Penny Legend Page 12

  I couldn’t really see what was going on from where he’d parked. I wondered if he’d done that on purpose. I could hear police radios intermittently and I could see a small group of men gathered on the sidewalk—Conner’s broad back was facing me. There was an ambulance just beyond them with two wheels up on the curb.

  The pub pretzels were a problem. They were good when they were soft twists of bread but they’d turned into squirming dough-worms. Gigantic, writhing, growing, and possibly reproducing dough-worms. I tried to focus on Conner’s steady back. He was going to take care of me. Unfortunately, his back was moving—just a few frames to the left, and then back where it was, slide left, repeat. I decided to focus on something closer up. I didn’t see anything interesting in the car, so I opened the glove box. There wasn’t anything exciting in there. You’d think that being in a narc’s car at the scene of something-or-other would be more interesting. The dough-worms churned again and I realized I was going to lose my pretzels.

  I launched out of the car and staggered across the sidewalk to a patch of parched dirt and started to heave. Officer babysitter was on me in an instant. I was looking at his shoes. He talked into his radio. “I’ve got her, Detective. She’s just not feeling well.”

  Then, over the sound of my retching, I heard my name.

  “Penny? What the hell are you doin’ here?”

  I spit a couple of times, wiped my mouth on the hem of my dress, and looked up. It was Gabe.

  “Puking.”

  “Well I see that! Why are you jumping out of a narc’s car and puking?”

  “That’s a really good question. Why are you here? What’s happening? Is Legend okay?”

  “Legend’s fine. Martel got himself shot.”

  “Oh no! Is he…is he okay?”

  Just then I saw the lights flash and the ambulance made some really loud squawky noises and pulled away. I looked back at Gabe. “Is he okay?”

  “Don’t know. He’s not dead.”

  The cop had stepped away but was keeping a close eye on us. Gabe looked at him with narrowed eyes, then back at me.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there. You know Martel’s an idiot, right?”

  “I know he’s unusual.” I was impressed that I could be so diplomatic in my state. “Hang on.”

  I turned back to the dirt-and-puke patch and another load of worm segments erupted out of my stomach. Gabe was cool. He waited. I spat and wiped and turned back to him.

  “I hope he’s okay. Do they know who shot him?”

  “No. They never know. No cops around here protectin’ anyone, just here once the shit hits the fan.” He shot a look toward Conner.

  “I wish I could see Legend. This makes me so nervous for him. Is Martel living there?”

  “He stayin’ on the couch a few nights, yeah. Never has his shit together.”

  “Have you been there today? Have you seen Legend?”

  “I was on my way there.” He shifted side to side a little and looked over at my babysitter cop, who was standing at a polite distance but well within earshot. “Look, I don’t know what you were doin’ sick in the narc’s car, the police are not our friends around here. I thought you were helping Legend and Desiree.”

  He was standing up taller and leaning toward me there on the ground and he suddenly felt big and tough. I stood up. I was a bit unsteady but I put a hand on the car and I got my balance. “I am trying to help them. I’m trying to get that cop”—I pointed my chin toward Conner—“to leave Legend alone about what he knows or doesn’t know.”

  “They actually tryin’ to find who killed James?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer. Maybe it would be better for everyone to assume the police were on to other things. “I don’t really know. They don’t tell me anything. Do you know who killed him?”

  “’Course I don’t know. James was in a dangerous business, this is a rough neighborhood. Martel just proved that. Looks like he was just trying to get in or out of his car.” He motioned toward a mold-green old Oldsmobile.

  The babysitter cop decided enough was enough. I didn’t exactly feel threatened by Gabe, but he was getting a little loud. The cop took me by the arm and said, “You need to get back in the car, miss.”

  “Let me just stay out here and wait.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  I looked at Gabe. “You in trouble?” he asked, snickering.

  “You’d think so.” I pulled my arm from the officer and said, “I’m not under arrest and Conner isn’t my daddy.”

