The Night Gardener by George P. Pelecanos

Author:George P. Pelecanos [Pelecanos, George P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Washington (D.C.), Police Procedural, Police, Mystery & Detective, Teenagers, General, Fiction, Large type books, Serial murderers
ISBN: 9780786290659
Publisher: Thorndike Press
Published: 2006-11-15T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

TERRANCE JOHNSON OPENED his front door to let Ramone in. Johnson’s eyes were rimmed with red, and he reeked of hard liquor. Johnson shook Ramone’s hand and held it too long.

“Thanks for seeing me,” said Ramone, drawing back his hand.

“You know I’m gonna cooperate.”

“I need you to be just as cooperative with Detective Wilkins, Terrance. We’re all working together on this, and he has the lead.”

“If you say it, I’ll do it.”

The home was eerily quiet. There were no human voices or sounds from the television or radio.

“Helena in?”

Johnson shook his head. “She’s staying with her sister for the time being. Took Deanna with her, too. Helena can’t bear to be in this house right now. I don’t know when she gonna be right with it.”

“There are stages of grief. It’ll get better.”

“I know it,” said Johnson with an annoyed, careless wave of his hand. He stood staring straight ahead, his mouth slightly open, eyes clouded with a glaze of alcohol.

“You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“I’ll rest easier when you clear this up.”

“Can I have a look at Asa’s room?”

“Follow me.”

They went up the center-hall stairs to the second floor. It was a typical colonial for the neighborhood, three bedrooms and one full bath upstairs. Johnson led Ramone into Asa’s room.

“Who’s been in here since his death?”

“Me and Helena,” said Johnson. “Deanna, I expect. I did like you told me to. I didn’t let anyone else in.”

“Good. I’m also thinking about the days leading up to Asa’s death. Did he have any friends or acquaintances in his room that you can remember?”

Johnson considered the question. “I was at work during the daytime, of course. I’d have to ask Helena. But I can say almost certainly that the answer is no.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“The past six months or so, going back to the end of last school year, I guess, Asa wasn’t hangin with anyone special.”

“He wasn’t tight with anybody?”

“He’d drifted apart from the ones he used to hang with. You know how kids do.”

Girls do that more frequently, thought Ramone. Boys tend to hold on to friendships longer. But he knew that what Johnson was saying about his son was true. Diego and Asa had been friends once, to the degree that they saw each other almost every day. Diego had not even spoken about Asa, until he was killed, for a long time.

“You need me here?” said Johnson.

“That’s okay,” said Ramone. “I’ll be fine.”

Johnson exited, and Ramone had a look around as he removed his latex gloves from his jacket pocket and fitted them on his hands. The bedroom was cleaner than Diego’s had ever been. The bed had been made. One poster, the obligatory Michael Jordan in a Bulls uniform, hung on the wall. Asa’s few football trophies, sitting atop a freestanding shelf filled with a surprising number of books, had been awarded for team accomplishment, not for individual effort.

Ramone went through the dresser drawers. He looked in Asa’s closet and searched the pockets of his jackets and slacks.

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