tears of blood was painted on the front of her building. Marshall told Scott the painting looked more like an anorexic Smurf, but he couldn’t miss it. Marshall had told it true. The Virgin Smurf was three stories tall.
Marshall didn’t remember which was Amelia’s apartment, so Scott checked with the manager. Wearing his uniform helped. Top floor in back, 304.
Scott wondered if news of Daryl’s death had reached Amelia. When he and Maggie reached the third floor, he heard crying and knew it had. He paused outside her door to listen, and Maggie sniffed at the floor jamb. Inside, a child wailed between whooping breaths, as a sobbing woman alternated pleas to stop crying with reassurances they were going to be okay.
Scott rapped on the door.
The child kept wailing, but the sobbing stopped. A moment later, the wailing stopped, too, but no one came to the door.
Scott rapped again, and gave her his patrol officer’s voice.
“Police officer. Please open the door.”
Twenty seconds passed without a response, so Scott knocked again.
“Police officer. Open the door or I’ll have the manager let me in.”
The wailing began again, and now the woman’s sob came from the other side of the door.
“Go away. Go AWAY! You’re not the police.”
She sounded afraid, so Scott softened his voice.
“Amelia? I’m a police officer. I’m here about Daryl Ishi.”
“What’s your name? WHAT IS YOUR NAME?”
“Scott James.”
Her voice rose to a frantic scream.
“TELL ME YOUR NAME.”
“Scott. James. My name is SCOTT. Police officer. Open the door, Amelia. Is Gina safe? I’m not leaving until I see that she’s safe.”
When he finally heard the deadbolt slide, Scott stepped away to appear less threatening. Maggie automatically stood by his left leg as she’d been trained, and faced the door.
A girl not more than twenty peeked out when the door opened. She had long, straw-colored hair and pale, freckled skin. Her eyes and nose were red, and her lips quivered between gasps, but nothing about her expression suggested a broken heart or mourning.
Scott had seen her expression on the faces of women who were punching bags for their husbands, hookers on the run from pimps out to cut them, and the shell-shocked faces of rape victims. He had seen it on mothers with missing children—an expectation that something worse was coming. Scott knew the face of fear. He saw it on Amelia Goyta, and instantly knew Daryl had witnessed the shooting, and told her he would be killed if the shooters found out.
She wiped away snot, and asked him again.
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Scott. This is Maggie. Are you and Gina okay?”
She glanced at Maggie.
“I gotta pack. We’re leaving.”
“Can I see the baby, please? I want to see she’s okay.”
Amelia glanced toward the stairs as if someone might be hiding, then threw open the door and hurried to her child. Gina was in a playpen, her face pinched and smeared with snot. She had dark hair, but looked nothing like Daryl. Amelia lifted her, jiggled her, and put her back in the playpen.
“Here, you see? She’s fine. Now I gotta pack, I got a friend coming. Rachel.”
A faded blue wheelie carry-on was waiting by the door. A Samsonite suitcase older than Scott was open like a giant clam on the floor, half-filled with toys and baby supplies. She ran into the bedroom, and returned dragging a brown garbage bag fat with clothes.
Scott said, “Did Daryl say they would kill you?”
Amelia dropped the bag by the door, and ran back to the bedroom.
“Yes! That dumbass piece of shit. He said they’d kill us, and I ain’t waiting.”
“Who killed him?”
“The fuckin’ killers. You’re the policeman. Don’t you know?”
She ran back with a wastebasket filled with combs, brushes, hair spray, and toiletries. She upended it into the Samsonite, tossed the basket aside, and pushed a small velvet pouch into Scott’s hands.
“Here. Take’m. I told the dumb fuck he was an idiot.”
Scott caught her arm as she turned for the bedroom.
“Slow down. Listen to me, Amelia. Nine months ago. What did Daryl tell you?”
She sobbed, and rubbed her eye.
“He saw these masked dudes shoot up a car.”
“Tell me exactly what he said.”
“He said if they knew he saw, they’d fuckin’ kill us and the baby, too. I want to pack.”
She tried to twist away, but Scott held her. Maggie edged closer and growled.
“I’m here to stop them, okay? That’s why I’m here. So help me. Tell me what Daryl said.”
She stopped fighting him, and gazed down at Maggie.
“Is that a guard dog?”
“Yes. A guard dog. What did Daryl tell you?”
Scott felt her relax as she considered the guard dog, and turned loose her arms.
“He was on some building somewhere, and heard a crash. Stupid Daryl went to see, and here’s this truck and the cops and these men were around this Rolls-Royce, shooting the shit out of it.”
Scott didn’t bother to correct her.
“He said it was crazy. He was, like, fuck, it was Tarantino, these masked guys shootin’ the cops and the Rolls. Daryl freaked, and slammed down off the roof, but it was all quiet when he hit the ground, and they were yellin’ at each other, so idiot fuckass Daryl goes to see.”
“Did he tell you what they were saying?”
“Just bullshit, hurry up, find the damned thing, whatever. They were scared of the sirens. The sirens were coming.”
Scott realized he had stopped breathing. His pulse had grown loud in his ears.
“Did Daryl say what they found?”
“This one dude gets in the Rolls, and jumps out with a briefcase. They piled into this car and tore out of there, and stupid Daryl, he’s thinking, rich people in this Rolls, he might get a ring or a watch, so he runs to the car.”
Scott thought Daryl had embellished his story.
“With the sirens getting closer?”
“Is that fuckin’ damaged? These two people are shot to shit, blood everywhere, and my moron boyfriend risks his life for eight hundred dollars and this—”
She slapped the velvet pouch.
“I said, you stupid shit, are you crazy? The money had blood on it. Idiot Daryl had blood all over, and he’s freaking. He made me promise, we can’t tell, we can’t even hint, ’cause these maniacs would kill us.”
“Did he see their faces?”
“You didn’t hear what I just said? They had masks.”
“Maybe one of them took off his mask.”
“He didn’t say.”
“How about a tattoo, hair color, a ring or a watch? Did he describe them in any way?”
“All I remember is masks, like ski masks.”
Scott thought harder.
“You kept asking my name. Why were you asking my name?”
“I thought you were them.”
“Meaning what? He heard their names?”
