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  “No,” she said. “There’s no way. It can’t be. It’s got to be something else.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe he reminds him of someone or maybe . . . Do he and Ralph have a history? Has anything happened at Safe Haven or––”

  “No. Nothing. I don’t think Carlton’s ever been to Safe Haven before tonight. I just don’t get it. I’ve never seen him like that.”

  “So you’re saying he hasn’t been around Ralph since LaMarcus was killed?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t guess so. Not at Safe Haven anyway. But he would’ve had to have been back around the time it happened, at the funeral, visitation, in the neighborhood Carlton's family moved to. I . . . I’m just not sure. But it can’t be Ralph. He’s . . . he’s around children every day.”

  “Exactly.”

  “But . . . to protect kids. He’s there to . . . He takes his job of protecting the kids, of protecting all of us, so seriously. It can’t be Ralph. He can’t be . . . He wouldn’t . . . He couldn’t. Not Ralph.”

  “The more you say it, the more untrue it sounds.”

  “That’s because the more I say it, the more I doubt it.”

  “Think about how hostile he’s been toward us looking into what happened to LaMarcus, how threatened and defensive he’s been. Maybe it isn’t that he doesn’t like me or has a thing for you. I’ve got to find out why he was fired from the force and we need to take a closer look at him.”

  “If he . . . if he killed LaMarcus and has been working for us all these years, pretending to care, pretending to protect . . .”

  “I know.”

  This time when Martin put down his pencil, he took several bites of the banana and mixed the strawberry and chocolate ice cream together, his open mouth lingering over the plastic boat as he studied his work.

  “Did he tell you LaMarcus’s secret?” I asked.

  She nodded as she finished the bite of cone she was working on, then said, “He did. Said LaMarcus told him he was going to live with his dad, that his dad was going to make a man out of him.”

  I thought about that, wondering when he had been told, why it stuck in his memory, and how it could fit with what had happened to LaMarcus.

  Up near the street a white kid carrying an enormous boombox on his shoulder strolled by on the sidewalk in tight, black jeans tucked into black combat boots and a blue blazer customized with pins and buttons and patches. Rising out of shaved black hair, his spikey mohawk was white-blond. His ghetto-blaster was blasting a radio-recorded version of Run D.M.C.’s Walk this Way so distorted it was nearly unrecognizable.

  “Could it be Anthony?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “So not Ralph after all.”

  “It could be Ralph.”

  “But wouldn’t his dad be more likely?”

  “Could be both.”

  “Both?”

  “Dad tries to drug him and take him away––to make a man out of him––but he gets the dose wrong and instead of calming him or putting him to sleep temporarily, kills him. He hides him in the bushes where he was just hiding before, then he flees. Ralph comes along, takes the body to the drainage pipe. Carlton sees him do it or sees him leaving after he did it and . . .”

  “But why move LaMarcus to the drain pipe?” she asked.

  She must not know about her brother being raped and I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. Not now. Not like this.

  I shrugged. “It’s just a theory.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “Talk to Frank and Bobby.”

  She nodded.

  We had both finished our cones and as our conversation came to a close, now found ourselves watching Martin as he alternated between his split and his drawing.

  We sat there like that a long moment, our thighs touching, the sweet smell of her shampoo wafting over occasionally.

  “I . . .” she began.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothin’. It was silly.”

  “Tell me. You can tell me. You can tell me anything. You could never be silly.”

  She looked at me with her sweet, kind eyes and her fresh, unadorned face, and smiled a beautiful but shy smile.

  “I keep havin’ this fantasy,” she said.

  “Oh yeah? Wonder if we’re havin’ the same one?”

  “I know I shouldn’t. Know it’s silly and farfetched . . . but it’s so . . . persistent. I guess it’s more a picture in my head or a dream . . . I don’t know.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s us. Like this. Together. Married. Having adopted Martin. A family.”

  I nodded. “Sounds like a small sliver of heaven.”

  “So . . . you don’t think . . . I’m . . . I don’t know . . . you don’t think it’s wrong to even wish for?”

  “It’s lovely,” I said. “And very similar to mine.”

  “Really?”

  “Mine’s the same as yours except in it Martin’s in his room, in his bed sound asleep, and we’re naked in ours in the way only lovers can be.”

  32

  When we got back to my apartment, they were waiting for us.

  Thankfully, Martin had fallen asleep in my backseat on the short drive over, and didn’t wake up when I parked the car.

  They came at us as soon as we got out, so I left Martin inside, hoping they wouldn’t see him.

  We had parked beside each other, across the lot from the apartments near the basketball court. They had appeared out of the darkness, one on each end of the cars, trapping us between them.

  I recognized Vincent Storr so assumed the guy he was with was Raymond Pelton.

  “This him?” Ray asked.

  In contrast to Vince, Ray was round and short with big, muscular arms, thick, stubby-fingered hands, no neck, and not much hair.

  Vince nodded. “Motherfucker came to my job site.”

  The night was dark, the complex quiet, everyone behind their locked doors doing what they did when they went inside.

