Chapter 29 – January 14, 1988: Part II

I stare out the bus window until I arrive at LFI. I make my way to the Creative Design Department and hear Marjorie’s exasperated sigh.

"Listen, Ra'Shelle, I know this isn't what you do anymore, but could you go through a box of receipts and check it against the accounting logs?"

"Sure."

She hands me a small box full of crinkled papers. "Quinto found these this morning. We think they might be from a former employee, but we can’t tell if anyone logged them."

“No problem.”

"You can use the conference room to spread out if you want."

"Thanks. I'll be back."

On my way to the conference room, I walk past Jolene Porter, the head of public relations, who constantly glances at her muted television. We don’t work together often, but I’ve become her contact for Creative Design when I’m around.

As I pass, I spot a picture of Lassio in the corner of my eye. I freeze, swallow, and nearly drop the box. "Uh, Jolene."

She turns around. "Oh, hi, Ra'Shelle. I didn't see you."

"I'm sorry, but would you mind turning up the volume?"

"Oh, sure," she replies absentmindedly as she presses a button on the remote before returning her attention to a stack of papers.

"Gina, what do you make of all of this?" the anchor asks as he turns to a middle-aged woman in a black blazer.

"Well, Jim, it's hard to say. As we know, Mr. Lassio was a frequent contributor to Congressman Stiedbeck's campaigns, and there are numerous pictures of them at various charitable events. However, other than that, there are no known connections between them. Although we're still waiting on toxicology reports and verification from the police, as you said, right now both of these look like suicides."

"So, you think it's a coincidence, rather than someone going after Joe Stiedbeck?" the anchor asks.

"Former Congressman Stiedbeck has had more than his fair share of controversies and scandals over the years,” the woman says, “and those scandals led to him losing his re-election bid four years ago. I think his reputation is already ruined without some murky connection or his son dying. Let's not forget, Gabriel Stiedbeck had his share of bad press too. He was arrested six times as an adult for disorderly conduct, public intoxication, and driving under the influence. He was obviously a very troubled young man.

"Regarding Mr. Lassio,” she continues dismissively, “I'm not even sure that we'd give his death more than a passing thought if he hadn’t died on the same day as Gabriel Stiedbeck. We'll have to wait for police statements, but yes, I think this is just a strange, albeit tragic, coincidence."

"Thanks, Gina. Now let's take a look at the weather developments in Orange County. Linda, what can you tell us about the pier…”

"Thanks," I say to Jolene. "Sorry to bother you."

"No bother," she assures.

I walk into the conference room, and as if in a haze, I take the receipts from the box and spread them across the table. Finally, I begin trying to match receipts to the logs, a pencil tucked behind my ear. It takes all of my willpower to focus on the mundane task.

Twenty minutes later, Tom steps in with three binders and a legal pad.

"Sorry," he says as he closes the door. "I didn't realize anyone would be in here."

"Marjorie asked me to sort through some receipts. Do you need me to leave?"

He waves his hand. "You're fine. I just needed extra room." He sits at the opposite end of the table and opens the binders as I continue to sort through the papers.

There’s a knock at the door, and Marjorie’s looking through the glass. Tom gestures for her to come in.

"Ra'Shelle, you have a call on line two. I think it's your husband."

"Thanks." I walk over to the phone and press a button before holding it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Ra'Shelle, it's Pete."

"Pete," I hiss, "what the hell are you doing calling me? Especially at work. In fact, how did you even know this number?"

I hear Tom move, but I keep my back to him.

"Look, I'm sorry, I know you're busy, but–"

"Can we do this later, please? Like in five hours when I'm back home?"

"No, I'll be on a plane in five hours. You’ve heard the news?"

“Yes, I heard.”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. "Ra'Shelle, do you think there’s a connection to your pads?"

My ears burn, and I suck in a deep breath. "What do you want?"

"Gene Lorez called me an hour ago. He's my father's lawyer. He told me what happened, and I'm boarding a plane tonight to come home."

"And?" I ask impatiently.

A strange silence hangs between us.

“Pete?”

"You're in the will, Ra'Shelle."

"Whose?"

"My father's. Lorez wouldn't give me details over the phone, but you’re in the will."

My knees weaken, and I lean back against the table. "I don't want anything to do with this, Pete.”

My voice is no longer a whisper, and I hate how young I sound. “I didn't want anything to do with my mother's stuff, and I don't want anything to do with this. Just tell him there was a mistake."

"I don't think that's an option,” Pete says. “Your mother didn't leave a will. Dad’s, apparently, is very detailed. I think you're going to have to be a part of this whether you want it or not."

I suddenly remember Lassio's words to me over a decade ago. This is happening, Ra'Shelle, whether you want it or not.

"Pete, why did you choose those words?"

"Which words?" His confusion sounds genuine.

I shake my head. "Nothing. Never mind."

"Listen, I'm meeting with Lorez first thing in the morning. Can I come by the dorm after?"

