WALKING WITH ACHILLES
Chapter 13Al found Sam still waiting at the foot of the stairs. "Slimeball's still zonked," he reported.
"You sure?" Sam whispered under his breath.
"Out like a light," Al assured him. When the handlink chirped, he glanced at it then said, "Ziggy says that Tommie's finally awake, so I'm gonna go talk to her." Punching in the code to open the Imaging Chamber door, he looked at Sam. "You better get a move on if you're gonna go talk to the police before you go to work, though I still don't like the idea."
"Where is the police station?" Sam asked. "And for that matter, where's this company... Sparkle & Shine... located?" Finding paper and a pen, he wrote down the address and directions Al gave him.
"Thanks, Al," he said, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket. Watching Al reopen the Imaging Chamber, Sam pushed down the anxiety that welled up as he watched the Observer step inside the chamber, pasting on a confident smile. It was a little harder to hold back whispering, "Hurry back," until the Imaging Chamber door closed, but he did.
Once more alone in the house with Derek, Sam thought about taking the car keys from the small table by the front door where he'd dropped them last night and leaving immediately; in the end, he called a cab. As he started to go outside to wait, a thought occurred to him and he looked around and found a phonebook on a shelf in the small coat closet by the front door. He found the number he wanted, dialed it and when his call was answered, asked for an address. He had just hung up the phone when he heard a car horn outside. Grabbing his purse, Sam hurried to the front door, and then hesitated, glancing up the staircase. "He's asleep," he barely whispered to himself. "Al checked on him." Yet even that small self-assurance didn't make Sam breathe any easier until he locked the door behind him and hurried to the cab waiting in front of the house.
"Where to, ma'am?" the driver asked, turning slightly to unabashedly get a better look at Sam's bruised face.
"The...uh...parish detectives' office," he said, looking up to find the driver's gaze on him. Fumbling in his pocket, he found the paper on which he'd written the directions and addresses Al had given him.
The driver cut him off in mid-sentence with, "Yes, ma'am," then put the car in gear and pulled away from the house. Within ten minutes the cab pulled up in front of a building with a "Sheriff's Office, Detective Unit" sign in front of it.
Sam paid his fare, got out and closed the door, then turned back to the cab.
"Would you wait a few minutes?" he asked.
The driver glanced around the area, spotting a parking meter across the street. "I'll wait ten minutes over there," he said, pointing then drove away from Sam, who waited until he saw the cab park.
Turning, Sam took a deep breath and entered the building.
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Detective Siena Jackson was just hanging up the phone when she heard his voice. Looking up, she saw fellow detective Bobby Packard approaching and said simply, "Yeah?"
Having made detective just ten days ago, at age twenty-five years and six weeks, Detective Siena Jackson (named for the village in Tuscany where she had been conceived during her parents' honeymoon), was the new kid on the block. But that wasn't what had bothered a few of the more experienced detectives, a couple only a handful of years older than herself. Nor was it the fact that she was the youngest woman to pass the detective exam, not just the first time she took it, but also with a perfect score, though that had caused a few remarks.
No, what had taken them all by surprise was when she had been assigned to partner with Detective Boudreaux "Boo" Lanson, a veteran of twelve years with the best arrest and conviction record in the parish. Boo's partner, Detective Lyle Storye, had been killed three weeks ago, and in that time at least one 'junior' detective, Bobby Packard, had made no bones about letting it be known that he was ready to fill the void, but that had neither impressed nor influenced the captain.
After a brief discussion with his best detective, he had called Siena into his office and made the pairing official. As the days passed, she and Boo Lanson began to get acquainted, used to each other. Siena had also quickly realized that it was going to take Bobby Packard, the 'eager beaver,' a little while to get past his envy of being passed over for her. She had learned by observation, shortly after being assigned to the precinct, that Bobby was a jokester. With her promotion to detective and now being partnered with "Boo" Lanson, she had begun to keep a wary eye...and ear...out for anything that might be a set-up for a 'get even' joke from him. But eleven days had passed without so much as a hint that he was setting her up. Still, it didn't prevent her from unconsciously wondering as she now waited to hear what Bobby Packard had to say.