  “I have orders.”

  “I’m outta here before you get us both in trouble,” Gabe said with a mean cackle.

  One of the officers was headed our way and intercepted Gabe. He didn’t seem impolite, just like he wanted more information from him. Gabe was clearly unhappy and I hoped I hadn’t put him in a bad mood.

  Conner was looking over at me with a big, big, angry cop frown. I giggled. He was really cute. Cute like hot cute. Hot cute like strong and in-control hot cute. My mind went to handcuffs.

  I got back in the car and closed my eyes.

  When I woke up Conner was carrying me up the stairs of my apartment building.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Conner laid me on my bed and took off my shoes. He leaned in and kissed me just under my ear. “I wish I could stay, babe, but I have to finish this up. I want you to be a good girl. Stay away from Legend’s world unless he comes to your office.”

  I rolled toward him and put my arms around him. He moved in closer and nuzzled my neck. “I have to go.”

  Wednesday morning wasn’t pretty. I looked like a big white mushroom with brown freckle-spots and enormous hair. I couldn’t imagine why Conner would want anything to do with me, and then I remembered that maybe he didn’t. I’d been ready to pull him right into my bed, but he wasn’t there.

  Gloria was still asleep so I texted both her and Toryn calling off the set-up for old Doc Pillbug. Conner was right. That was a stupid plan.

  I showered and put on some makeup and hoped that the crazy runner would be singing today. But I was running a little late getting to work and I must have missed her.

  When I reached work I checked in with Lynnie and learned that Desiree had called about the sliding fee scale and it would cost thirty dollars per session. She hadn’t scheduled an appointment.

  I held out hope that I’d be able to keep working with Legend. I wanted to better understand the signs of distress I’d interpreted from his behavior. I spent the first hour of my morning doing research on play therapy and child abuse. Legend was a complicated case because he had suffered so many traumas. How could I possibly sort out the causes of his behavior when he’d lost his mother, lived with a drug dealer, suffered racism at school, then witnessed a violent act against someone close to him? I made a shift and did some research on children who become nonverbal due to trauma.

  Legend’s refusal to speak was referred to as elective mutism, and also as reactive mutism. This type of mutism is, not surprisingly, related to anxiety. There is also a type called traumatic mutism, which appeared to be related to head injuries. I didn’t want to rule out the possibility that Legend had sustained a head injury at some point, the night of the shooting or otherwise, and I made a note to ask Desiree.

  I learned that elective or reactive mutism may start as the result of a specific event, but it isn’t necessarily about needing to hide something as I’d assumed. It can simply be a reaction to fear or anxiety, and can be related to depression. I realized that I needed to challenge my assumption that Legend knew who the shooter was. After all, it was night and the bullet wound on his leg had come from behind. Desiree had said the two of them were running away from a bad scene.

  The literature made clear the importance of moving through “transient mutism” before it becomes “persistent mutism,” which was defined as mutism of six months or more. When a child doesn’t talk for an extended period of time it has a n
egative impact on self-esteem, impacts education, and can lead to subsequent outcomes like depression.

  I felt heavy under the pressure of needing to help Legend, and he wasn’t even my client anymore.

  I’d blocked some time in the afternoon for paperwork, which had built up badly enough to potentially be a strike against me getting off probation. I dug in around three o’clock, documenting cases, completing forms, submitting invoices for work outsourced to us. None of it was really helping anyone. I had a hard time sticking to any task. I checked my personal email, checked Twitter, and looked at my friends’ lunches on Instagram.

  Finally I decided some movement would do me good so I headed out for a walk. I walked toward the water. As a native Midwesterner I never take the opportunity to look at the ocean for granted. The day was more buoyant than the previous few, with less humidity and just a few high clouds. The air smelled cleaner—well, maybe not cleaner exactly, but it smelled less than it had when the humidity was pressing down and holding in all the stink. We needed rain, but I just counted my blessings that I wasn’t a farmer and enjoyed the sunshine.

