The Night Gardener

Twenty-Six

 

 

 

THE NEXT MORNING saw a buzz of activity in the VCB offices. Two bodies had dropped overnight, and assignments and pairings were being discussed. Also, it was Friday, so detectives were preparing for the increase in fatalities that came naturally with the weekend. Added to that was the fact that it was both a government payday and welfare check day, which meant higher alcohol and drug intake in the evening, which generally resulted in an uptick in violent crime.

 

Ramone, Bo Green, and Bill Wilkins stood around Rhonda Willis, seated at her desk like the queen bee.

 

“How’d you know?” said Wilkins.

 

“I didn’t,” said Rhonda. “It was a long shot, but hey. I’ll take it.”

 

“I don’t see what connects Asa Johnson to Jamal White,” said Ramone. “Dominique Lyons had motive with the White killing, but why would he do Asa?”

 

They thought about it without conjecture. They stared at Rhonda’s desktop and up at the drop ceiling.

 

“Twenty-four hours between the two killings,” said Green. “Could be two different shooters.”

 

“Like the gun got passed on or sold,” said Wilkins.

 

“Or it was a hack,” said Green. “Whoever killed Asa Johnson rented it to Lyons.”

 

“It happens,” said Wilkins.

 

Ramone looked at Rhonda.

 

“Well, we need to find Mr. Lyons, regardless,” said Rhonda. “Then it will all become more clear.”

 

“Any action on W Street?” said Ramone.

 

“He hasn’t posted at the apartment yet. Neither has Darcia.”

 

“What’s your day plan?”

 

“I’m gonna go call on Darcia’s mother over in Petworth. See if she can scare up her daughter or point me to her. I don’t know, maybe lean on Darcia’s friend Shaylene a little harder. Just do a little door-knockin, Gus.”

 

“The old-fashioned way,” said Wilkins.

 

“Y’all?” said Rhonda.

 

“Bill’s gonna get into Asa’s computer,” said Ramone. “I’ll be up in the neighborhood. I’m not done there.”

 

“You want some company?” said Bo Green to Rhonda.

 

“Always nice to have some size with me,” said Rhonda, nodding at Green’s huge frame. “Gives me confidence.”

 

“Stay in touch,” said Ramone.

 

 

 

BILL WILKINS AND RAMONE split up in the lot, agreeing to keep in contact during the day. Ramone found a blue Taurus that he knew ran reasonably well, then drove to a Starbucks at 8th and Penn and bought a coffee. He was feeling poorly and thought the caffeine might cure him.

 

He phoned Cynthia Best, the principal of Asa’s middle school, on his way uptown.

 

“Ronald and Richard Spriggs,” said Ramone.

 

“The twins,” said Best. “I know them well.”

 

“I was hoping to pull them out of class for a few minutes, with your permission. I’d like to speak with them if I can.”

 

“Just a minute.” Principal Best put him on hold and soon came back on the line. “They took a long weekend, apparently.”

 

“Sick?”

 

“Don’t know. We called their mother at work when they didn’t show up for first period and informed her of their absence. It’s standard procedure. We’ve found it’s the best deterrent to truancy.”

 

“Do the twins miss much school?”

 

“I wouldn’t describe them as model students, Detective.”

 

“I know where they live, but I need an apartment number. Could you give it to me?”

 

“I’ll transfer you to someone who can.”

 

The Spriggs twins lived on 9th, between Peabody and Missouri, in a group of brick apartments surrounded by a black iron, spear-topped fence. Across the street was another community garden, and in sight was the former Paul Junior High, now a charter school still carrying the name. An Eiffel-like radio tower behind the 4th District police station, and a smaller one beside it on the same side of 9th as the apartment house, were the neighborhood landmarks.

 

Ramone found the Spriggs unit and knocked on the door. Ronald Spriggs opened it, wearing a T-shirt with a character drawn on it in permanent glitter, a guy in a sideways baseball cap holding what looked to be a ray gun. The sleeves had been cut into thin strips at the shoulder and braided tightly, ending in tiny balls, the kind of ornamental touch found on a lampshade. Ronald had talent as an artist and an eye for design, and Diego owned a few of his custom T-shirts. It was Ronald’s hand that had drawn the “Dago” logo on Diego’s caps.

 

“What I do, Mr. Gus? Jaywalk or somethin?”