"There's a woman out front that says her husband's been beating her..."
Siena rolled her eyes but replied, her tone slightly annoyed at the obvious ruse, "Then send her over to the station so she can file a complaint..."
"Her name is Thomasina Emerson," Bobby deftly cut in. "She also said that she thinks her husband might have something to do with that homicide you and Boo are working on." As he knew it would, that tidbit of information snagged Siena's attention like iron shavings to a magnet.
Siena, though instantly caught by that suggestion, was still wary. She scanned Bobby's blond crew cut, college prep boy good looks narrowly, looking for the slightest suggestion that he was setting her up. As far as she could discern, he was absolutely sincere. But she also considered the total lack of any evidence of any kind at the murder scene of Sharon Cramer, and after a few seconds wavering, decided to accept that he was honestly pointing her at a possible lead in the Sharon Cramer murder, her first homicide case as a detective.
Getting up from the desk, Siena crossed the room, pausing as Bobby stepped back to let her pass. As she moved past him, she paused again, looking steadily into his eyes for a moment. "Where is Mrs. Emerson?" she asked.
"Out front," Bobby said.
Siena scanned his face yet again, but seeing not even a suggestion of amusement anywhere in his expression turned and went out to the public entry area of the building. Opening the door next to the main desk, she saw the woman standing near the full-length glass door looking outside at the bright sunny day. She noted how even from the back the woman's body language bespoke an underlying tension. When she said, "Mrs. Emerson?" the woman jumped nervously before turning around. It was then Siena understood the reason for the tension. The woman looked like she'd been worked over with a baseball bat.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, moving toward Thomasina Emerson. "I didn't mean to startle you." Offering her hand, she decided to get right to the point. "I'm Detective Jackson. I was told you think your husband had something to do with a murder?"
Sam smiled nervously at the detective, glancing furtively out the glass door then back to the patient woman waiting on him.
"Could we go somewhere more private?" he asked. It wasn't like Sam to be so skittish, but from the moment this leap had begun he had learned quickly to be wary of speaking too freely in an open area. He couldn't help the small sigh of relief when Detective Jackson led him back the way she had come. Even when he was at last seated beside a desk with a nameplate with her name on it, Sam still had an uneasy feeling that somehow Derek knew where he was. His uneasiness was reflected in the hesitant smile he gave the detective when he finally made eye contact with her.
Siena Jackson, though still the "new kid" as far as being a detective went, nonetheless had plenty of experience in dealing with nervous women, especially those involved in domestic abuse (whether they admitted it or not). Now, as she waited for Mrs. Emerson to begin, she knew without a doubt that even if the woman before her was one would admit it, that she was afraid of her husband.
When the nervous woman didn't begin to speak immediately, Siena asked, as a way of hopefully putting her at ease, "Would you like some coffee, Mrs. Emerson?"
"No….no, thank you," Sam said, as he sorted through what he knew he could say to the detective without it casting doubts on his, or rather, Tommie's credibility. He saw now, as he had when Al had pointed it out earlier, that he had to walk a very fine and careful line. Meeting the patiently waiting detective's gaze, he bit lightly on his lower lip then took a breath, letting it out slowly as he took the plunge.
Waiting for the clearly ill at ease woman to begin, Siena let her gaze wander for a moment around the room to the other occupied desks of the other detectives. Sal Carleno, a nine-year veteran of the homicide division who had from the first time she'd met him reminded her of the children's TV host Mr. Rogers, was talking on the phone. A couple of desks over, Eric Perkins, too, was on the phone, talking and making notes on the pad in front of him. Turning her head minutely and shifting the direction of her gaze, Siena saw Bobby with Jim Granville, both standing at Sheila Toler's desk, all three talking in a low, animated manner. Seeing and hearing Jim chuckling at something made her watch the threesome closely for a second before dismissing it. Hearing the soft sound of a throat being cleared drew her back to the battered woman.
