I ASKED YOUNG Ronald Hodge to repeat his story, and he did.
Exactly, almost word for word. He stared me right in the eye as he spoke, and he didn’t hesitate or waver. It was obvious that the boy was troubled by what he had witnessed and that he was still scared. He’d been living in fear of what he’d seen that night and then learning that murders had been committed in the house next door.
Afterward, Sampson and I talked to Anita Hodge in the kitchen. She gave us iced tea, which was unsweetened and had big chunks of lemon in it and was delicious. She told us that Ronald had been born with spina bifida, an outcropping of the spinal cord that had caused paralysis from the waist down.
“Mrs. Hodge,” I asked, “What do you think about the story Ronald told us in there?”
“Oh, I believe him. At least I believe he thinks he saw what he did. Maybe it was shadows or something, but Ronald definitely believes he saw three men. And one of them with a movie camera of some kind. He’s been consistent on that from the first. Spooky. Like that old Hitchcock movie.”
“Rear Window,” I said. “James Stewart thinks he sees a murder outside his window. He’s laid up with a broken leg at the time.” I looked over at Sampson. I wanted to make sure he was comfortable with me asking the questions this time. He nodded that it was okay.
“What happened after the Fayetteville detectives talked to Ronald? Did they come back? Did any other policemen come? Anyone from Fort Bragg? Mrs. Hodge, why wasn’t Ronald’s testimony part of the trial?”
She shook her head. “Same questions I had — my ex-husband and me both. A captain from CID did come a few days later. Captain Jacobs. He talked to Ronald some. That was the end of it, though. No one ever came about any trial.”
After we finished our iced tea, we decided to call it a day. It was past five and we thought we’d made some progress. I called Nana and the kids back at the Holiday Inn Bordeaux. Everything was fine and dandy on the home front. They had taken up the cry that I was on “Daddy’s last case,” and they liked the sound of that. Maybe I did too. Sampson and I had dinner and a couple of beers at Bowties inside the hotel, then turned in for the night.
I tried Jamilla in California. It was about seven her time, so I called her work number first.
“Inspector Hughes,” she answered curtly. “Homicide.”
“I want to report a missing person,” I said.
“Hey, Alex,” she said. I could feel her smile over the phone. “You caught me at work again. Busted. You’re the missing person. Where are you? You don’t write, you don’t call. Not even a crummy e-mail in the past few days.”
I apologized, then I told Jam about Sergeant Cooper and what had happened so far. I described what Ronald Hodge had seen from his bedroom window. Then I broached the subject that had prompted my call. “I miss you, Jam. I’d like to see you,” I said. “Anyplace, anytime. Why don’t you come east for a change. Or I could go out there if you’d rather. You tell me.”
Jamilla hesitated, and I found that I was holding my breath. Maybe she didn’t want to see me. Then she said, “I can get off work for a few days. I’d love to see you. Sure, I’ll come to Washington. I haven’t been there since I was a kid.”
“Not so long ago,” I said.
“That’s good. Cute,” she said with a laugh.
My heart fluttered a little as the two of us made a date. Sure, I’ll come to Washington. I played that line of Jamilla’s over and over in my head for the rest of the night. It had just rolled off her tongue, almost as though she couldn’t wait to say it.