“Oh, man, mad! But also scared. Like she just figured out where she was, on a street where girls like her—ones in private school uniforms—don’t go, especially by themselves. MLK Ave? Come on, I mean bitch, please.” He leans forward, long-fingered hands clasped between his knees, face earnest. “She didn’t know I was just playing, you see what I mean? She was like in a panic, get me?”
“I do,” Hodges says, and although he sounds engaged (at least he hopes so), he’s on autopilot for the moment, stuck on what Neville has just said: I grabbed her game. Part of him thinks it can’t be connected to Ellerton and Stover. Most of him thinks it must be, it’s a perfect fit. “That must have made you feel bad.”
Neville raises his scratched palms toward the ceiling in a philosophical gesture that says What can you do? “It’s this place, man. It’s the Low. She stopped being on cloud nine and realized where she was, is all. Me, I’m getting out as soon as I can. While I can. Gonna play Div I, keep my grades up so I can get a good job afterward if I ain’t—aren’t—good enough to go pro. Then I’m getting my family out. It’s just me and my mom and my two brothers. My mom’s the only reason I’ve got as far as I have. She ain’t never let none of us play in the dirt.” He replays what he just said and laughs. “She heard me say ain’t never, she be in my face.”
Hodges thinks, Kid’s too good to be true. Except he is. Hodges is sure of it, and doesn’t like to think what might have happened to Jerome’s kid sister if Dereece Neville had been in school today.
Higgins says, “You were wrong to be teasing that girl, but I have to say you made it right. Will you think about what almost happened if you get an urge to do something like that again?”
“Yes, sir, I sure will.”
Higgins holds a hand up. Rather than slap it, Neville taps it gently, with a slightly sarcastic smile. He’s a good kid, but this is still Lowtown, and Higgins is still po-po.
Higgins stands. “Are we good to go, Detective Hodges?”
Hodges nods his appreciation at the use of his old title, but he isn’t quite finished. “Almost. What kind of game was it, De-reece?”
“Old-school.” No hesitation. “Like a Game Boy, but my little brother had one of those—Mom got it in a rumble sale, or whatever they call those things—and the one the girl had wasn’t the same. It was bright yellow, I know that. Not the kind of color you’d expect a girl to like. Not the ones I know, at least.”
“Did you happen to see the screen?”
“Just a glance. It was a bunch of fish swimming around.”
“Thanks, Dereece. How sure are you that she was high? On a scale of one to ten, ten being absolutely positive.”
“Well, say five. I would’ve said ten when I walked up to her, because she acted like she was going to walk right out into the street, and there was a bigass truck coming, a lot bigger than the panel job that come along behind and whumped her. I was thinking not coke or meth or molly, more something mellow, like ecstasy or pot.”
“But when you started goofing with her? When you took her game?”
Dereece Neville rolls his eyes. “Man, she woke up fast.”
“Okay,” Hodges says. “All set. And thank you.”
Higgins adds his thanks, then he and Hodges start toward the door.
“Detective Hodges?” Neville is on his feet again, and Hodges practically has to crane his neck to look at him. “You think if I wrote down my number, you could give it to her?”
Hodges thinks it over, then takes his pen from his breast pocket and hands it to the tall boy who probably saved Barbara Robinson’s life.
19
Holly drives them back to Lower Marlborough Street. He tells her about his conversation with Dereece Neville on the way.
“In a movie, they’d fall in love,” Holly says when he finishes. She sounds wistful.
“Life is not a movie, Hol . . . Holly.” He stops himself from saying Hollyberry at the last second. This is not a day for levity.
“I know,” she says. “That’s why I go to them.”
“I don’t suppose you know if Zappit consoles came in yellow, do you?”
As is often the case, Holly has the facts at her fingertips. “They came in ten different colors, and yes, yellow was one of them.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That there’s a connection between what happened to Barbara and what happened to those women on Hilltop Court?”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking. I wish we could sit down with Jerome the way we did when Pete Saubers got into trouble. Just sit down and talk it all out.”
“If Jerome gets here tonight, and if Barbara’s really okay, maybe we can do that tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s your second day,” she says as she pulls to the curb outside the parking lot they use. “The second of three.”
“Holly—”
“No!” she says fiercely. “Don’t even start! You promised!” She shoves the gearshift into park and turns to face him. “You believe Hartsfield has been faking, isn’t that right?”