Last Call by Baxter Clare

Author:Baxter Clare [Clare, Baxter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Detective and Mystery Fiction, Lesbian, Noir, Hard-Boiled
ISBN: 9781931513708
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2004-06-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Using existing information, Frank has constructed a victimology of the Pryce kids. She’s going over it again in her office, trying to find something she may have missed the first time. Noah had talked to the parents, surviving siblings, neighbors, friends and teachers, even their bus driver. He’d cross-checked each kid’s personality, habits, hobbies, friends and routines. His notes on them alone took up half a binder.

The victims are not prostitutes, bangers or drug dealers, but they did live in a fairly high-crime area. They didn’t frequent rough bars or rock houses, but both places abound in the area. The vies were young and alone. That alone put them at risk for being victims. Frank puts her pad down and considers the shoebox on her desk. She still hasn’t listened to the interview tapes. She’ll have to sometime but is still willing to settle for Noah’s written notes. She parses his initial interview with Mr. and Mrs. Pryce. It’s bare facts, nothing not in the reports.

Curiosity harps at Frank and she fingers through the tapes. Some are starred. She pulls one of these, reading a label marked Sharon Ferris.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” She almost knocks her chair over as she jumps up. “Just get it the fuck over with.”

She puts the tape in her boom box, stabbing the play button. After the introductory hiss, Noah’s voice announces he’s investigating the death of two children that lived on Raymond Street. Frank cuts it off. Noah’s voice slices like a sword fresh from the forge. Her pain morphs into rage and she wants to break something. The boom box. Just pick it up and slam it down until it’s in two-inch pieces. She imagines the satisfaction of slamming the box over and over on the edge of her desk, the noise and splintering and the shock of it in her hands. She thinks about this instead of Noah and the rage ebbs.

Frank stands straight over the stereo. She stares at the box and drags in a leveling breath. After a moment she says, “Okay. Let’s try again.”

“What were you doing that afternoon?”

“I can’t say for sure.”

“Take your time. I know it was a while ago. I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night.” Noah’s standard line. She can see the big, friendly grin attached to it.

“I don’t know nothing about that afternoon. Just like any other I guess.”

“What do you usually do in the afternoon?”

Frank hears the shrug in her voice as the woman answers, “Watch Oprah, I guess. Get dinner ready.”

“For the record, who else lives here with you?”

“My two boys and my husband.”

Noah asks for everyone’s names and she tells him.

“How old are your boys?”

“James is nineteen, Levon’s seventeen.”

“Must take a while to make dinner.” Again Noah’s grin comes through the tape recorder and Frank almost turns it off. ” Who was home with you that afternoon?”

The tape hisses, picks up shuffling noises.

“Kevin ‘d be working and the boys wasn’t home yet. I don’t know where they was at, but they wasn’t with me.

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