Handcuffs in the Heather Read online

  Sunday Dinnertime …

  Doreen settled into a more comfortable sitting position and prepared to listen.

  “He didn’t get along with a lot of the other women or men. A group of transvestites hung around here, but they were more of their own group, so he didn’t really fit in with them either.”

  “Often people who don’t fit into any group form their own group,” Doreen said quietly.

  “That was us,” he said. “Manny and I had been friends a long time before all this. I knew him as Meredith for years, so it wasn’t exactly a surprise when he finally came out of the closet.”

  “Gender changes are much more acceptable now.”

  “I don’t think that the women were jealous of him. I think they looked at him like he was some freak.”

  “Which just added to his sense of alienation.”

  “Exactly. And, since losing him, I have just felt so alone.”

  “That’s because it was just the two of you in your group, and, when you lose one, you lost half. I mean, it would seem like you’d lost the better half, of course.”

  Peter stared at her in surprise. “You’re a very surprising person. That’s a very deep insight, and it’s exactly how I felt. It’s only now, as I look back, that my mind starts to get clearer about the drugs’ influence. And I see just how dependent we were on each other too.”

  “When you hadn’t seen him by that morning, what did you do?”

  “I walked up and down the streets, asking everybody if they had seen him. But nobody had. Nobody had seen the truck. Nobody had seen the john. Nobody had seen anything,” he said with a shrug. “But then I was drunk or high, so getting people to talk to me wasn’t easy, and everybody I asked were street people who kept to themselves anyway.”

  “But, if somebody was killing other prostitutes, surely they would take note.”

  “But nobody else has gone missing,” he said. “Just Manny.”

  “Interesting,” Doreen said, settling back on the bench. “What about Manny’s family? Did he ever talk about them?”

  “He talked about his son a lot, but his son went to live with his father when Manny became public about who and what he was. Occasionally he’d get depressed over what his choices had cost him, but, on the whole, Manny was a tough cookie and didn’t stay down long.”

  “How old was the son when he left?”

  “Thirteen, maybe. He didn’t like what Manny was doing.”

  “Right, and, of course, that’s sad too.”

  “I don’t think anybody can hurt us quite as much as family,” Peter said quietly.

  “Exactly,” Doreen said. “But it’s also family who looks after us and loves us when we need it the most.”

  “Then you must have a different family than me,” he said with a laugh. Then he stopped, shook his head, and said, “No, that’s not fair. My father’s done a lot for me, and I haven’t given him credit for that. I really lucked out with him as my father. I wish I’d told him.”

  “I think he knows. He’s talked to me about you. But, like he said to me, it’s hard to know how to help.”

  “I know. I’m really hoping I will have something good to say to him soon.”

  “The sooner, the better because I think he needs to know you’ve at least turned a corner.”

  “He doesn’t have much of a life, does he?”

  “He works at the secondhand store. I bought four cups and a bowl from him,” she said with a laugh. “It was a whole three dollars.”

  He grinned at her. “I got this free coffee from somebody today. That probably cost them three dollars.”

  “I used to be wealthy,” Doreen said. “And then I used to be extremely poor. Now I realize that wealth comes in many different forms, and it’s not at all about money.” Then she got up, turned to smile at him, and said, “If you can think of anything else to add to this, would you call me?”

  “I don’t have a phone,” he said.

  “Okay, can you use the phone at the shelter?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Do you have your number? I might come up with something.”

  She nodded, wrote it down on her notepad, and handed it to him. “Just remember. I’m trying to help Manny. Let’s at least find out what happened to him.”

  “Right,” he said. “Manny was a good person.”

  Doreen stopped at that and looked at him. “Did he help anybody? Was he friends with somebody who he might have helped or somebody who might know anything about what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. He used to go to the women’s shelter a lot and give them some money. Usually when he was high as a kite, so the centers sent him away all the time when he was like that.”

  “So he knew somebody there maybe?” Doreen asked.

  “He ended up there after he, she separated from her husband, until she could get back on her feet again. But that didn’t last long. She had come out at this time. So he went to the shelter and then in an apartment and then started on drugs, lost his job, lost his apartment, lost his son, and ended up on the streets.”

  “That’s such a sad ending,” Doreen said.

  “It is for Manny. For me, well, maybe I can change my ending.”

  “Which was harder to get off of, the drugs or the booze?”

  “Drugs,” he said. “I kicked the booze as soon as Manny went missing. But the drugs were much harder. I would go in deep to forget, then wake up. It’s been a slow process. Every day I would just take a little bit less instead of shooting up. I’d make sure I spread it out over three days and then four days and then five days.”

  She looked at him in admiration. “That’s actually quite smart. I never thought about that.”

  “Still, it’s taken me ten years,” he growled.

  “And what would you have done with those ten years otherwise?” Doreen asked gently. “Look at where you are. You’re six months clean. Keep sight of that as something very positive you’ve done and let it be something you use to keep improving your life.”