  I thought about calling Toryn to talk about Legend, about what I’d read about mutism, and about the weird thing with Conner. But instead I decided to be silent. What would it feel like to have to process everything internally, without being able to share thoughts with others? I wanted to see what it was like not to talk. I would have to talk at work, but I could spend a silent weekend. I decided to stop talking at sundown on Friday and stay silent until sundown on Sunday.

  Conner graced my office on Friday. His hair was rumpled and he collapsed without grace into what I’d started to think of as “his” chair.

  “You okay?” I asked. “How’s Martel?”

  “Martel’s fine. Flesh wound. He was released Wednesday. And I’m fine too if you really care.”

  “You don’t look that fine.”

  “Let’s not talk about me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t talk about most of it and the parts I can talk about are really boring. Like what I ate or didn’t eat and how much I didn’t sleep.”

  “Okay, can you talk about Legend’s case?”

  “A bit. Martel gave us some information when he was under the influence of the pain meds in the hospital.”

  “Is that fair?”

  “We are permitted to talk to suspects in a crime, yes.”

  “So does ‘narc’ mean ‘snitch’ because people tell secrets when they’re on narcotics?”

  Conner chuckled and said, “Not exactly.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He didn’t tell us anything directly but we were able to figure out that he and Gabe are a bit on the outs. Funny thing too, because Gabe happened to be in the area when Martel was shot.”

  “Is he your main suspect for shooting Martel?”

  “He is.”

  “What were they disagreeing about?”

  “We have some information from other sources that Gabe was trying to take over James’s sales territory, but Martel had cornered most of it.”

  “Now what?”

  “We have surveillance on Gabe as well as some other tactics I can’t talk about.”

  “Is anybody even worried about who killed James, or have you moved on since the drugs have?”

  “We have a lead on that one too. The audit on the facility where Tasha works showed that there were some unaccounted-for scripts. A lot of unaccounted-for scripts.”

  “What does that mean? Pads for writing them or the actual prescriptions?”

  “Both. And Tasha’s financial accounts reflect more than her pay as a health aide.”

  “Why does that mean she killed James?”

  “We think he tried to blackmail her somehow—maybe he threatened to expose her if she didn’t get more drugs, or maybe there was something more personal to it. Given that they were both in the drug business together and romantically involved, motives abound.”

  “What now?”

  “We probably have what we need to arrest her, but the prosecutors are going through the evidence now to see.”

  “Wow. I guess I wouldn’t have thought it. She’s annoying and visually disturbing for sure, but a murderer?” I thought about it for a second. “I guess men drive women to do some pretty extreme stuff. James clearly wasn’t a great guy. Not that I’m excusing murder, just trying to wrap my head around it.” I decided to stop thinking aloud before I said anything else awful.

  Conner was sitting back looking more relaxed than when he came in. He had the smirk on his lips and a little twinkle in his eyes. “I’ll remember not to piss you off.”

  “Oh, it’s too late for that.”

  Conner stood and took my hand, pulling me up out of my chair. He wrapped his arms around me and held me for a minute, then gave me a peck on the lips and left. I sat back down and stared at his empty chair for a minute, then I got on with my paperwork.

  Friday evening went easily enough. I’d let Gloria and Toryn know about my plan to be silent, and Gloria was out all night anyway. I reveled in the quiet, read a mystery, and went to bed early.

  The rain finally came on Saturday, dark and steady. I took my time over coffee and thought about my plan for the day. Nothing social, clearly. I could run errands, but that would be dicey. I realized it would be easier to be mute as a kid than as an adult because as a kid you have someone to order your ice cream for you. I was going to have to get by on pointing and nodding. I decided to stick close to home.

  Will called around ten in the morning and I sent the call to voicemail and then texted him.

  Me: Not talking- not about you

  Just not talking to see what it’s like for Legend

  I thought that would take care of it but a text chimed in

  Will: Can you make an exception?

