George Pelecanos - The Night Gardener

Eugene Hornsby joined the group. He had run the name Beano through WACIES. The program had the ability to cross-reference the street name and bring up the given name, last known address, and priors. Hornsby passed out copies he had made after printing out the information. He had found two Beanos, but one was currently incarcerated.

'Aldan Tinsley,' said Hornsby. 'Our man has a sheet indicating a history of receiving and selling stolen property. Plus one recent arrest for driving while intoxicated.'

'Darcia said that she and Dominique met him in an alley behind a street off Blair Road,' said Rhonda. 'She didn't recall the cross.'

'The LKA is in the two-digit block of Milmarson,' said Hornsby.

'That's right near Fort Slocum,' said Wilkins. 'Where Jamal was found.'

'And a stone's throw from the community garden on Oglethorpe,' said Ramone.

'I gotta call my sons,' said Rhonda, 'make sure they're straight.'

'Meet you out in the lot,' said Ramone.

Ramone and Rhonda Willis drove uptown in a Taurus. They were on South Dakota Avenue, headed for North Capitol via Michigan, the best route north through Northeast. Ramone was forcing the Taurus up a hill as Rhonda applied lipstick using the vanity mirror behind the passenger-side visor.

'Shame about Asa,' said Rhonda. 'Shame his parents got to add that to their grief as well.'

'You don't know the half of it,' said Ramone. 'One of the many things Terrance Johnson did to his son was to call him a faggot. Wonder how he's gonna live with that.'

'Do you think Johnson knew?'

'No. He was just being ignorant.'

Milmarson Place was a short block of well-tended brick and shingled colonials running from Blair Road to First Street, between Nicholson and Madison. It was a one-way going west to east, so Ramone came in from Kansas Avenue and Nicholson. A complicated system of alleys connected the streets, with alleys breaking in on both sides up by First. Ramone turned into an alley entrance and followed it around, horse-shoe-style. They passed freestanding garages, wooden and chain-link fences, overturned trash cans, and several dogs of the pit and shepherd mix variety, standing and barking or quietly lying in the small backyards. This section of the alley came out near Blair. When they emerged they saw a parked 4D squad car facing west. Ramone put the Taurus along the curb behind it. The Tinsley residence was on the opposite end of the street.

Rhonda grabbed a walkie-talkie. She and Ramone got out of the Ford and were met by the uniformed patrolman, who had stepped from his car. He was young and blond, and had a crew cut with a cowlick. The name Conconi was on his chest plate. Rhonda had radioed ahead for assistance.

'Arturo Conconi,' said the young man, extending his hand.

'Detective Ramone, and this is Detective Willis.'

'What do we have?'

'Booster name of Aldan Tinsley,' said Ramone. 'We think he might have sold a gun that was later used in a homicide. There's no history of violence.'

'No reason to take a chance,' said Conconi.

'Right. You got good eyes?'

'Pretty good.'

'Watch the house from here,' said Ramone. 'If Detective Willis calls you, move into the alley.'

Conconi pulled his radio off his utility belt. He and Rhonda set their frequencies.

'They call you Art or Arturo?' said Rhonda.

'Turo gets it.'

'All right, then.'

Ramone and Rhonda walked down the block.

'One of your countrymen,' said Rhonda.

'Don't hold it against him,' said Ramone.

They walked up concrete steps to a concrete porch fronting a brick house at the end of Milmarson. Rhonda chinned toward the door.

'Give it the cop knock, Gus.'

'Your hand still hurting?'

'From countin all my money.'

Ramone made a fist and pounded on the door. He tried it again. The door opened, and a man in his midtwenties appeared. He was Ramone's height, with a large head, long arms, and a skinny torso. He wore a We R One T-shirt out over jeans. He had a cell phone to his ear.

'Hold up,' he said into the phone, then looked at Ramone. 'Yeah.'

Ramone and Rhonda took one step into the foyer. Ramone badged the man as Rhonda looked over his shoulder, trying to determine if there was anyone else in the house. She thought she heard movement from somewhere in the rear.

'I'm Detective Ramone and this is Detective Willis. Are you Aldan Tinsley?'

'Nah, he's not in at this time.'

'Who are you?'

'I'm his cousin.'

Ramone tried to match the man in front of him to the photograph he had seen on the sheet. He looked like Aldan Tinsley. He could have been his cousin, too.

'You got some ID?' said Rhonda.

'You still there, girl?' said the man into the phone.

'I'm gonna ask you to end that call, sir,' said Ramone.

'I'll hit you back,' said the man into his cell. 'Police up in here lookin for my cousin.'

The man clipped his cell on his belt line.

'Can we see some identification?' said Rhonda.

'What's this regarding?'

'Are you Aldan Tinsley?' said Ramone.

'Look, you got a warrant? 'Cause if not, you stepped into my house, and that's trespassing.'

'Are you Aldan Tinsley?' said Ramone.

'Look, fuck y'all, okay? My cousin ain't here.'

'Fuck us?' said Ramone. He felt himself smile.

'I'm sayin, this shit ain't right. I really don't have the time for it, so you gonna have to excuse me.'

The man tried to close the door. The detectives stood still, and the door swung toward Rhonda and clipped her shoulder, knocking her off balance. Ramone kicked the door back violently and stepped full into the house.

'That's assault,' said Ramone.

He grabbed two fistfuls of the man's T-shirt and danced him across the room. He put him up against a wall. The man struggled under Ramone's grasp and tried to twist free, and Ramone lifted him off his feet and tripped him, and as he was falling Ramone put more into it and slammed him down onto the hardwood floor. Ramone heard Rhonda on the radio, calling the patrolman. He reached for his cuffs and turned the man over, noticing the blood on his lips and teeth from when his face had hit the wood. Ramone put his knee in the man's back as he fitted the cuffs to his wrists.

The man muttered something obscene under his breath. Ramone told him to shut his mouth.

An older woman walked into the room. She carried a dinner plate and a rag she had been using to dry it. She stared at the man lying cuffed and bloody on the floor.

'Beano,' she said with disappointment in her voice. 'What you done now?'

'Is this Aldan Tinsley, ma'am?' said Ramone.

'My son,' said the woman.

Ramone looked over at Rhonda, who had not bothered to unholster her Glock. She wiggled her eyebrows at him, the signal that she was fine.

Arturo Conconi came through the front door, his hand on the grip of his sidearm.

'Put this gentleman in the back of your car,' said Ramone, 'and follow us down to VCB.'

'Why'd you have to rough me?' said Tinsley. 'You split my lip and shit.'

'You shoulda said your name,' said Ramone. 'We asked you nice.'

'Would've saved you some hurt,' said Rhonda.

Rhonda apologized to the mother for the trouble. Ramone and Conconi led Tinsley from the house.

T.C. Cook sat in his office, several files open before him. The victims of the Palindrome Murders each had their own. He had compiled a fairly complete record of their lives, including photos, both of the family variety and individual and group shots from school. He knew that there were those in the force, especially during his last months of service, who thought he had crossed the border from diligence to obsession. But someone had to be on it.

Cook had stayed directly connected to the case for a couple of years. By the third killing, anger in the Southeast community had focused on the police force, the presumption being that the case was not being prioritized because the victims were black. Cook eventually earned the residents' trust. He had advised a neighborhood citizen task force with tips on how to keep their kids safe. Then concerns about drug murders began to supersede those related to the child killings, which had seemingly stopped, and the talk at the meetings turned to matters regarding gangs, dealers, and crack cocaine. As for the relatives of the victims, they formed a group called Palindrome Parents and met twice a month, more for therapy than anything else. Cook attended these meetings as well.