Read Don't Die Under the Apple Tree Online
Authors: Amy Patricia Meade
Don't Die Under the Apple Tree (15 page)
“And that's ... that's why he was bleedin'. You hit him in order to keep him from ...”
Rosie nodded. “I knew I had to get out of there. I had to do whatever I could to escape.”
“I had no idea... . Here I thought I'd done somethin' wrong. Somethin' to make him do what he did.”
“What did he do?”
“We was down in the hull one day. It was cold and rainy, so I stayed down there to eat my lunch 'stead of climbin' out. You know we only get thirty minutes; unless you have to go to ... you know. It doesn't pay to climb out. Well, Mr. Finch came down to check the work we was doin' and asked if I was there alone. I said âyes,' but Lord, how I wish I hadn't. He ...” Her eyes welled with tears.
“Go on, Shelby. It's okay,” Rosie encouraged. “Let it out. You'll feel better.”
“Mr. Finch leaned down all low like and whispered in my ear. He said he could break me in half and then he ...”
She was sobbing by now. Rosie got up from the settee and knelt in front of the woman. “It's okay.” She offered a white handkerchief from the pocket of her dark blue coveralls.
Shelby wiped her nose. “He licked my neck to see if I tasted different than a white girl.”
Rosie felt her stomach turn.
“I thought he was gonna ... gonna ...” Shelby stammered.
“I know. I know what you thought. But did he?”
“No. He said I tasted the same. Not like chocolate the way he thought I would. Then he laughed and went back up top.”
With a clearing of his throat, Riordan announced his approach to the living room.
“This will be our secret, Shelby,” Rosie promised. “The police don't need to know all the sordid details.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Keefe. I do appreciate it. I don't know if I could tell it to another living soul.”
“You don't have to, but if you ever need to talk again, you let me know.”
“I will, Mrs. Keefe.”
Rosie nodded and sat back on the settee, just in time for Riordan to join her. “Sorry for keeping you waiting,” he apologized.
“That's okay,” Rosie said as Riordan wedged himself onto the cushion beside her, causing the color, once again, to flow into her cheeks.
Why couldn't he question Jackson while standing up?
Why couldn't he question Jackson while standing up?
“So, Miss Jackson, why don't you tell us what happened the day Finch was murdered?”
“After the mornin' announcements, I went to work sweepin', just like Mr. Finch told me to. Finished out my day. But I still couldn't believe I wouldn't be in the hull. Sweepin' wouldn't make me enough money to pay for groceries, let alone pay for Malcolm's doctor bills.”
“What happened at the end of the day?” Riordan asked.
“I followed Mr. Finch,” Shelby admitted. “But not to do him harm! I swear it.”
“No one's suggesting you did,” Rosie said soothingly.
“I know, but I just ...”
“You worry.”
“Uh-huh. I do ... always. Sometimes so much that I don't sleep at night. Anyways, I talked to Wilsonâyou know, Wilson Dewittâabout what had happened and he told me to speak to Mr. Finch directly. Course, I hadn't told him 'bout ...” Shelby's eyes slid to Rosie's.
Rosie nodded sympathetically.
“So I did like Wilson said. I followed Mr. Finch outta the yard thinkin' I'd be tough, be strong, and ask him for my old job back. You know, down in the hull.”
“Did you?” Riordan ventured.
“Didn't get the chance. I watched Mr. Finch leave, waited a few minutes, and then followed. But he'd disappeared. Just disappeared. I'd seen him walk down by the docks after work a few times beforeâ”
“You had?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did other people at the yard know this? Because no one I spoke to mentioned it to me.”
“I'm sure a lot of folks knew 'bout it. At least those who'd been at the yard any length of time or walked the same way he did to get home at night.”
Riordan, deep in thought, bit his lip. A few moments passed before he spoke again. “So you checked out the docks, thinking Finch might have gone there?”
“Yes, sir. It was mistin' out, so it was hard to see at first, but when some of the fog cleared, I saw ...” She drew a trembling hand to her mouth.
“It's okay. Take your time, Miss Jackson.”
“Heâhe was dead! There was blood everywhere and his head, it was ...”
Riordan got up and poured some water from the large hobnail pitcher on the coffee table into a small, clear glass tumbler and handed it to Shelby Jackson. “Here. Drink up and take a deep breath.”
“Thank you, sir.” Shelby did as instructed and handed the glass back to Riordan.
“Feel better?”
She nodded. “A little. I'm sorry for gettin' so worked up.”
“No need for apologies.” Riordan placed the glass back on the tray and sat down on the settee.
This time, Rosie didn't mind his presence at all.
“Why didn't you tell someone what you saw? Why didn't you call the police?” he asked.
“I was scared. I was so scared I couldn't move at first. Then, all I could do was run. I had to get away from there and see my boy. I needed to know he was okay. I wanted him to know I was okay.”