Knowing how anxiety and fear often had a way of stifling a person's best intentions, Sienna took the lead. Keeping her tone even, she asked, "Mrs. Emerson, what makes you think your husband might have something to do with a homicide?" Apparently it was just the right small nudge that the abused woman needed to get her started talking.
When the question was put to him in the aura of Tommie Emerson, Sam's earlier conversations and the few bits of information that Al had been able to provide him with so far swirled swiftly through his mind. Carefully he weighed the truth he wanted to blurt out against the elements of that truth which logic and not a little common sense were telling him were not safe to speak about. After another moment's consideration, Sam licked his lips and began to speak, choosing his words and inflections with a great deal of care.
"My...husband has a violent temper," he began slowly, "and, as you can see, he takes it out on me."
Siena just nodded slightly. During her still young career in law enforcement, she had heard many battered women – some wives, some girlfriends – say pretty much the same thing. Now she listened to what the woman was saying, pen at the ready should some interesting something come forth from Thomasina Emerson. "It's unfortunate that he does that," she offered, keeping her tone even. "But that doesn't necessarily make him a killer."
"When he got home this morning he beat me…" Lifting one hand, the time traveler gingerly touched his fingertips to the massive bruising around his eye. Licking his lips nervously, he said, "Before he left for work, he told me not to be like the others."
Siena's radar perked up at that but she revisited something the woman had said a moment earlier. "You said he'd just gotten home…and then he was leaving for work?" She fixed the woman with a keen look. "Does your husband work two jobs?"
Sam shook his head carefully. "No," he responded. "He's a golf pro at the country club." Even as the words passed his lips, he saw her gaze flick away from him to another point in the room. Nervously he turned to follow the direction of her gaze. Discovering that she had looked at a desk where three other detectives were standing caused his anxiety to rise. Maybe Al was right. Maybe he shouldn't have come here after all, but it was too late now. Shifting around again to face Detective Jackson, Sam blurted out, "My husband is having an affair," as the scenario of his leap in sprang up before his mind's eye in all of its pain, fear and intimidation.
Upon hearing the words 'country club', followed almost instantly that the abused woman's husband was having an affair, Siena's focus and interest sharpened. "Which one?"
Sam hesitated at the question as he held her gaze. "Which one?" he parroted the question. Tiny frown lines appeared on his brow as he searched through all of the information Al had given him. "It's… it's...uhm…" Offering her an uncertain small smile, he apologized, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," the detective reassured. Then Siena, a fourth generation native of The Big Easy, named several of the golf and country clubs in the metropolitan area, hoping that one of them would strike a note of recognition with Mrs. Emerson. "What about Lakewood Golf Club?" Seeing the woman shake her head vaguely, Siena mentioned three more. "Could it be The New Orleans Country Club, or maybe Stonebridge? English Turn?"
Sam's head was starting to hurt with the intensity of his concentration as he finely sifted through what he knew of Derek Emerson, desperately hoping to find the name of that country club. Just when he was about to admit he didn't know, a tiny something flickered through his thoughts and was instantly gone, but not before he snagged a miniscule snippet. Licking his lips, he looked at Detective Siena Jackson and said, "I…I think it starts with a 'v'."
Siena studied the woman a moment then thoughtfully said, "Well, there's Vine Lawn Country Club, and there's also Vista-View Golf and Country Club." Inwardly she sighed when the woman apologized yet again when neither name seemed to ring a bell. It didn't help any when she let her gaze rove back to Sheila Toler's desk and found the other detective watching her with a clearly amused look in her eyes. That Bobby was still at her desk, albeit with his back to her, only started the little voice in the back of her mind whispering, "He gotcha!" Siena, however, determinedly pushed that notion down and renewed her focus on Tommie Emerson, letting the woman talk as well as asking a few more questions over the next twenty minutes.