  Peter stared at her. “You’re good for me. I can’t remember the last time somebody sat and talked to me as if I were a person and not a piece of garbage on the street.”

  “You’re not garbage,” she said sadly. “The world’s just very messed up.” With the animals in tow, Doreen waved at him and then stopped and asked, “Have you eaten today?”

  He nodded. “I had a big meal at the soup kitchen. Don’t you worry. I’m okay.”

  She smiled and said, “Remember to call me.”

  After that, she walked back around the corner to her car, her pets in tow. She got into the car and drove home. Inside, she felt so sad. What a life for father and son. She pulled up to the front of her garage, used the remote to open the garage door, and drove inside. As soon as she was in, she closed the door and let out the animals.

  “Okay, guys,” she said, “we’re home.”

  They raced out. As she opened the door to the house, the animals tore inside. She headed for the fridge. “It’ll be spaghetti again,” she called out to the empty house.

  “Is that a problem?”

  She shrieked and turned to see Mack, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

  “Were you in my house when I came in?” she demanded.

  He shook his head. “No, I’ve been out here on the deck, waiting for you to get home.”

  “Oh,” she said, her hand going to her chest. “I didn’t even think of that.”

  And then she realized he wasn’t standing in the open doorway. He was talking to her through the window. The open window. She groaned. “I guess there’s no point setting the security if I leave the windows open.”

  She undid the security on the door, opened it up, and let him in.

  “You can make coffee,” he said.

  “And you could cook more pasta,” she said, “because, if you want spaghetti too, that’ll cut into my supply of leftover noodles.”

  He chuckled. “Is that all you’ve been eating sinc
e we had it?”

  She nodded. “Pretty much.”

  He groaned. “You need to learn to cook a few more things.’

  “I do, but I really, really, really, really love this pasta.”

  He shook his head, put on the teakettle, and picked up the pasta pot. Then he put it on the burner and said, “How much sauce is left? Have you been rationing yourself?”

  She gave a tiny shrug and then nodded. “You know that I could eat that every day for a week.” She walked over to the cupboard and pulled out a large package of noodles.

  He looked at it and said, “How much do you want me to cook?”

  She rubbed her hands together in glee, gave him a fat grin, and said, “All of it.”

  Chapter 19

  Sunday Dinnertime …

  Mack laughed, then proceeded to cook the rest of the noodles. “As meals go,” he said, “that’s pretty cheap.”

  “Exactly. The initial cost of the sauce really bothered me because I was worried what seemed like an exorbitant amount of money would be gone forever, but it’s so good and stretches a long way.”

  “It does,” he said, “but you need to learn to cook a few more dishes too.”

  “So what are we cooking next?”

  “What about those pork chops I made you?”

  “Yeah, you see? You made them, and I didn’t. So I haven’t tried to cook them myself.”

  “Right,” he said. “We should work on that too then.”

  “Sure. I’m happy with that, but I don’t have any pork.”

  “Spaghetti tonight again,” he said. “For our next lesson, how about stir fry? Do you like stir fry?”

  “Love it,” she said. “And it would help to get some veggies back into my diet.”

  He frowned at that. “Are you only eating salads for veggies?”

  She nodded. “And sandwiches.”

  He rolled his eyes at her. “So what’s the extent of vegetables in that? Lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and onions?”

  “And slices of bell pepper,” she said, “yes.”

  “Okay, stir-fried celery, cauliflower, broccoli, and maybe some Chinese vegetables in there too. I’ll pick up the ingredients, and that’s what we’ll cook.”

  “When?”

  He looked at her in surprise and said, “Friday?”

  She nodded. “Do we have anything to cook it in? Don’t you need a wok?”

  He looked at her in consternation. “Do you have a wok?”

  “You’re the one who sorted Nan’s kitchen,” she said drily. “So let me ask you, do I have a wok?”

  He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

  “I should go back to that secondhand store I was at today,” she said. Then she pointed at the bowl and the four mugs. “Those cost me three dollars,” she said proudly.

  He picked up the mugs and said, “Hey, these are really nice.”

  She nodded “And they’re not chipped.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think anybody else is bothered by chips except for you.”

  “Now I have cups I can give to company,” she said. “And they were only fifty cents each.”

  Chapter 20

  Monday Morning …

  Last night, Doreen hadn’t gotten a chance to pump Mack for any new information. She was upset at herself for not doing that. But she didn’t want to interrupt such a lovely and friendly dinner. When he’d been called to work right afterward though, he’d taken the message and, with a cryptic look in her direction, had disappeared. He left her hoping for a tidbit of something to enlighten her, but he just shook his head and took off. He did apologize for not helping with the dishes, but she was almost used to it.

  She wondered idly if he had it set up with dispatch to give him a call so he could run out on her at dishwashing time. Not that she’d done much in the way of cooking either because it was all precooked, and he’d done the noodles. But now it was morning again, and she faced so many more issues and tantalizing tidbits on various cases that she felt frustrated and curious. Finally she sat down, opened up an email, and asked Mack what case he’d gone running out of the house for the previous night.