“So you came home?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You didn't stop anywhere?”
“No, sir. If that bus coulda flown, I woulda paid the driver to do it.”
“And what time was this?”
“Oh, I don't rightly know. I was soâso besides myself... .”
“A guess. It doesn't have to be completely accurate.”
“I left work around ten after four, maybe four fifteen. And ... well, it must have been the four twenty bus I caught. But I didn't take note of the time when I got home. I didn't think of it. I couldn't. All I remember is thinkin' of Malcolm. When I got here and saw him in his room safe and readin'? Well, I hugged him so tight you'd think I hadn't seen him in days. After, I got around to wonderin' if I should call the police. But by then, so much time'd gone by, you might think I did it. You might think I killed Finch. A Negro woman killin' a white man? If you'da thought that, I'd most likely get the chair. And who'd take care of Malcolm then? I have a sister in Chicago, but I don't want him goin' anywhere without me!”
Rosie thought of her own situation. If she were to go to jail, at least Katie and Charlie would have Ma, but that didn't mean she didn't feel accountable to them. Katie had gone to her, not Ma, after Jimmy's death. Her. “No,” she stated suddenly. “No, you want to look after him yourself. I ... I understand, Shelby. I do. I can't imagine seeing what you did. You must have been terrified.”
“I was. That's why I came home and locked the doors. I didn't want anyone comin' here and takin' me away from my boy. I even pulled him outta school so they couldn't keep him from me.”
“And that's why you haven't been at work and why you haven't answered the door when Dewitt came by?”
“Dewitt's a nice man. Very sweet, but he ain't always the smartest. I didn't wanna tell that sweet dumb oaf what I saw, let alone what had ... had happened in the hull.” Her eyes slid to Rosie. “He'd have gone to Finch himself and then we'd both have been outta jobs.”
“No,” she went on, “I thought it best to lock the door and stay put. In my head I knew it was silly. I knew it was only a matter of time till you came lookin.' I knew that no locks could keep you out if you wanted in, but ... but for a little while, it made me feel safe.”
“And now?” Riordan asked. “How do you feel now?”
“Better. Better for havin' let it all out, but still scared that you're gonna take me away in your police car. Scared you're gonna take me away from my boy. Scared you're gonna think I did it. But I didn't. I didn't kill Mr. Finch. I swear to Jesus I didn't!”
“I believe you, Shelby,” Rosie said quietly. “I believe you.”
Riordan turned to Rosie, his face soft, yet questioning.
He looked away abruptly. “I, um, I think we're done here for tonight, Miss Jackson,” he announced upon rising from the settee. “Thank you so much for answering our questions.”
Shelby stood up, her mouth agape. “You mean ... ? You mean you're not gonna take me away?”
“I don't see any reason to at this moment. We'll look into your story and see if everything checks out. If we have any more questions, we'll contact you. Just be sure to let us in on the first knock this time, all right? Malcolm shouldn't have to see the bottom of my foot any more than he has to.”
Shelby smiled slightly. “I'll be sure to let you in, and Dewitt, too.”
“Good. Oh, and no trips to the sister or any other out-of-town relatives. Not until this is all over with. At least, not without a call to me first.” He handed her his card.
“I won't. I don't have a phone. I can use the one at the corner store, but I don't reckon to be goin' anywhere. Not with Malcolm in school and me without a paycheck.”
“Will you come back to the yard?” Rosie asked. It was more of a request than a query.
“Oh, I ... I don't know.”
“We're still looking for help. Why, we had another man call up today.”
“I've been gone so long now... .”
“Three days. But I'm willing to speak with Del Vecchio, the new foreman, on your behalf. I'm sure Dewitt would, too.”
At the mention of Dewitt's name, her demeanor became slightly girlish. “It don't take much to talk Dewitt into anything.”
“Tomorrow's Saturdayâa half day. So, I'll see you first thing Monday?”
“I don't know ... I'll think about it, Mrs. Keefe.”
“Rosie. Please. Call me Rosie.”
Shelby looked down at the floor for a few seconds before replying. “Okay, Rosie. I'll be there.”
Chapter Thirteen
Riordan and Rosie bid Shelby Jackson and Malcolm adieu and then set off at a leisurely pace down the sidewalk.
“Lieutenant Riordan, why did you give me a look when I said I believed Shelby?” Rosie questioned.
“I did? What look was that?”
“A look as though you didn't understand what I was saying. Or why I might be saying it. Don't you believe her?”
Riordan stopped walking and faced her. “I do believe her, Mrs. Keefe. That's the problem.”
“You're right, it is a problem. When I asked if you believed me, I didn't get a straight answer. You said you weren't allowed to state your opinion. And yet here you are, standing behind Shelby Jackson.”
