“How the fuck should I know? I disowned her.”
“Why?”
“Because she's a whore, just like her mother. I tried to give those kids discipline. But how do they thank me? Michelle runs off with her loser boyfriend, and Ian Junior's too busy for his old man.”
“How did you discipline them?” Maggie asked.
“I never laid a hand on either one of them, if that's what you're asking. I was a good father, dammit. I never touched them. I'd just talk to them, tell them how it was.”
“Who was the boyfriend?”
“Sumari. Sumari Cho. Ian, Jr., caught him trying to rape his sister and beat his skull in.”
Maggie was incredulous. “You're saying she ran off with the boy who tried to rape her?”
“I told you she was a whore. Just like her mother.”
“Why didn't you arrest him?”
Ian turned venomous. “What makes you think I didn't, bitch? You whores are all alike.”
My blood was rising. I got up and waited for Maggie to do the same. We walked out together before Ian, Sr., said something I couldn't let pass.
TWENTY-THREE
I let Maggie lead the way. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to feel. I just kept following, looking down the whole way, hoping we'd get there fast. I needed to keep working. I didn't like this alone time one bit.
She found the fish market wedged between two other fish markets. A neon sign over the door read “Cho's.” We crossed a wide wooden beam that bridged the gap between the walkway and the shop entrance. Fish hung in the window, lathered up in yellow antifly gel and hooked through the gills. Two men were behind the counter cutting and slicing. They wore bloody aprons dotted with flies that took off and landed with every filleting stroke.
The tall one took a long look at Maggie before saying, “Can I help you?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We're looking for Sumari Cho.”
“You got him.”
His head looked normal. I didn't see any signs that this guy's skull had been beaten in by a young Ian. I figured it for one more of his Ian, Sr.'s, exaggerations. “This is Officer Orzo. I'm Officer Mozambe. We'd like to ask you some questions.”
He looked Maggie up and down and up again, trying to be subtle, but not getting away with it. “What about?” he asked with fish slime smeared on his cheek.
“Is there someplace we can talk?”
“Yeah, sure.” He wiped his hands on his apron and pulled off the gloves. He brought a bucket of innards with him and took us into the back room. He passed a sliding barn-style door that was closed except for a small crack through which I could see the river. Next to the door was a chute that Sumari made a show of pouring the bucket through, trying to show off his muscles. Oily fish pieces clung to the corners of the chute. The flies were having a heyday.
Sumari said, “You can ask me anything you want.” His eyes were on Maggie's chest, the outline of her bra showing through her rain-dampened shirt.
I wasn't at all happy about an accused rapist looking at Maggie. “You can start by putting your eyes back in their sockets, asshole. Tell us about Michelle Davies. We hear you tried to rape her.”
Sumari ran his fingers through his fish-oiled hair. He stopped making eyes at Maggie and aimed them at the fish-scrap littered floor. “That was a long time ago,” he finally said. “I was cleared of those charges.”
“Listen,” Maggie said in a serious voice, “we're not here to air out your dirty laundry. We just want to know about the Davies family.”
He glanced at Maggie then looked away. All of the sudden he was getting shy. “My lawyer told me not to talk about it.”
“But you said yourself that that was a long time ago.”
“Still… He said not to talk about it.”
“Her father is still calling you a rapist,” she said. “He told us not ten minutes ago that you raped his daughter.”
Sumari bit his lip. “He can't do that. I was cleared.”
“Why don't you set us straight?”
“I can't. He's a cop.”
“Not anymore. He retired. Don't you think it's time somebody heard your side of the story? Just tell us the truth.”
He looked at her, in the eyes this time. “You won't tell anybody I talked to you?”
“Nope.”
Sumari pulled three folding chairs from a stack leaning against the wall. He sat down with a grim expression. “Michelle and I met at school, and we started dating. We'd go to dances and parties, you know, kid stuff.”
“Were you sexually active with her?”
“Yes. She was my first, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't hers.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She knew what she was doing.”
“And you didn't?” I asked.
He gave me a stare that said, “Grow up.”
Maggie changed the subject. “How about her brother? Did you know him?”
“Yeah. I knew Ian. Couldn't get away from him. He was probably twelve or thirteen then.”
“And how old was Michelle?”
“She was seventeen. He was like a little puppy always following her around. We'd go to a show, and he'd have to tag along. We'd hang out at her house, and he'd have to sit right next to her. He drove me crazy.”
“Why didn't Michelle tell him to buzz off?”
“She said she felt bad for him since their mother ran off. I tried to tell her she wasn't doing the kid any favors. I mean, it had already been a couple years since their mom left. At some point, he needed to learn to take care of himself. She couldn't play mommy forever.”
“Did she listen?”
“No. She broke up with me instead. She told me that she and her brother were a pair. I couldn't be with her unless I was willing to accept Ian.”
“What did you do?”
Sumari laughed. “I apologized. I begged her to take me back.”
“And she did?”
He nodded. “It was the dumbest thing I ever did in my life. That family was nuts, and I knew it, but I wanted to be with Michelle. I loved her. I didn't think I could live without her.”
“How were they crazy?”
“Where do I start?” He paused like he really had to think about it. “I never met Michelle's mother, but if you ask me, she was the smart one to run away. Michelle's father was a real asshole. He couldn't open his mouth without putting you down. He'd pick at Michelle and Ian all the time, always telling them what they were doing wrong. I never heard him say anything nice, never. Michelle said dinnertime was the worst. He'd make them sit there for hours while he drank and told his bullshit stories. Michelle and Ian were kids, like they cared about his stupid stories. Some nights they'd still be sitting there past midnight. If one of them got up, or even if one of them looked like they weren't paying attention, he'd start yelling at them, telling them they were worthless. He used to call Michelle a whore all the time.”
“Did he ever hit them?”
“No. Michelle used to say she wished he did. And she was serious. She said she'd rather take a beating and get it over with instead of having to listen to him rant hour after hour.”