  Then she huffed when she didn’t get an immediate response, deciding maybe she had just enough time with the rising river water to sneak one more walk out to Steve’s to see if the police dogs and policemen were all done with the crime scene.

  After breakfast, she called the animals and led them outside to the back end of the creek. She stopped when she realized just how high the creek was. She gulped but guessed that she still had enough walkway to go this way and headed out along the water, trying to stay as dry as she could. Thaddeus was obviously disturbed at the change in the water depth too as he walked back and forth on her shoulder, making an odd chuckling sound.

  Meanwhile Goliath walked along higher ground as much as he could. She knew that, if the water got any higher, she’d have to pick him up and carry him. Mugs wasn’t too bothered, but she was more concerned about him falling into the main part of the creek, which was now moving very quickly. She walked as far up as she could and made it just to the corner of Steve’s property where the river went out around a bend, and she could hop up onto his retaining wall. Technically she was on private property at this point.

  She crept around the corner and took a look, but no cops appeared to be here, just the remains of the burned-down house. Freed up to walk the property, she headed toward the visible markers. She pondered at that because a crew wasn’t here. And then she checked her watch and realized it was probably still early for them. Now closer to one of the markers, she noted grave-looking disturbances in the ground, but that had been refilled. When she finished counting them, her heart sank. “Six,” she whispered to her animals. “What evil doings was Steve involved in?”

  Not knowing if a crew was coming back right away or if they were done here—because it looked like there had been excavations and then the graves had been refilled again to stop people from falling in—she quickly scoured the property and the house itself and then walked out to the front road rather than return along the swollen creek.

  So she headed back toward home, passing the nearby house where Steven had dropped his gun and where it had been later found. Nobody was out and about. It was early, and it was a weekday, and those who had gone to work had definitely already left. Back at her house, she was grateful to see no one in the cul-de-sac taking pictures of her or her house. She walked up to the front door, let herself in, and headed back to the garden, where she swung open the kitchen door and left it ajar. She put on a pot of coffee and walked back outside to sit down and to assess her day.

  The walk had done a little bit to satiate her curiosity over Steve, since she figured Mack wouldn’t tell her much. Chances were, the news channels would end up reporting on whatever they found on Steve’s property before Doreen even found out anything. So she could only focus on what she could focus on, and, at this point, that appeared to be Manny’s disappearance. But, so far, she didn’t have a lot to go on. Even if yesterday’s conversation with Peter had been enlightening, it hadn’t given her a lead as to where to go. Well, other than that distinctive truck the john drove. She wondered about going back and asking Peter a few more questions when her phone rang.

  She looked at it, not recognizing the number. “Hello,” she said.

  “It’s Peter,” the man said hesitantly.

  She smiled and said, “Good morning, Peter. How are you?”

  “I’m okay. I’m at the shelter using their phone. It turns out they’re okay with me making calls as long as it’s not long distance.”

  “Good,” she said. “Did you have something more to tell me?”

  “I remembered something I found in my collection of belongings,” he said. “It’s a letter from Manny.”

  “Oh, excellent,” Doreen said in surprise. “Why would he have written you a letter?”

  “He used to do it every once in a while, when he was planning on leaving. But his
plans never worked out, so he never left. He would still leave me the letter though. I think it was his way of trying to tell me that maybe I was a good person and that I should find a way to get out of this.”

  “I think that’s a good way to look at it,” Doreen said. “Does the letter say anything interesting?”

  “It says he was planning on leaving. But they all said that.”

  “Is this the only one that you still have?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “And the only reason I kept it is because he disappeared soon afterward.”

  “Did you show it to the police?”

  He hemmed and hawed, then said, “I don’t know. Back then, I might have. But I might have forgotten all about it. I had a tendency to stuff my keepsakes in the bottom of my backpack and then forget about them. I still have the same pack.”

  “Could I have a copy of the letter?”

  “You can,” he said. “I’m in the office. They said they would scan and email it for me.”

  “Perfect.” Doreen gave him her email address, adding, “I really appreciate this. I was thinking this morning and wondering if I should come down and see if you had any other information because I’m not sure what step to take next.”

  “I was hoping the description of the truck would help,” he said. “And I know just because it had a Y at the end of the license plate doesn’t help much, but I was hoping it would help some.”

  She straightened. “You didn’t mention anything about the license plate. That might help.” She heard him mumble something as she waited for an explanation.

  “I tend to forget things,” he said. “And I don’t have a great memory anymore. It’s probably from the drugs. I think they’ve eaten too much of my brain.”

  “So, did you tell the police about that?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I don’t remember much else about it though. Black with the step-up sides, that crosshatch pattern in metal, and the Y on the plate.”

  “You couldn’t see the driver, right?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Not enough to even know if it was a male or a female?”

  “No. I wish I had,” he admitted. “Over the years, I’ve wished for a lot of things, but that’s one of the biggest. It’s more information that would help find him.”