“You didn't ask me what I believed. You asked me if I'd found any evidence to make me think you were either innocent or guilty,” he argued.
“No, I didn't. I asked if you believed me and you said it was your duty to believe me until proven otherwise.”
“Precisely. I never said I didn't believe you.”
“You never said you did, either.”
Riordan glanced around at the neighbors who were taking advantage of the warm spring evening by sitting on their front steps or sweeping their sidewalks. “I'm not having this discussion here. We can finish it in the car.”
“The car? You're taking me to headquarters?”
“No, I'm not taking you to headquarters. Why does everyone assume that? Do I look like the sort of guy who enjoys arresting young women?”
“I don't know. Are you?” Rosie challenged, but with a hint of fear in her voice.
“No, I'm not. It's around suppertime, so I figured we'd grab a bite to eat and then I'd drive you home.”
“Dinner?” She looked down at her coveralls and frowned. “But I'm not really dressed for dinner.”
He looked her up and down. “You look fine. More than fine. Um, for where we're going, I mean,” he quickly amended. “Besides, this isn't dinner. It's a bite to eat and a chance to talk.”
“Well, I ... oh, I can't. Katieâmy sisterâis expecting me home.”
“No, she's not. I already told her you wouldn't make it.”
“Youâ? That's right, you said you saw her today! Where was it? When did you see her?”
With a smirk, Riordan stepped to the curb and opened the passenger door of his black 1941 Ford Deluxe. “Get in and I'll tell you.”
Rosie sighed and took a seat in the cream-colored, leather interior. Riordan, happy to have won the battle, shut the door after her and then climbed into the driver's seat.
“So?” she prompted.
“So, what?”
“I did what you asked. Now tell me where and when you saw my sister.”
Riordan started the six-cylinder engine and pulled away from the curb, heading southwest on Putnam. “At church during Finch's funeral this morning.”
Rosie's jaw dropped. “You were there, too?”
“Indeed I was. How better to get a feel for Finch's life than to see who turned up to mourn his death? You can imagine my surprise when I recognized the pretty blonde in the last pew.”
“She was there on my behalf,” Rosie admitted.
“Like you, she thought she might learn something valuable. Something that would keep me out of trouble and point the finger at someone else.”
At the traffic light, Riordan made a right turn onto Throop and continued north. “I know. She and I had a nice conversation about it.”
“You did?”
“Uh-huh. She filled me in on her findings, too.”
“She did? Why, thatâ!”
“Don't be angry with your sister. It's not her fault. She can't help it if I make a very persuasive argument.”
Rosie exhaled noisily. “What did you do? Threaten to throw her in jail?”
“No. Will you stop it with that? She thought the same thing, too. I'm a police lieutenant. There's more to my job than that.”
“Like what?”
“Paperwork. Training. The majority of the time I work on solving cases. I rarely put people in jail. And never because they shouldn't be there.”
“You won't be able to say that after you arrest me,” she quipped.
Riordan brought the car to a halt, causing Rosie to fly forward in her seat and then snap her head against the headrest. “Have I arrested you yet?”
“No,” she said quietly.
“Didn't I just include you in my talk with Shelby Jackson?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don't you trust me? You need to trust me ... because I'm the only person out there who can help you.” After a pause to regain his composure, Riordan turned left onto Flushing Avenue.
Once her surprise had subsided, Rosie asked, “Why? Why are you the only person?”
“Because I don't think you did it. I haven't since the night I brought you in for questioning. My captain, however, wanted me to arrest you on the spot.”
“How did you convince him otherwise?”
“I didn't. I merely bought time. I promised to have the case solved in five days.”
“Five days from now!” Rosie panicked. “That's not a lot of time.”
“It's even less,” Riordan replied, the car's acceleration matching the importance of his tone. “The five days started the day after I brought you in.”
“So we're down to ... ?”
“Two days.”
Rosie sunk into her seat. “Two more days and I could be going to ...”
“Now you know why I want you to trust me.”
“Did you tell my sister this? Is that why she confided in you?”
“No, I didn't tell her. If I had, she would have kept on sleuthing until she either cleared your name or got herself into a heap of trouble. I simply explained to her that I was on your side, and asked her to share what she knew.”
“And she did?”
“Yes, she said she figured the two of you had to trust someone and it might as well be me.”
“So she told you everything about Mrs. Finch and the butcher?”
“She did. As well as Finch's girlfriend in the neighborhood.”
“Girlfriend? I didn't know about that!”
“That happened this morning. I'll tell you about it later. Better yet, I'll let your sister tell you.”
Rosie frowned. “I suppose she told you about everything I uncovered, too?”
“Nope. I sent her home to look after her son. Which I figured is probably what you'd want me to do.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said graciously. “I just can't believe she listened to you.”
