Listen To Me (Rizzoli & Isles #13)(7)

Of course that’s how it must seem to her, and how could it not? To a mother, the whole world seems like a dangerous place, and when you’re the mother of a Black son, those dangers are only magnified.

“Mrs. Bird,” said Jane, “I’m a mom too. I understand why you’re anxious about us talking to Jamal. But we need help identifying Mrs. Suarez’s computer, and we heard your son helped her buy it.”

“He helps lots of folks with their computers. Even gets paid for it sometimes. Look around the neighborhood. How many of these old folks you think can even figure out their own phones?”

“Then he’s the perfect person to help us find her missing laptop. Whoever broke into her house took it and we need to know the make and model.”

Mrs. Bird eyed them for a moment, a mama bear weighing whether these intruders constituted a threat to her cub. Reluctantly she stepped aside to let them into her house. “Just so you know, I’ve got a cell phone and I’m not afraid to film this conversation.”

“If it makes you feel better,” said Jane. Who didn’t have a cell phone these days? This was the world the police now had to navigate, their every move recorded and second-guessed. In this mother’s place, she would do the same.

Mrs. Bird led them up the hallway, her pink flip-flops thwacking her feet, and called through her son’s doorway: “Honey, it’s the police. They want to talk to you about Sofia.”

The boy must have overheard their conversation because he did not react to the announcement, did not even turn to look at them. He sat at his computer, shoulders slumped, as if already demoralized by their visit. Scattered around his room was typical teenage boy clutter: Clothes on the bed, blue Nike shoes on the floor, plastic action figures crowding the shelves. Thor. Captain America. Black Panther.

“Mind if I sit down?” Jane asked.

The boy shrugged, an answer she took as a yes. Or maybe just a whatever. As she scooted another chair beside him, she noticed a Ventolin inhaler lying on the seat. The boy had asthma. She set the inhaler on his desk and sat down.

“I’m Detective Rizzoli,” she said. “This is Detective Frost. We’re with Boston PD Homicide, and we need your help.”

“It’s about Sofia. Isn’t it?”

“So you’ve heard what happened.”

He nodded, still not looking at her. “I saw the police cars.”

Mrs. Bird said from the doorway: “He stayed inside and I went out to find out what was going on. I told him not to go out, ’cause I didn’t want there to be any mistakes made. You police, sometimes you assume things.”

“I try not to assume anything, Mrs. Bird,” said Jane.

“Then why are you here?” asked Jamal. He finally swiveled around to face Jane and she saw moist brown eyes with impossibly long lashes. He was small for fifteen, and frail looking. The asthma, she thought.

“A few items are missing from Sofia’s house, including her laptop. Mrs. Leong said you helped Sofia buy that computer.”

He blinked, his eyelashes glistening. “She was a nice lady. Always tried to pay me for stuff I did.”

“What did you do for her?”

“Just stuff. Like helping her figure out her TV. Setting up her new computer. I felt bad for her, after her husband died.”

“We all felt bad for her,” said Mrs. Bird. “It’s like the worst shit always happens to good people.”

Frost said to Jamal: “Tell us about Sofia’s laptop. When did you help her buy it?”

“It was maybe two months ago. Her old one broke, and she wanted a new one to look up some stuff online. She didn’t have a lot of money, and she asked me what she should buy.”

“Lot of ladies on the block ask him for help,” said Mrs. Bird, with a note of pride. “He’s the neighborhood tech guy.”

“So where did she buy this computer?” asked Frost.

“I found her one on eBay. It was a pretty sweet deal. A 2012 MacBook Air for a hundred fifty bucks. The graphics didn’t matter to her, and I figured four gigabytes of memory was all she needed. She was just gonna use it for research.”

Frost jotted in his notebook. “So, a MacBook Air, 2012…”

“Thirteen point three inches diagonal. One point eight gigahertz Intel Core—”

“Hold on, you’re going too fast. Let me get this all down.”

“How ’bout I just print up the technical specs for you?” Jamal turned to his computer and tapped on the keyboard, pulling up the information. Seconds later, his printer whirred to life and a sheet of paper rolled out. “It was silver,” he added.

“And you said it was only a hundred fifty dollars?” said Jane.

“Yeah, she had the winning bid, and the seller had good ratings. When she got it, I went over there and helped set up her Wi-Fi too.”

“Gee,” said Jane. “I could use someone like you on speed dial.”

For the first time Jamal smiled, but it was a tentative smile. He didn’t yet trust them. Maybe he never really would.

Mrs. Bird said: “Some of the ladies do pay him, you know. So his help wouldn’t come free.”

“But I never asked Sofia to pay me,” said Jamal. “She was gonna give me some tamales instead.”

“That woman, she cooked some mighty fine tamales,” said Mrs. Bird.