  “Who’s this pretty little piece of pussy you got here?” Ray said, eyeing Jordan lasciviously, his thick tongue molesting his lower lip as he did.

  “She’s got nothin’ to do with this,” I said. “Let her go on inside.”

  “I don’t even like girls and I’m gonna fuck this one. Show her how good it can be up the ass.”

  “She’s got a small one on her,” Vince said. “Won’t be hard to pretend she’s a little boy.”

  How stupid could I be? Not only was this my fault, but I had put Jordan right in the middle of it.

  I had no weapon of any kind, no way of defending myself, let alone her. I couldn’t keep screwing up like this. I had to get better at what I was doing and fast. Of course, because of this screwup, I may not get the chance to get better.

  Think. Come up with something. Fast.

  “I wouldn’t talk that way about a cop’s wife,” I said. “Only thing worse than killin’ a cop is doin’ anything at all to one of their wives.”

  “You ain’t no cop,” Ray said.

  “No, but her husband is. Like I was saying. Messin’ with her is misery like you don’t need.”

  “You’re fuckin’ a cop’s wife but you’re tellin’ us not to?” Vince said.

  “I haven’t touched her,” I said. “I know better. Like I said, she has nothin’ to do with this.”

  Ray seemed to consider what I had said.

  “All this ’cause I’m interested in information about a kid who was killed six years ago?” I said.

  “Why the interest?” Ray asked.

  “We’re the same age. Or would be. Could’ve been me.”

  “Still could be.”

  “This just doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Why the over-response? If you didn’t kill LaMarcus, I wouldn’t think you’d want to draw so much attention to yourselves. And if you did, I’d think you’d want to attract even less.”

  “Don’t try to play me, boy,” Ray said.

  “I�
�m not. I’m serious.”

  “I want to be left the fuck alone,” Ray said. “So I wanted to know what little punk was comin’ to Vince’s job site asking after me and why.”

  I nodded.

  “Vince, blade,” Ray said.

  So fast I wasn’t even sure it had happened at first, Vince had an arm around Jordan’s throat and the point of a knife at her neck.

  I took a step toward her.

  “Don’t do it,” Ray said. “If you do, she’ll be dead before you get there.”

  I stopped.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Ray said. “I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions. If you lie or I even think you are, she’s gonna get her throat slit. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Show him we ain’t fuckin’ around, Vince.”

  Vince cut into the side of Jordan’s neck a little and she screamed.

  “That’s nothin’,” Ray said. “A little scratch. Imagine if he really went to work on her, slicing through her skin like thin sheetrock paper.”

  Beside the beat of my heart in my head, all I could hear were the not dissimilar sounds of the wind, the whoosh of traffic on I-20, and Jordan’s panicked breaths.

  Jordan’s breathing was loud and labored. Blood was on her neck, the blade, and Vince’s fingers.

  “Satisfy my curiosity and you’ll walk,” Ray said. “Lie to me and I’ll leave you both bleeding out on this asphalt.”

  I nodded. “Okay,” I said, “but I was serious about her being a cop’s wife.”

  He looked at Jordan. “What’s your husband’s name? Where’s he work? What’s his badge number?”

  She told him in a trembly voice. She sounded scared but as if she was telling the truth.

  As she spoke, I stole a glance at Martin. He was beginning to stir. It wouldn’t be long before he was awake and climbing out of the car right into this.

  Ray nodded and looked back at me. “Why are you looking into what happened to that kid?”

  “It started when I was a lot younger,” I said. “I met Wayne Williams, became obsessed with the case. Well, I already was, but that really sealed it for me. I’ve studied the Atlanta Child Murders my whole life––or what seems like it. I came to LaMarcus through them, to see if he was one of the killer’s victims––that killer’s. When I met the family and saw all they had been through . . . I just wanted . . . to help. To try to find out who killed LaMarcus and why. That’s it.”

  He nodded.

  “What’s her connection?” he asked, jerking his head toward Jordan.

  “She’s his sister. His stepsister.”

  “She really married to a cop?”

  I nodded.

  “You really not bangin’ her?”

  “I’m really not.”

  “But you want to be?”

  “I do.”

  “Whatta you think, Vince? He tellin’ the truth?”

  “Can never go wrong by cuttin’, Ray,” Vince said.

  Ray shook his head. “I’m sorry about your brother,” he said to Jordan, “but I didn’t kill him––or any other kids. I swear it. And I want to be left out of it. For all sorts of reasons. Not least of which is other things I got goin’ right now. Look for whoever snuffed your brother, just leave me out of it. And make sure your husband and your boyfriend here do too. If y’all do, you’ll never see me again. If you don’t, I swear to Christ Vince will cut your tits off and mail one to your husband and one to this boy who wants to be bangin’ you. And that’ll just be for starters. Nod if you understand.”

  She did.

  “Both of you.”

  I nodded too.

  “Nod if you’re going to leave me the fuck out of all this.”

  We both nodded.

  “Only get one chance. No bullshit. No warnings. No mercy. And we won’t just kill you. We’ll do things to you first, things that’ll make you wish we had just killed you. Cop’s wife or not. Won’t matter.”