“She didn't at first,” Riordan smiled. “I had to bribe her with lunch and ice cream.”
Rosie laughed. “That's Katie, all right. Ever since she was a kid she's thought with her stomach.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Especially when it works so well.”
“Too well. Had you held out longer, she probably would have told you what I'd been up to.”
“Oh, I know what you've been up to. But I wanted to hear the results from your own mouth, not the edited version you might have told Katie.”
Rosie fell silent as Riordan pulled the car onto a side street just a few blocks away from the Brooklyn Navy Yard. There, at the end of the street, lay a beautiful promenade with a view of the East River and, off to the left, the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges, and beyond them, the sunset. Families, lovers, and shipyard employees lined the pavement, “oohing” and “aahing” as the fiery April sun sank below the horizon.
Realizing the value of such property, someone with an entrepreneurial spirit and a small chunk of operating capital had erected a hot dog stand a few short steps away from the water.
“See? I told you those coveralls were fine for where we were going,” Riordan smirked and stepped from behind the driver's wheel. A few seconds later, he opened Rosie's door and the two approached the stand.
Rosie stared at the river, the golden rays of the sun casting a warm glow upon her long, windswept hair. “It's beautiful.”
Upon seeing Rosie's reaction to the view, Riordan excused himself awkwardly.“I, um, I didn't take you here for that, Mrs. Keefe. It was more the dress code, the nearness to the bridge, and the fries. Homemade.With lots of salt. The viewâthat's just a bonus.”
He ordered four frankfurters with mustard and sauerkraut, a large side of French fries, and two bottles of Coca-Cola. The clerk passed the order across the counter in exchange for a couple of crisp bills. “Keep the change,” Riordan instructed before popping the Coke tops off the counter and passing the bottles to Rosie. Meanwhile, he grabbed the food, piping hot and loaded into red and white cardboard trays, and steered his female companion to a nearby park bench.
With Riordan seated at one end and Rosie at the other, they placed their meal on the bench between them.
She took a swig of her soda and leaned back. “Thank you.”
Riordan devoured a large bite of hot dog and then wiped the mustard from his lips with a paper napkin. “Hey, we both have to eat, don't we?” he stated after swallowing. “It's not the most substantial of meals, but it does the job.”
“Oh, it's fine. Really. I'm not even that hungry.”
“You're not? After working all day outdoors, climbing scaffolds, I'd be starving by now.”
“I was, but I ... I seem to have lost my appetite.”
“No, you don't. You're not going to waste away on me. Not now. Now's when you need your strength.”
“I'm not going to waste away. I'm just not hungry.”
“Nope. You're going to eat up and we're going to compare notes.”
Like a sulking child, Rosie picked up a small French fry and reluctantly placed it into her mouth. Riordan was right: the potato was soft on the inside, crunchy on the outside, and perfectly salted. She picked up another one and attempted to conceal her pleasure.
“I was right. They're good, aren't they?” he said with a grin.
“They're okay,” she said before moving on to one of her hot dogs.
“So, how are things at the yard? Tell me what you've found out.”
“You first,” she challenged.
“Uh-uh. That's not the way it works.” He followed the statement with a swig of cola.
Rosie frowned. She felt like a traitor, sharing the personal stories of these people she had just started to know and like. Moreover, once those secrets were shared, Riordan and his men would probably pry into every facet of their owners' pasts.
“Come on, now,” he coaxed.
“A lot of the things that were told to me were said in the strictest confidence. I'd feel bad betraying a trust like that.”
“I understand. You've made friends and don't want to put them under suspicion. Not only is that admirable, but I'm sure you'll have the most pen pals of anyone at the New York Women's House of Detention.”
“That's not a nice thing to say,” she chastised.
“No, it's not nice, but it's true. Do you want to make friends or save yourself? Because that's where we are right now. With just two days left, you can't have both.”
“I want to save myself,” she replied morosely. “I need to. I can't go to jail.”
“Good. We're on the same page.” He took a bite of hot dog and gave it a few quick chews before swallowing. “That said, tell me everything you know about everyoneâno matter how trivial you think it might be.”
Rosie ate another French fry and then started in chronological order, beginning with the day she returned to work at Pushey. “First there's Nelson.”
“Nelson?” he asked as he extracted a small notebook and pencil from the front breast pocket of his dress shirt.
“Yes, Betty Nelson. Twenty-five years old, dark hair, pretty.”
“I'm writing down names and stories and then tracking these people down. I'm not drawing sketches.”
“You said to tell you everything. I'm telling you everything. Including each person's full physical description.”
“Hmm,” Riordan shrugged. “I guess it can't hurt. How tall is Betty Nelson and what does she weigh?”
“A little taller than I am, so five foot five. And maybe one hundred twenty pounds. Surely not more than that.”
“Okay. What happened?”
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