Jubilee's Journey (Wyattsville #2)(64)

Once I do that, the probability is I’ll have to find someplace else to live.

Jim Turner’s calmed down for now, but me bringing another child into the building is not something the Rules Committee is likely to overlook.





When Monday Comes



As far as Detective Mahoney was concerned, the weekend passed uneventfully. On Saturday afternoon he took the kids fishing; then in the evening, he and Christine had dinner at Mario’s. Over a bottle of red wine, he promised to be more conscientious about getting home in time for dinner.

“I should hope so,” she answered. Before she got to the part where she’d list all the dinners he’d missed, Jack switched to saying how the blue of her dress made her eyes twinkle. Christine smiled, and the evening moved on with no further discussion of missed dinners.

Sunday was sunny and warm so Mahoney finished painting the porch he’d started more than a week ago, then settled into an easy chair with a book he’d been wanting to read. Before he finished the first chapter he began thinking of a way to help Paul Jones.

On Monday morning he crafted a “Help Wanted” sign exactly like the one he’d seen at Klaussner’s store; then he drove back to the Bread Basket Café and took Polaroid pictures of both the inside and outside. He even took one shot of Connie holding a plate with a biscuit on it. Although Paul had trouble answering questions, he responded well to visual images. Mahoney hoped these things would bring back the memory of that ill-fated Wednesday.

It was almost noon when Mahoney headed over to the hospital, totally unprepared for what he found.

The bed Paul had been shackled to was empty. The officer at the door, gone.

A sick feeling settled in Mahoney’s chest, and his heart started beating faster. On Friday he’d given Barbara Walsh a card with his home telephone number; she was supposed to call if anything happened. He looked around. No Barbara.

Mahoney stopped the first nurse passing by and asked, “Where’s Paul Jones, the kid who was in this room?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged. “I been off for a week.”





After fifteen minutes of searching for Barbara Walsh, Mahoney learned she’d come down with the flu on Saturday and was expected to be out for the remainder of the week.

“One-hundred-and-two fever,” Maureen explained.

“Damn,” Mahoney said.

“Is there a problem?”

Mahoney explained he was looking for Paul Jones, the boy who’d been in room 412. “Has he been transferred to another ward?”

“No, he was discharged yesterday.”

“Discharged? How could you let him—”

“I didn’t do anything. Doctor Brewster decided the kid was well enough to leave and released him.”

Mahoney began growing hot under the collar. “Who picked him up? Signed him out? Did you just let the kid walk out of here with no place to go?”

“Don’t use that tone with me!” Maureen snapped back. “Detective Gomez signed the kid out. They took him out of here in handcuffs, so he’s probably on his way to jail.”

“Barbara was supposed to call me if anything happened—”

“Barbara wasn’t here!” Maureen turned and walked off in a huff.





Although Captain Rogers had expressly instructed him to stay away from the Wyattsville station house, Mahoney got back in his car and sped across town. He bypassed the front desk and went looking for Hector Gomez. He found him in the coffee room.

“We’ve got to talk!” Mahoney said.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Gomez replied with a smug smile.

Mahoney pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. “Yes, there is.” Weighing his words carefully, he continued. “Paul’s profile, his movements on the day he arrived in Wyattsville, the fact that he had his sister with him, everything points to him being nothing more than a kid in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“The store owner shot him,” Gomez argued. “Sid Klaussner wouldn’t shoot someone for simply being there.”

“It could’ve been a stray shot.”

“Not likely.” Gomez took a bite of his sandwich and began chewing.

“Hear me out,” Mahoney said. He went on to detail the things he’d found. “I believe the kid came in there looking for a job. When I went out to the store, there was a Help Wanted sign on the floor over by the counter. I think Paul was holding that sign when he was shot. Check it out. My bet is you’ll find his prints on the sign. That alone is enough to raise a question of doubt.” He ended by showing Gomez the duplicate sign he’d made and the Polaroids. “The boy responds better to visuals. Give it a try; maybe you’ll get his side of the story.”

Gomez took another bite and chewed, slowly and deliberately.

Mahoney sat and waited.

After he’d finished what was left of the sandwich, Gomez said, “You must think I’m some kind of fool. This isn’t about the kid; it’s about you wanting to play hero.”

Without the backing of Captain Rogers, Mahoney knew there was only one way to right the wrong and he took it.

“Nope,” he said. “You’re wrong. I’ve been pulled off the case.” He handed the sign and pictures to Gomez. “This time you’re gonna have to be the hero and find out the truth. From here on in, it’s your ballgame.”