Evelyn
Chapter 22
Envious of how fast Rick's eyes are moving over the pages of a three-inch-thick history of hate groups, Kate forces her attention back to a photocopy of an archived 1970 article from The Ledger. The hair on the back of her neck stands up as it describes the expansion of a neo-Nazi group in New York City. While detailing attacks on both a mosque and a synagogue, it's short on facts about the organization itself. She reaches across the wooden table and touches Castle's arm. "Babe, is there anything in your book about a group called "The White Wall?"
Rick flips to the index. "White, white, white, yeah, here it is, The White Wall. You think they're responsible for the attack on Paul and Mara?"
"I don't know, so far all I have is a match to the time frame. What have you got?"
Rick quickly scans through the cited text. "This agrees on the timing. The group was aggressively recruiting from the middle of 1969 through the early seventies. And it looks like they hated just about everyone who had less than a snowy-white skin. Whoa, even that wasn't enough. They also hated albinos. They thought they were a genetic mistake that should be eliminated. Eugenics, it figures. They were xenophobic too, but claimed they were against 'outside agitators' coming in and stirring up trouble."
"If they were looking for targets, a car with Michigan plates and a black driver might have attracted their attention," Kate considers. "Does the group still exist?"
"Hmm. Give me a moment." Rick reads through several pages. "It joined forces and then merged with other white nationalist groups. But the names of the old leadership are here. Some of them may still be sliming up the streets." Rick uses his phone to photograph a page with the listings they need. "We can check these out. Given the violent proclivities of the organization, at least some of them must have rap sheets."
A rumble sounds from beneath the table in the direction of Kate's stomach. Her cheeks redden.
Smiling sympathetically, Rick checks his watch. "We never did get around to grabbing lunch. I don't think either one of us was in the mood. This place is going to close in 10 minutes anyway. Alexis texted me earlier. She's staying late at the lab to keep an eye on something she called an extraction. And food will not pass mother's lips until after she treads the boards – probably about 30 seconds after the last curtain call. Freed from a family feeding frenzy, we're on our own. You want to head home or patronize one of the city's fine culinary establishments?"
"That depends. You're the walking restaurant guide. Is there one around here where the food is good, but we won't have to wait for a table?"
"At 5:35 in the afternoon? That's a hard one. But I have an idea. Let's get out of here."
Kate regards the food truck with graphics that look more like vandalism than decoration. Are you sure, Babe? That thing looks like it's been through a gang war."
"More like an art war. The two guys who own it are graffiti artists who used to challenge each other. When they both turned up in culinary school, they decided to partner up. The design of the truck is a signature of sorts. It's been written up in three of the foodie magazines I read. Their offerings earned them four stars from The Truck Trailer."
"All right," Kate agrees. "Sounds good."
Rick's long legs quickly cover the space to the rapidly moving line at the order window. He purchases two specials and hands a drink, a food container, fork, and a stack of napkins to Kate. "Enjoy!"
Sighing, Kate swipes at her mouth for the sixth time and tosses a sauce-stained wad of paper into a nearby trash receptacle. "That is some of the best barbecue I've ever had. These guys should open a restaurant."
Rick shakes his head. "They claim it would ruin their mystique. They may have a point. A more formal setting would ax the aura of the street. But they're easy enough to find. They post their parking schedule on their website."
Kate rolls her eyes. "Of course, they do."
An email alert flashes on the screen of Evelyn's cellphone. Her D.N.A. report is accessible online. She'll just have to enter security information from the account she set up to get it. Roy will be home soon. She considers waiting until he gets there to check out her results, but she's waited long enough. Too long. She needs to find out now, or almost now. She phones in an order for a pizza first. That will keep the girls busy while Evelyn peeks through the window to her past.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Evelyn notes that the space provided for urgent medical alerts is empty. She hasn't passed any dangerous genes on to her children. As she skips down to her ancestry, she's not surprised at the European content. Willingly or unwillingly, slaves' D.N.A. mixed many times with that of their owners. But the percentage is way higher than she would have expected from generations back. It suggests that one of her grandparents was of Scandinavian descent.
Her mind flails at possible scenarios. A rape or an ostracizing love? She needs to know more. She's seen the ads on T.V. for companies that use D.N.A. to trace your genealogy, but she needs something faster and more reliable than that. The crime lab must have a source, and Roy would know how to find out what it is."
Kate settles back against Rick's chest. It's a relief to veg out watching a DVD from Rick's almost endless collection of little-known sci-fi movies. "The Hidden" is not nearly as grand or ambitious as "Forbidden Planet," but it has its moments. Kyle MacLachlan rocks at playing weird characters. Who else could have pulled off ecstasy over cherry pie and coffee on Twin Peaks? His alien inhabiting a human is hardly an original idea, but he makes the character endearing and charming. The sci-fi buddy movie thing is sweet too. Tonight, a film that isn't overly though-provoking is a plus. She can use the downtime. And Rick did promise a happy ending.
Rick's seen the movie before, but only five or six times – enough to appreciate the high points. But what he appreciates more, is the warm weight of Kate's body against his. She's not wearing anything that designers would dub as sexy. She's still in work clothes, which tend to minimize her hot vibe unless she plans to deliberately employ her feminine charms. It doesn't matter. To him, she's still sexy as hell, in anything or nothing. He presses the display button to show what's left of the movie's run time. Twenty minutes. As much as he enjoys the story, it could be a long 20 minutes. But while Kate revels in the warm fuzzies of the final outcome, he can suggest some warm fuzzies of their own. He already has her favorite wine open and breathing. And he has some new scented candles he wants to try out. The housekeeper isn't due until tomorrow, and he struggles to remember if they made the bed that morning. Who cares, anyway? Even if they did, he has plans to mess it up again – mess it up big time. He might even turn off the DVD before he finishes watching the credits. He can feel Kate's hand on his thigh. Screw that! He'll push the stop button the minute the cast list starts to roll.
A/N The White Wall is fictional. Unfortunately, the hate it embodies is not.