 

“Nothing that serious. I just wanted to talk with you and your brother about Asa.”

 

“Come on in,” said Ronald.

 

They went down the hall. In the living room, the blinds had been drawn and the air was still. Richard was sitting on a worn couch in the dim light, playing Madden 2006 on Xbox. Ramone recognized the game, as the sound track was often running in his own house.

 

“Richard, Mr. Gus is here.”

 

Richard Spriggs didn’t turn his head. “Hold up.” His finger worked the controller with dexterity.

 

“Put it on pause,” said Ronald. “So I can come back and punish you later on.”

 

Richard continued to play. They had programmed a Broncos-Eagles matchup. An animated version of Champ Bailey intercepted a Donovan McNabb toss intended for TO.

 

“Shit,” said Richard.

 

“That’s a blower,” said Ronald mockingly.

 

“I’m ’a smash you, Ronald.”

 

“Yeah?” said Ronald. “When?”

 

Richard locked the game on pause, and the television screen went blue. Ramone had a seat on an armchair facing a coffee table where the Xbox unit and controllers were, along with an empty Doritos bag and several open cans of soda. Ronald sat on the couch beside his brother. Richard wore long shorts fray-cut at the bottom, something like Dogpatch by way of D.C. Ramone guessed that these were another of Ronald’s creations.

 

“What, both of you guys caught the bug or somethin?” said Ramone.

 

“Half day,” said Ronald.

 

“They had those teachers’ meetings,” said Richard with a smile.

 

“They transfer you to truant squad, Mr. Gus?”

 

“Not my department. I’ll let your mother deal with it.”

 

“She was tweakin after the school called,” said Ronald.

 

“We told her we were sick,” said Richard. “Musta ate somethin bad, ’cause both of us got a stomach thing.”

 

Ramone just nodded his head. He’d known these two most of their lives. They weren’t bad kids. They could handle themselves if they had to, but they weren’t into violence or provocation. They lived with their mother, who was busy with both a full-time and a part-time job, working to support them and also to give them electronics, games, and things with labels that other boys had. It was a struggle to earn the money needed to buy Nike, North Face, and Lacoste products for her sons, and it kept her away from the apartment and further from their lives. Ramone and Regina, capable of making the same mistakes as anyone else, felt the pressure to do the same for their kids, and often succumbed to it, knowing it was wrong.

 

In their mother’s absence, and in the complete absence of a father, the Spriggs twins were beginning to find trouble. Their actions were not different or more serious than the minor thefts and vandalism Ramone and his friends had perpetrated when he was their age. They were boys with adrenaline, burning it off the wrong way.

 

The Spriggs twins knew things, as they spent a lot of time out on the street. When Diego’s bike had been stolen out of their yard, Ramone had turned to Ronald and Richard, who had returned it without comment that night. Ramone hadn’t asked them how they had retrieved the bicycle, nor had he forgotten what they’d done. This past winter, Richard and Ronald had been taken into the 4D station for boosting items off the porches of nearby homes. Ramone had gone there with their mother and got them off without charges.

 

He worried about them, but only passively, because they were not his sons. Richard, who lacked motivation and direction, was the one who would probably find himself in deeper water as the years went on. It would be a shame if Ronald, who had the tools to do something special with his life, followed Richard out of loyalty and blood.

 

“So, about Asa,” said Ramone.

 

“We don’t know nothin about Asa,” said Ronald. “We sorry for what happened to him and all, but you know…”

 

“You guys hung with him, right?”

 

“Not so much anymore.”

 

“Why not?” said Ramone. “Something happen between you all?”

 

“Not really,” said Ronald.

 

“Why’d you stop hanging out, then?”

 

Roland and Richard exchanged glances.

 

“Why?” said Ramone.

 

“He ain’t like to do the stuff we do,” said Ronald.

 

“Like what, knockin down old ladies and taking their purses?”

 

“We ain’t never did that,” said Richard with an embarrassed smile.

 

“I’m playin with you,” said Ramone.

 

“I’m talking about regular stuff, like ballin,” said Ronald. “Goin to house parties and band shows.”

 

“Gettin with girls,” said Richard.

 

“His father wouldn’t let Asa come out, anyhow,” said Ronald. “I don’t know, we just kinda stopped seein him around.”

 

“What else?” said Ramone.

 

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