I hesitate. "Yeah, I guess that'd be okay."

"Ra'Shelle," he says calmly, "you know if you think there’s a connection, you–”

"I don't know what this is, Pete, and neither do you. Let's just let them finish their investigation before we start spouting conspiracy theories, yeah?"

"Yeah… I'll see you tomorrow."

"Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything stupid, okay?"

"Yeah. You neither."

"See you tomorrow."

I hang up and rub my eyes. I walk back to my section of the table and return to sorting through the receipts. My whole body feels numb, out of place.

"Everything okay?" Tom asks.

But before I can answer, there’s another knock at the door, and Jolene opens it.

"Ra'Shelle? That thing you were watching earlier?"

I take a deep breath. "What about it?"

"I think something's happened. Come see."

I follow Jolene back to her desk, and Tom walks behind me.

"You can't really think that these are all coincidences, can you?" the anchor is asking.

"Nothing's changed in the last half hour," Gina argues defensively.

"AP found six suicides in the same county, all of which happened in the last fourty-eight hours."

"Don't mislead the viewers, Jim. Five of them are in the same county. One of them happened nearly two hours away. It's an outlier and almost certainly unrelated."

"So, you're saying the other five are related," he pushes.

"No. I'm saying that you can make data fit any way you want to make a good story, and that's what's happening here. Let's be clear. So far, these are all considered suicides. Police don’t suspect foul play, and no demographic information links them together. Plus, they didn't all die the same way. Two men hung themselves."

"Peter Lassio and Gabriel Stiedbeck."

"One woman overdosed on crack."

"Laura Jenkins."

"A married couple jumped off the roof of their apartment building."

"George and Katrina Peterman."

"And then the guy in the other county, who, by the way, was facing criminal charges for mishandling medication, died of an overdose on pills."

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it.

"Ronald Tillerman."

Fuck!

"Dammit," I whisper.

"You're telling me that you want to link hangings, overdoses, and jumpers together because they all committed suicide around the same time? People commit suicide every day, Jim, and with the exception of Mr. Lassio contributing to Congressman Stiedbeck's campaign, there is no connection between these individuals."

"Maybe there's a connection that we're not seeing."

"Until someone can show me that connection, I stand by my opinion that this is a wild goose chase."

I sprint back into the conference room and quickly dial my number. Tom closes the door behind us.

"Hello?" Colin answers, annoyed.

"Babe, I need you to go fetch Daly's card and tell me the number on it. It’s in an Adidas Nizza shoebox on the top shelf of the closet."

"Yeah. Hang on a second. Let me set Alex down… Pete called here earlier looking for you."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him you weren't here."

“Didn’t tell him I was at LFI?”

“Of course not,” he says, protective as always.

"He called here."

"What?! How?"

"I don't know. Neither of us told anyone that I work here who would know Pete, right?"

"God, Ra'Shelle, does that mean that he called the school with some bogus story, so they'd give him information?"

"Is that more believable than him coming back to town to follow me?"

"Is that why you want Daly's number?" he asks.

"You haven’t seen the news?"

"Not since you left,” he says, obviously shuffling things in the closet.

"Lassio is dead, Colin… And so is Tillerman."

"Ra'Shelle…”

"I know."

There's silence, and I know he’s opened the shoebox. “I have the card, but, Ra'Shelle, my god, babe, what is all the rest of this?”

“It’s a box of memories, Colin. We can talk about it later. Can you give me the number?”

He clears his throat, and I’m sure he’s fighting the urge to ask more questions. "Yeah."

I scribble it on a scrap piece of paper beside the phone. "Thanks. Listen, until we know what this is, just, you know, be careful, okay?"

"We will. You too."

"Love you."

"Love you too, Shelley."

I click the hook and dial the new number. "Yes, hi, I need to speak to Officer Daly."

A young woman sounds tired. "I'm sorry. He's not here today. Can I take a message?"

"Then I need to speak to Captain Gomez. Tell him it's Ra'Shelle Dawson and that he needs to talk to me."

"Please hold."

I take two deep breaths, rubbing the piece of paper between my fingertips.

"Migel Gomez."

"Captain, this is Ra'Shelle Dawson."

"What can I do for you, Ms. Dawson?" His voice is unreadable.

"Recently, Officer Daly came to you about pressing charges in my case, yes?"

"Last week. I told him I was willing to pursue it if you were."

"Well, I wasn't. Daly called me Monday and asked me to reconsider, and I told him I didn't have the energy."

"I understand," he says, his voice softening.

"Well, now all three of those men are dead."

There’s a long silence on the other end. "Yes."

"And Daly isn't at work today? Please tell me you know where he is, or that one of your officers has checked on him."

He hesitates. "Someone is on their way… I guess you've seen the news."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you know the other three people?"

I swallow. "I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"Did he explain the case to you?"

"More or less," he says.

