“Marion was there with Tori.” I told her what I knew to be the truth. “We talked to people who saw her on Princeton Place that night.”
The cousin glared at me. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Mister Detective. You’re wrong. You ain’t got the straight.”
“I’m listening to you, Evita. That’s why I’m here.”
“Marion wasn’t there to sell her body or like that. She was just afraid for Tori. She went to protect Tori. She never did nothin’ bad for money, and I know that for a fact.”
The girl started to sob again. “My cousin was a good person, my best girlfriend. She was tryin’ to just protect Tori and she got herself killed for it. The police won’t do nothin’. You never come back here again after today. Never happen. You don’t care about us. We’re nothin’ to nobody,” Evita Cardinal said, and that seemed to say it all.
Chapter 31
WE’RE NOTHIN’ TO NOBODY. It was a horrifying and absolutely true statement, and it was at the deepest roots of the Jane Doe investigation, the search for the Weasel. It pretty well summed up George Pittman’s cynical philosophy about the inner city. It was also the reason I was feeling tired and numb to the bone by six-thirty that night. I believed that the Jane Doe murders were escalating.
On the other hand, I hadn’t seen nearly enough of my own kids for the last few days, so I decided I’d better head home. On the way, I thought about Christine and calmed down immediately. Since the time I was a young boy, I’ve been having a recurring daydream. I’m standing alone on a cold, barren planet. It’s scary, but more than anything, it’s lonely and unsettling. Then a woman comes up to me. We begin to hold hands, to embrace, and then everything is all right. That woman was Christine, and I had no idea how she had gotten out of my dreams and into the real world.
Nana, Damon, and Jannie were just leaving the house when I pulled up into the driveway. What’s this? I wondered.
Wherever they were going, everybody was dolled up and looking especially nice. Nana and Jannie wore their best dresses, and Damon had on a blue suit, white shirt, and tie. Damon almost never wears what he calls his “monkey” or “funeral” suit.
“Where’s everybody going?” I said as I climbed out of the old Porsche. “What’s going on? You all aren’t moving out on me?”
“It’s nothing,” Damon said, strangely evasive, eyes darting all over the front yard.
“Damon’s in the Washington Boys Choir at school!” Jannie proudly blurted out. “He didn’t want you to know until he made it for sure. Well, he made it. Damon’s a chorister now.”
Her brother swatted her on the arm. Not hard, but enough to show he wasn’t pleased with Jannie for telling his secret.
“Hey!” Jannie said, and put up her dukes like the little semipro boxer that she is becoming under my watchful eye.
“Hey, hey!” I said, and moved in like a big-time referee, like that guy Mills Lane who does the big pro fights. “N
o prizefighting outside the ring. You know the rules of the fight game. Now what’s this about a choir?”
“Damon tried out for the Boys Choir, and he was selected,” Nana said, and beamed gloriously as she looked over at Damon. “He did it all by himself.”
“You sing, too?” I said, and beamed at him as well. “My, my, my.”
“He could be in Boyz Two Men, Daddy. Boyz Two Boyz, maybe. He’s smoo-ooth and silky. His voice is pure.”
“Is that so, Sister Soul?” I said to my baby girl.
“Zatso,” Jannie continued to prattle as she patted Damon on the back. I could tell she was incredibly proud of him. She was his biggest fan, even if he didn’t realize it yet. Someday he would.
Damon couldn’t hold back a big smile, then he shrugged it off. “No big thing. I sing all right.”
“Thousands of other boys tried out,” Jannie said. “It is a big thing, biggest in your small life, brother.”
“Hundreds,” Damon corrected her. “Only hundreds of kids tried out. I guess I just got lucky.”
“Hundreds of thousands!” Jannie gushed, and scooted away before he swatted her like the little gnat she can be sometimes. “And you were born lucky.”
“Can I come to the practice?” I asked. “I’ll be good. I’ll be quiet. I won’t embarrass anybody too much.”
“If you can spare the time.” Nana threw a neat jab. She sure doesn’t need any boxing lessons from me. “Your busy work schedule and all. If you can spare the time, come along with us.”
“Sure, Dad,” said Damon, finally.
So I came along.