At last there came a point where the detective and Sam sat and looked at each other without saying anything for a long minute or so. It was Sam who finally broke the silence, glancing at his watch then getting to his feet, holding tightly to the strap of his purse.
"I've got to get to work," he began, offering his hand and clasping Detective Siena Jackson's proffered hand firmly. He had seen the way the woman's expression had subtly changed after looking past him to the other detectives the second time. It had changed from one of close focus to studied, patient humoring. He wasn't sure if he was more concerned or relieved that the detective had decided that he… that Tommie wasn't to be believed.
Siena smiled at Sam in the aura of Tommie Emerson. "Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Emerson," she said in her best professional voice as she escorted the woman back to the main desk area. As a matter of experienced habit, she asked, "Where do you work? Just in case I need to clarify something?" Taking a small top spiral notepad from her pocket, Siena jotted down the information Sam gave her and put the notebook in her pocket again.
At the doorway into the waiting area, Sam paused and turned to face Siena Jackson. "I'm sorry, I couldn't be of more help," he said earnestly. "If I remember anything else, I'll call you, if that's okay."
"Of course," Siena said, reaching into the pocket of her tan jacket to retrieve one of her business cards then handed it over. Scanning the woman's badly bruised face, she added, "Take care of yourself."
Sam smiled ruefully. "I will," he said then thanked her again for her time and walked out the front door. Looking across the street, much to his surprise, the cab driver had apparently decided to wait for him. Checking for oncoming traffic, Sam hurried to the cab, calling out, "Thank you so much for waiting. I'm sorry it took a little longer than I expected."
The cab driver brushed Sam's thanks off with a slight wave of his hand. "No calls," he lied easily. The truth was that from the moment he'd set eyes on her, the abused young woman had reminded him of his own two daughters. That thought had been enough for him. He'd like to think that someone else would extend unasked for, unexpected kindness to one of his girls were she in whatever situation this woman was struggling through. So it was he'd taken his break early and waited. He wanted to be sure that, at least today, while he had a chance to help, that this young woman arrived safely at her next destination.
"Where to?" he asked, glancing back as Sam got into the backseat.
Closing the door of the cab, Sam dug the slip of paper from his purse and gave him the address of Sparkle & Shine Cleaning Service. The driver made a note on his call sheet, tripped the meter then put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. As the car began to move, Sam glanced at the building he had just exited and felt a little something positive when he saw Detective Jackson standing in the open front door. He hesitated then lifted a hand and gave a little wave. He wasn't sure if she had seen the gesture or not, as she didn't respond in kind. Sighing softly, the time traveler leaned back and closed his eyes for the duration of the brief ride to Tommie's place of employment, hoping it would help to dissipate the headache that was trying to take hold.
If Sam had remained alert and looking around, he would have noticed when the cab passed by a familiar red Chevy Caprice parked just up the street at the corner just past the building that housed the Parish Detective's Unit. Unfortunately for him as well, Detective Jackson had retreated inside the building again and so neither had she seen the solitary red car with a darkly infuriated and dangerous Derek Emerson sitting inside it and staring after the way the cab bearing Sam had gone. A full ten minutes passed before the Chevy Caprice drove away and disappeared.
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For a moment or so after Thomasina Emerson had walked out the front door, Siena Jackson just stood, watching through the tempered glass front door as the woman had hurried to a cab waiting across the street. Mulling over the past twenty minutes or so, she started to turn then stopped at an insistent tugging by earned instinct, looked toward the front door again then obeyed that instinct and went to push open the door. She made no attempt to step outside, instead watching silently as the cab driver turned his head to speak to the battered woman in the backseat before driving off a moment later. She saw when Thomasina Emerson looked her way and waved, but didn't respond. Siena watched until the cab turned right at the corner and disappeared, then stepped back inside. The moment she opened the door to return to the squad room she heard the laughter, recognizing Bobby Packard's familiar chortling laugh as she walked the length of the short hall and entered the main squad room where she was greeted by grins and laughter from all of her fellow detectives.