"So, I don't know. Those names don't sound familiar to me, but I can't say for sure. The crack overdose seems isolated. The couple who jumped off a roof, maybe not so much."

"Is there any way for you to know if there is a connection between those people and this case?" he asks.

Stomach acid rises into my throat. "I–I have a list. I can give it to you."

"That would be helpful."

"Listen, I don't know how worried I should be. Is it possible that I’m the target here? Lassio's son just called me, and apparently I'm in the will. He's coming to see me tomorrow."

"Where are you now?"

"I'm at work. Ledger Fashion Industries."

"Give me half an hour,” he says. “Let me talk to Officer Daly, and I'll call you back when I know something concrete. Just stay there until you hear from me, understand?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

I hang up and immediately dial Colin again.

"Yeah."

"Colin, call your father and have him pick up you and Alex. Plan to stay there until we figure this out, okay?"

"Yeah. We'll be gone in an hour. Call as soon as you can, okay? We love you."

"I love you too. Be safe."

I take a deep breath, walk back to the table, and return to sorting through receipts.

Tom’s standing across from me; he places his fingertips against the wood and looks at me with deep concern. "Ra'Shelle, what's going on?"

I glance up before returning to the receipts. "I have a history with three of the guys that committed suicide. I just need to make sure that they really are suicides and unrelated."

"You think you could be in danger?" he asks.

"I doubt it, but I didn't want Colin and Alex taking the chance. The police captain will call back in a while, and we'll know more then. Until then, I just want to focus on work."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

"I really, really don't."

He nods. "Okay."

I struggle to focus as I compare receipts to the accounting papers and take notes. When I’m finished, I organize them in the box and return them to Marjorie.

"Thanks, Ra'Shelle,” she says. “I really don't have much for you today. We're finishing sketches for the summer line. If you want to submit something, feel free. You can take the rest of the time to work on that, if you want, or just take the rest of the day off. I should have a lot more on Monday."

"Which category? Is formal wear still open?"

"Yes. Anything you sketch for consideration, bring it to me on Monday, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks, Marjorie. By the way, any word on how it's going in Minneapolis?"

She smiles. "Sam is having a great time, and the staff have really fallen into place. It seems to be going well."

"That's great."

"Yeah, it is. Have a good weekend, Ra'Shelle."

"Thanks. You too."

I return to the conference room to find Tom still taking notes.

"You're not sticking around for me, are you?" I ask, closing the door.

"That's part of the reason, yes."

I take my drawing pad from my backpack. "You can work in your office, Tom. I'll be fine."

"Don't worry about it,” he says, reminding me why he’s such a great mentor. “What are you working on?"

"Marjorie is letting me submit sketches for the summer line, so I'm going to work on that for a bit. Do you need something?"

"No. What are you going to sketch?"

I tap my pencil against the paper. "I'm thinking about a dress that's made of really light fabric with an opaque torso and translucent skirt with wide slits. I'm not sure how good it will look, but it would be really cool. Something to dress your bridesmaids in or wear to a formal event on a really hot day. I'm thinking either straight chiffon or a linen and chiffon blend."

"It does certainly sound light and cool… You know you can talk to me, right?"

I smile. "Tom, we named our baby after your wife. Yeah, I know I can talk to you."

He chuckles. "Well, you didn’t name her after me. How is she, by the way?"

"She's great. She's rolling and sitting up with only a little support. She's growing quickly."

"Has Colin loosened up any?" he asks.

"Yeah, he's starting to place less pressure on himself for everything to be perfect. He's a great dad. Alex tolerates us both really well, but I think she likes me more for playing and engagement and him more for reading and singing. We've made a good team so far."

"I'm glad to hear that."

I begin sketching, modeling the clothes from different angles and trying different layers. Eventually, the phone's intercom beeps.

"Ra'Shelle, are you still in there?" asks Angelique.

I pick up the phone. "Yes, ma'am… Thanks." I push the button for Line Two. "This is Ra'Shelle."

"Ms. Dawson, it's Captain Gomez."

"Yes, sir."

"A squad car is on the way to LFI. You're not under arrest. I don't think you’ve done anything wrong. I would just feel better if you came in."

"When will they be here?"

"Ten minutes."

I look at my watch. "Yes, sir." I hang up and place my pad in my backpack.

"What's happened?"

"Police will be here in ten minutes. I'm going to the precinct, apparently."

He closes the binders. "I'm going with you."

"That's not necessary. I'm guessing they just want to tell me something, and they don't want to do it over the phone. As far as I know, I didn't do anything wrong."

"I'll follow you. You'll need a ride back to the dorm."

I zip my backpack. "Are you okay?"

"Look,” he says, “I know there are things that you don't want to tell me or feel like you can't tell me, but you're concerned enough to send your daughter to stay with her grandfather. I just want to know that you're safe."

I click my tongue. "If it’ll make you feel better."

"It will."