  I took a couple of deep breaths and tried to restore the calm I’d found in the silence. It didn’t work. I started to itch a little.

  Me: Not really.

  I don’t think I’ll understand what it’s like to be silent if I talk.

  He didn’t respond and I felt a mix of relief and guilt. It probably looked like I was avoiding him. After about ten minutes I texted him again.

  Me: I’m really sorry.

  It isn’t about you at all.

  I’ll call you Sunday evening

  Will: K

  Texting has rendered “K” the poutiest letter in the alphabet.

  The day wore on without incident. I went through my closet and bagged clothes for Goodwill, I read, I caught up on Twitter and Instagram and pinned some street art, recipes, and travel dreams on Pinterest. I thought I should take a quiet weekend more often. Then Marco texted.

  Marco: Hey beautiful.

  Free to chat?

  I was really torn. Marco was so far away and we never had time to talk and here was a great chance. I plopped onto the couch and twisted my hair like answers would wring out of it. Instead it just got frizzier and more tangled than usual. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a yogurt out of the fridge and ate it perched at the breakfast bar. It’s funny how some part of me seems to think that eating will make problems vanish on their own. The rain was beating down harder and my silence was beginning to feel lonely. I reasoned that making an exception for Marco wouldn’t ruin what I was doing. In fact, I didn’t even actually know what I was doing. What was the point of this ridiculous exercise anyway? How could I help Legend by being silent? I picked up my phone to call Marco but then I set it on “do not disturb” and opened a text to Marco. I knew the right answer.

  Me: I can’t now.

  Long story.

  Can you talk Sunday? Not sure time zone.

  Where are you?

  Marco: I’m in Italy.

  Will call you Sunday.

  I suspected it would be before sundown Sunday, but I decided to let that go for now. Maybe I would give up by then.

  Toryn came by with popcorn that evening.
We’d talked about my plan earlier in the week and this was his moral support. We watched a movie in companionable silence. When he got hungry he asked, “Wanna get Chinese?”

  I nodded.

  “What do you want?” He grabbed a pad and pen off the breakfast bar and handed them to me. I stared at them then wrote, “I feel like I shouldn’t write much because Legend can’t really write very well.”

  “Okay. Do you want Mu Shu Chicken?”

  I shook my head.

  “Uh, do you want chicken at all?”

  I shook my head.

  “Beef?”

  Head shake.

  “Veggies?” His voice was a little tenser like this wasn’t fun when hungry.

  I nodded.

  “Great! Veggie fried rice?”

  I shook my head. Toryn paced from the kitchen toward the bathroom at the back of the apartment, ran his hand through his hair, turned and paced back and tried again.

  “Buddha’s delight?”

  Head shake. He knelt by where I was sitting on the couch and gave me a hard look in the eyes.

  “Garlicky eggplant?”

  I nodded and smiled and hugged him. Who has friends this good? I wished I could tell him how amazing he was.

  Toryn ordered the food and I wondered if I would have starved to death without the ability to call for carryout myself. We ate in front of another movie, then he kissed me on the forehead and went home.

  The light in June comes early. I woke Sunday to sunshine and the clean air we get after a rain. I opened my bedroom window and had coffee in bed. I was starting to really enjoy the quiet and the slower pace it brought.

  Gloria had stayed out all night, so the apartment held the morning light in near stillness, with only dust motes moving, drifting lazily through the air.

  One thing I was noticing about silence was that it relieved some pressure. I didn’t expect myself to do as much and other people gave me some space. I wondered how Legend experienced it. Sure, people asked him questions at school and others tried to get him to talk, but the more he didn’t talk the more he could take refuge in the fact that their expectations of him were lower. I imagined that people began to give him some space since they no longer expected responses from him. From what I’d read, most kids who became mute were selectively mute, which is to say they would speak in situations where they felt safe, like at home, but not in social situations where they felt anxiety. Legend would no doubt talk just to Desiree when he was ready, then expand back to talking to more people like he did before he stopped talking.