I hear sometimes when I’m under a lot of stress. My mind strained to keep up with what the detective was telling me. Had Jake lied about his name? Was
Gus Salvo handed me a piece of paper. It was a copy of Harley Jacobsen’s PI license. The picture was poor quality, dark and distorted. But there was no denying that it was Jake. My heart fell into a million pieces, fluttered down into my belly.
Jake had lied about his name. That scared me. Jake had a private investigator’s license, which explained a lot of things I hadn’t bothered to question. That also scared me. But as for the rest of it, for all I know these were the things he’d been trying to tell me since the night I met him.
“Any of this ringing a bell for you, Ridley?”
“No,” I said. “Not in the least.”
The detective looked at me long, with hard, seeing eyes.
“Sounds like he’s had a hard life,” I added, squirming just a little inside beneath those eyes.
“That’s not an excuse for breaking the law.”
I didn’t know what else to say to Detective Salvo. For whatever reason, I was feeling more protective of Jake—or whatever his name was—than ever. Sure, he’d lied about his name. But obviously I’d been lied to about more important things. I
“I can’t help you, Detective. I’ve told you everything I know about last night.”
“Ridley,” he said with a sigh. “I’m just not sure I believe you.”
I smiled at him, not in a smart-ass way, but in a way that communicated to him that I was done talking. I guess if he’d wanted to be a hard case, he could have arrested me for leaving the scene of a homicide, but I just didn’t get the sense that he was like that. Not that I thought he was giving up, either. He closed his notebook and stood. I told him then about Christian Luna’s cousin in Puerto Rico so that his body could be returned to his family. I didn’t know the name, but somehow I thought Detective Salvo would figure it out. The two police officers who had stood silent throughout the entire interview moved toward the door. I rose and followed the detective to the doorjamb. As I stood beside him, I realized that he was a bit shorter than I was, but somehow his personality made him seem larger.
“So what did you find out? Was he your father?” asked Detective Salvo.
“He seemed to think so,” I answered.
“Any idea who would want him dead?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t know him. He was hiding from someone. I thought it was the police. But maybe he had other people to be afraid of as well.”
“I think that’s a safe assumption,” said the detective. “Consider something, will you, Ridley?” he asked, handing me his card.
I nodded.
“It was very easy for me to identify and find you. I was at your doorstep less than twelve hours after Luna was murdered.” I didn’t say anything, but I felt a chill and my stomach did a little flip. “I’m one of the good guys, okay? I show up at your door and you might get in trouble, but you’re not going to get hurt. You hear me? You get what I’m saying, Ridley?”
I’d read somewhere that cops are trained to use your name a lot when they talk to you, that it fosters a sense of intimacy. It was working.
“You’re a witness to a murder. If someone thinks you saw something, or wants to eliminate that possibility…” He let his voice trail, allowing my imagination to fill in the blanks. “I’m saying watch your back. I think you’re in over your head here.”
I nodded again, not trusting my own voice. If he had been trying to scare me, he’d succeeded. I remembered what Jake said about the cops being the least of our problems. It sucked that the cops seemed to feel the same way.
“I’ll be in touch, Ridley,” he said, putting his hand on my arm. “Call me day or night if you remember anything else, need to talk. Call if you’re in trouble.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that you should remain easy for me to find.” He gave me a look that somehow managed to be condescending and paternal. Then he and the uniformed officers moved down the stairs. I waited until I heard the gate door swing open downstairs and then slam shut before I ran up to Jake’s apartment. I knocked on the door but there was no answer. I turned on the knob and pushed at the door but it was locked. I knocked once more but there was only silence.
seventeen
“Alexander Harriman’s office,” answered a bright, hard voice. I’d figured someone like Alex Harriman didn’t take Saturdays off. And I was right.
“This is Ridley Jones,” I said. “Is he in?”
There was a slight pause. “Just a moment.”
Rock bottom. Do you think I qualified? I’d just watched a man get murdered, and then fled from the scene of
