Free Dead End Street by Sheila Connolly Page A

Latoya seldom doled out personal information. It was Tyrone who had inserted himself into our lives, and I thought Latoya was right in mentioning the prior connection, in case the police happened to stumble on it.
    â€œI did not know that. Interesting—I wouldn’t have thought he was her type. So, what now?”
    â€œI have no idea. I might have had a plan yesterday morning, but that kind of flew out the window. I’ve got to pull together reports from departments, and from the construction guys, to send to the board this week. We’re hatching a new outreach effort, maybe, but it’s too soon to say anything about that. I don’t want to talk to the media. Can I go home now?”
    â€œNot hardly. Listen, I wanted to talk about . . .” And Marty was off and running. She was a tremendous asset to the Society, the third generation of her line to take a hand in managing the place, and she knew more about the Society than I ever would, even though I’d been working here for more than ten years now. But sometimes her exhaustive knowledge of details was simply . . . exhausting. I sat back and let her words flow over me.
    I don’t know how long that would have gone on if wehad not been interrupted by a phone call. Eric stuck his head in the door. “Nell, Detective Hrivnak is downstairs, and she wants to see you.”
    Marty and I exchanged startled glances. “Maybe she’s just delivering my statement to sign?” I suggested.
    â€œYou believe that?” Marty shot back.
    I shook my head. “Not the way my luck runs. I’d better go see what she wants. You going to wait here?”
    â€œOf course. She knows who I am, and she knows you’re going to tell me everything anyway. This saves time. Bring her on up.”
    I passed Eric’s desk and told him I would be collecting the detective, then took the elevator down and walked to the lobby. She was deep in conversation with Bob at the desk, but she looked up quickly when she saw me approaching.
    â€œDetective, what can I do for you today?” I said.
    â€œWe need to talk,” she said bluntly. I’d heard that line before from her, and it didn’t bode well.
    â€œMy office?” I suggested. I knew Marty was lying in wait there. Did I think I needed protection? Or a witness?
    â€œOkay,” the detective agreed. She followed me silently to the elevator and up, then down the hall to my office. When she walked in she was startled to see Marty there, but she didn’t protest. “Ms. Terwilliger.”
    â€œDetective,” Marty replied, equally curt.
    â€œDetective, do you mind if Marty hears whatever you have to say?”
    Detective Hrivnak waved a dismissive hand. “No problem. But this is off the record, kinda, for now.”
    That was curious. “You know you can trust us. Please, sit down. Do you want some coffee? Anything else?”
    â€œNah. Let’s just get this sorted out. Ms. Terwilliger, you know what happened yesterday?”
    â€œI do. Nell filled me in this morning. Please call me Marty—it’ll save time.”
    â€œRight. Marty. Okay, a drive-by shooting in North Philly. Not exactly a rare event. One dead—a City employee named Cherisse Chapman. One wounded: Tyrone Blakeney. One—what do you want me to call you, Ms. Pratt?”
    â€œNell. How about, one person completely out of place there?”
    â€œThat’ll do. One shooter, one driver. In a car that you and Tyrone tell us was checking you out before they started shooting.”
    â€œHow is Tyrone, by the way?” I asked. Better late than never.
    â€œStable. Shot multiple times, but none of the bullets hit anything vital. Chapman wasn’t so lucky. Anyway, Tyrone’s talking, but he didn’t say anything we didn’t already know from you.”
    â€œHe told you why we were there?”
    â€œHe did. Hopeless cause, but I guess