  Without another word or gesture, Ray turned and walked away.

  Vince shoved Jordan into me, licked her blood off his blade, and followed.

  33

  Are you okay?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  She was shaking and seemed in shock.

  I was holding her, trying to hug her fear and trauma away, but needed to look at her neck.

  “How’s your neck?” I asked. “Let me . . .”

  I pulled back a little to examine her neck but it was too dark and she didn’t want to let go.

  “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go inside and get you taken care of.

  Without letting go of her, I eased over and awkwardly opened the door, woke Martin up, and helped him out of the car.

  “Sorry, buddy, but you’re gonna have to walk. Can’t carry you tonight.”

  He looked up at me sleepily, nodded, then stumbled out of the car, across the lot, and up the steps with us.

  It took a little doing––we moved like the infirmed and inebriated attempting a three-legged race––but eventually we were in my room, Martin on a pallet on the floor, Jordan in my bed.

  She was still trembling and her small hand was pressed against her neck.

  “I need to look at it,” I said.

  I grabbed her wrist to ease her hand back. There was something erotic about the gesture, electric, and I wondered if she felt it too, or would have had she been able to.

  She seemed to come out of her shock a bit and smiled up at me. “I like that.”

  “Me too.”

  “Sorry I’m being such a wimp.”

  “You’re not. Not at all.”

  Pulling her hand back, I checked her wound. It was nearly two inches but didn’t seem very deep and had pretty much stopped bleeding.

  “Need to clean it,” I said.

  I tried to think of who might have peroxide, antibiotic ointment, and a Band-Aid, and felt like an inadequate adult for not having anything but soap, shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, and fish sticks in the apartment.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “Really.”

  Martin made a noise and shifted in his sleep and we both looked over at him.

  “I’m so glad he slept through it,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “Still can’t believe it happened,” she said. “Just . . . right out there . . . just . . .”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I should’ve never gone to see Vincent, should’ve never put you and Martin in a situation like that. Still can’t believe I screwed up so bad. It was stupid and amateurish and I’m so sorry.”

  She shook her head. “You saved us,” she said. “You stayed calm and you talked them out of . . . what they were going to do. They came with different intentions but you convinced Ray to alter his actions. You were . . . just to be able to stay calm and deal with the situation . . . It was impressive.”

  “Should’ve never been in that situation. Think about what could’ve happened. I’ve got to get better at this. And quick.”

  “What’re you gonna do?” she asked. “Did you believe him? About not havin’ anything to do with what happened to LaMarcus and what he’d do to me if you . . .”

  I shrugged. “Not sure how much I believe,” I said. “Don’t want to put you in danger like that again . . . but . . .”

  “They’re such . . . They seem really evil.”

  I nodded. “Not a lot of humanity there.”

  “Listen,” she said. “I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t want you stopping for me. I’ll be fine. I’ll be more careful. But I don’t want you gettin’ hurt . . . or . . . worse. I mean it. It won’t bring LaMarcus back. It’s not worth gettin’ killed over.”

  I thought about it. Was she right? If I was going to do this, do work like this in any way, I would have to figure out what was worth dying for and what wasn’t. I’d have to make peace with the possibility of an early death and then live and investigate with abandon and conviction and without fear.

  “I’ve .
. . lost so . . . much,” she said. “It’s really all I know.”

  I nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “I’d like to know something else,” she said. “I really would.”

  “I’d like that for you too.”

  “I . . .” she began, but trailed off and didn’t return to it.

  “What?” I said. “You what?”

  “I . . . I feel like . . . I could know something different with you. With you and Martin. Feel like I already do.”

  I reached down and removed a strand of hair from her face.

  She looked up at me with big green eyes that were beautiful and brilliant, shy and searching. Her beauty, which was breathtaking, snuck up on you. She looked as sweet and innocent and simple and sexy as a schoolgirl who’d yet to start fixing up for boys.

  “Will you hold me?” she said.

  “I will,” I said, “but before I do . . . I . . . You probably don’t even need me to say this . . . so I’m sayin’ it for me . . . because I need to say it and I need to hear myself say it. I’m not sayin’ you want to or would . . . but . . . there are certain lines I won’t cross.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Marriage is one of them,” I said.

  “I had no idea you were so opposed to marriage,” she said.

  “No, I meant I can’t sleep with––”

  “I knew what you meant,” she said. “You’re so sweet, John. Just precious. And I already knew . . . I could tell . . . a woman can tell things about a man.”

  “I just . . .”

  “Two things,” she said. “One, I think it’s time to . . . I hope not to be married much longer . . . and two,” ––she smiled a sweet, playful, seductive smile–– “just knowin’, in the poetic words of Raymond Pelton, you want to bang me, is enough for now.”

  34

  This was not going to be pleasant.

  I was meeting Bobby Battle and Frank Morgan at the Waffle House on Evans Mill Road to discuss the case and all my mistakes.

  We were in a booth in the back corner of the crowded restaurant, the two of them on one side of the table, me on the other.

  “I don’t have long,” Battle said. “So . . .”