28
Pruning shears.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. He grabbed his cellular and called the Dragons’ practice site. After a few minutes Brenda came on the line.
«Hey,» Brenda said.
«Hey.»
They both fell silent.
«I love a smooth-talking man,» she said.
«Uh-huh,» Myron said.
Brenda laughed. The sound was melodious, plucking at his heart.
«How are you doing?» he asked.
«Good,» she said. «Playing helps. I’ve also been thinking about you a lot. That helps too.»
«Mutual,» Myron said. Killer lines, one after another.
«Are you coming to the opener tonight?» Brenda asked.
«Sure. You want me to pick you up?»
«No, I’ll take the team bus.»
«Got a question for you,» Myron said.
«Shoot.»
«What are the names of the two boys who had their Achilles tendons sliced in half?»
«Clay Jackson and Arthur Harris.»
«They were cut with pruning shears, right?»
«Right.»
«And they live in East Orange?»
«Yeah, why?»
«I don’t think Horace was the one who hurt them.»
«Then who?»
«Long story. I’ll tell you about it later.»
«After the game,» Brenda suggested. «I’ll have some media stuff to do, but maybe we can grab a bite and go back to Win’s.»
«I’d like that,» Myron said.
Silence.
Brenda said, «I sound too eager, don’t I?»
«Not at all.»
«I should be playing harder to get.»
«No.»
«It’s just that» – she stopped, started again – «it feels right, you know?»
He nodded into the phone. He knew. He thought about what Esperanza had said, about how he «used to» leave himself totally exposed, keeping his feet planted with nary a worry of getting beaned on the head.
«I’ll see you at the game,» he said.
Then he hung up.
He sat and closed his eyes and thought about Brenda. For a moment he didn’t push the thoughts away. He let them cascade over him. His body tingled. He started smiling.
Brenda.
He opened his eyes and came out of it. He switched on the car phone again and dialed Win’s number.
«Articulate.»
«I need some backup,» Myron said.
«Bitching,» Win said.
They met up at the Essex Green Mall in West Orange. «How far is the ride?» Win asked. «Ten minutes.» «Bad area?»
«Yes.»
Win looked at his precious Jag. «We’ll take your car.»
They got into the Ford Taurus. The late-summer sun still cast long, thin shadows. Heat rose from the sidewalk in lazy tendrils, dark and smoky. The air was so thick that an apple falling from a tree would take several minutes to hit the ground.
«I looked into the Outreach Education scholarship,» Win said. «Whoever set up the fund had a great deal of financial acumen. The money was dumped in from a foreign source, more specifically the Gayman Islands.»
«So it’s untraceable?»
«Almost untraceable,» Win corrected. «But even in places like the Caymans a greased palm is a greased palm.»
«So who do we grease?»
«Already done. Unfortunately the account was in a dummy name and closed four years ago.»
«Four years ago,» Myron repeated. «That would be right after Brenda received her last scholarship. Before she started medical school.»
Win nodded. «Logical,» he said. Like he was Spock.
«So it’s a dead end.»
«Temporarily, yes. Someone could prowl through old records, but it will take a few days.»
«Anything else?»
«The scholarship recipient was to be chosen by certain attorneys rather than any educational institution. The criteria were vague: academic potential, good citizenship, that type of thing.»
«In other words, it was fixed so the attorneys would select Brenda. Like we said before, it was a way of funneling her money.»
Another nod. «Logical,» he repeated.
They started moving from West Orange into East
Orange. The transformation was gradual. The fine suburban homes turned into gated condo developments. Then the houses came back – smaller now, less land, more worn and crowded together. Abandoned factories started popping up. Subsidy housing too. It was a butterfly in reverse, turning back into a caterpillar.
«I also received a call from Hal,» Win said. Hal was an electronics expert they had worked with during their days working for the government. He’d been the one Myron had sent to check for phone taps.
«And?»
«All the residences contained telephone listening devices and traces – Mabel Edwards’s, Horace Slaughter’s, and Brenda’s dorm room.»
«No surprise,» Myron said.
«Except for one thing,» Win corrected. «The devices in the two households – that is, Mabel’s and Horace’s homes – were old. Hal estimated that they had been present for at least three years.»
Myron’s head started spinning again. «Three years?»
«Yes. It’s an estimate, of course. But the pieces were old and in some cases crusted over from dirt.»
«What about the tap on Brenda’s phone?»
«More recent. But she’s only lived there a few months. And Hal also found listening devices in Brenda’s room. One under her desk in her bedroom. Another behind a sofa in the common room.»
«Microphones?»
Will nodded. «Someone was interested in more than Brenda’s telephone calls.»
«Jesus Christ.»
Win almost smiled. «Yes, I thought you might find it odd.»
Myron tried to enter the new data into his brain.
«Someone has obviously been spying on the family for a long time.»
