‘I was swinging,’ Ramona said. ‘That’s when she come up.’
‘About what time was that, you got any idea?’
The little girl shrugged gently.
‘Was it close to suppertime?’
‘Right before.’
‘So that would have been around five, something like that?’ Ben asked.
‘Right before supper,’ Ramona repeated. ‘My mama come to call me.’
‘Was Doreen with you when your mama called?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Where was she?’
‘She done left for home.’
‘How long did she play with you?’
‘Not long.’
‘An hour, something like that?’
‘She come across the field,’ Ramona said, this time pointing to the right, toward the opposite end of the ballfield.
‘She came from that direction?’ Ben asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Ramona said. ‘I seen the light flashing, and I looked, and then I seen Doreen.’
‘Flashing? A light?’
‘From the police car.’
‘You saw a police car?’
‘Yes, sir. It done stopped somebody.’
‘Another car?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What did the police car look like?’
‘It was the Black Cat car.’
‘Why was it stopped?’
‘They was writing a ticket to somebody.’
‘They’d stopped a car?’
‘Yes, sir, they had,’ Ramona said. ‘And they was over leaning in the window, writing him a ticket.’
‘Both of them?’
‘They calls them the Black Cat boys,’ Ramona said, ‘them two brothers. Ever-body in Bearmatch knows who they is.’
Ben leaned toward her slightly. ‘What about the other car? Do you remember what kind it was?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What’d it look like?’
Ramona shook her head. ‘Just black, or blue or something like that.’
‘And that’s when you saw Doreen?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where was she?’
‘She was walking across the field right toward me.’
‘Was she alone?’
‘She was by herself, yes, sir,’ Ramona told him. ‘She didn’t have nobody with her.’ She smiled tentatively. ‘She looked real happy. She was sniggering to herself. She always sniggering. She can’t talk, you know.’
Ben nodded.
‘But she sure do snigger a lot,’ Ramona added with a smile.
‘And so she came across the field, and you two played for about an hour, is that right?’ Ben asked.
‘Played till she left.’
‘Which direction did she go in when she left?’
‘Right toward her house,’ Ramona said, once again pointing toward the opposite end of the field. ‘Right down that way.’
Ben nodded slowly. ‘Now this may seem like a funny question, but do you know where the rubber plant is?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the little girl answered immediately. ‘My daddy work there.’
‘It’s over there, isn’t it?’ Ben asked as he pointed in the opposite direction. ‘Are you sure Doreen didn’t walk toward the plant?’
‘Oh, no, sir,’ Ramona said loudly. ‘She walk toward her house.’ Again, she pointed in the direction opposite to the plant. ‘That way, just like always.’
Ben smiled quietly. ‘You didn’t happen to see anybody else around the ballfield that afternoon, did you?’
‘People was walking through it, like they always is.’
‘You ever heard of a man named Bluto?’
‘No, sir.’
‘He’s very big.’
‘Never heard of him.’
Ben took out the morgue photo and showed it to her. Ramona studied the picture carefully. ‘He asleep?’ she asked finally.
‘Yes, he is.’
Ramona’s eyes dropped back toward the picture. ‘He look like he sick or something.’
‘Have you ever seen him?’
‘No, sir, I ain’t seen him,’ Ramona said, her eyes still staring curiously at the photograph. ‘He kin to Doreen?’
‘No,’ Ben said. He slipped the picture from her fingers.
Ramona looked at him quizzically. ‘Who he is?’
‘Just a man,’ Ben said as he tucked the photograph back into his pocket.
‘He hurt Doreen?’
‘He might have,’ Ben said. He got to his feet, then stood a moment, poking the tip of his shoe into a ridge of dusty earth. ‘You got any idea if somebody else might have seen Doreen after you did?’
Ramona shook her head. ‘None as I know of.’ Her eyes drifted over to the far edge of the field. ‘’Cept maybe for them police boys and that fellow they was writing a ticket to.’
TWENTY-EIGHT
Knots of firemen still lingered outside Police Headquarters as Ben pulled over to the curb, got out and headed slowly up the stairs. Some were still dressed in their black slicks as they stood alone, or huddled together, talking quietly as the air darkened steadily around them.
Lamar Beacham slumped against the front of the building, his long, slender body propped like a bamboo fishing pole against its granite facade.
‘What happened today?’ Ben asked as he reached the top of the stairs.
Beacham smiled thinly. ‘Where you been – Mars?’
‘Working a case.’
Beacham dropped his cigarette to the steps and crushed it with the tip of his boot. ‘They brought us into it, the Fire Department.’
‘How?’
‘Just lined us up across the street,’ Beacham said. ‘And the Chief says, “Turn on the hoses.”’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘So we did.’
‘You sprayed the demonstrators?’
‘Yeah, we sprayed them,’ Beacham said. His face twisted with disgust. ‘We sprayed them good.’ He shook his head. ‘Shit, Ben, that water comes out of them hoses at a pressure of a hundred pounds per square inch. You got any idea what that does when it hits somebody?’ His eyes darted away, and he lit another cigarette. ‘It makes me
