Chapter Four #2
“Okay then. That’s grand. Ya can give whatever description ya have to Cassidy and Mike.
I promise, they’re really good guys who’ve worked with the FBI many times.
” He studied my face, seeming to look for a reaction.
He must have seen something because the next words out of his mouth were very kind.
“They’re nothing like the coppers you’ve had contact with, Wes.
I’d never ask ya to talk to them if they were. ”
Warmth flooded my belly. This caring man had a way of seeing me the way few did.
I couldn’t say there were a lot of people who could look past the scruffy clothing and slightly gamey smell of bathing only a few times a week at the local YMCA when I got the chance.
I still hated the idea of talking to the police again but the sincere look in Patsy’s blue eyes made it impossible not to trust him.
I couldn’t imagine refusing him anything, if it was in my power to give it to him. “Sure.”
He smiled again, reaching out to touch my arm. His fingers sent shivers running down my spine. “Thank ya, Wes.” We walked into the sitting room so I could hand Father Gilmartin his tea tray.
“Here you are, Father. It’s strong, black tea.”
“Did ya make it yerself, lad?”
“Patsy supervised.”
He laughed as Patsy poured him a cup with a good splash of milk, and two sugars, then I handed it to him. “Hopefully, it’ll calm your nerves.”
The priest smiled up at me as he took the steaming cup and saucer from my hands.
“Thank you, Wes. Yer verra kind.”
I nodded and walked over to an upholstered chair next to the couch, while Patsy took one opposite me.
“I called a friend of mine from the LAPD, Father Gilmartin,” Patsy said. “He and his partner, Mike, are comin’ by to take a statement about the men who assaulted ya.”
“Aye, that’d be fine,” Father Gilmartin said, sipping his tea.
“Ya said ya didn’t know the men who attacked ya, but they had a message to pass on to one of ya congregation?” Patsy asked.
“Father Gilmartin was just telling me about it,” Napoleon said, looking over to meet Patsy’s eyes. He glanced back at the priest. “You said it was for Marigold Bishop, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.” The priest frowned as he thought about it.
“They said they’d hurt her if she keeps talking about what happened and that I was to pass the message along to her mother the next time they showed up at the church.
” He shrugged, pursing his lips. “And then one of them hit me.” He covered his belly again, probably remembering the punch in the gut.
I glanced over at Patsy who was frowning in my direction. He broke eye contact to look back at the priest. “Father, can ya tell me somethin’ about Marigold and her mother?”
The priest frowned deeply, looking up with terrified eyes. “That’s why this didnae make any sense.”
“What’s that, Father?” Napoleon asked.
“Marigold is a four-year-old wee girl. What could she possibly know about anything to do with the business of those two men?”
“So, those bastards—” I stopped, clearing my throat. “Sorry, Father. What I meant to say was, those two men basically threatened a four-year-old?”
Father Gilmartin nodded. The expression in his eyes was so sad, it made my heart squeeze. “I’ll never comprehend the forces of evil, but I recognize it when I see it. The power of darkness inside some men simply baffles me.” He made the sign of the cross in front of him.
“Did they say anythin’ else, Father?” Patsy asked. “Like why they wanted ya to deliver the message?”
The father looked directly at Patsy. “Well, the mother and child are homeless and I wouldn’t know how to deliver such a message even if I was inclined to.
When I last saw them at mass, they were living in and out of various shelters and tent housing.
I gave them extra blankets since it’s an unseasonably cold winter, but I remember thinking one as young as the wee lassie shouldn’t be out in the cold temperatures at night. ”
I nodded, thoroughly understanding what most people who’d never lived on the street could. I tried not to feel angry as he continued.
“Though Marigold’s mother has tried to find a job, she’s been unlucky there.
” He shook his head. “Aye, but she’s a good lass—Betty—but she hasn’t been successful because of having to care for young Marigold.
She hasn’t found a job that would let her bring the bairn along and the wee girl is too young to be in school.
” He sipped his tea. “None of this makes any sense. What could young Marigold know?”
Napoleon and Patsy exchanged a knowing glance, letting the moment pass silently between them. A minute later, the doorbell rang and the priest began to get up.
“I’ll go,” Patsy said, standing and walking out of the room.
He was back a moment later with two men.
One was tall with graying blond hair while the other was older with a middle-aged paunch.
They both wore suits, which probably meant they were detectives, rather than run of the mill uniformed officers.
They introduced themselves to Father Gilmartin, and smiled at Napoleon, shaking his hand like they knew him, which would make sense if he worked for the FBI like Patsy.
When they turned to me, I swallowed hard and stepped forward.
“Hi there. I’m Weston…Weston Chaudry.” I stuck out my hand and both men took turns shaking it, and introducing themselves.
“Wes and I were walkin’ toward the church when he saw the father bein’ assaulted,” Patsy explained.
“You saw the people?” the blond one—Detective Cassidy Ryan—asked.
I nodded. “Yes, but not so well that I could make out anything other than vague features on their faces.”
“And how many were there?” Ryan asked.
“Two, both men, and not tall. One was shorter and stockier than the other.”
“Would you be able to tell me about how tall? The better the description, the easier it will be to identify them when we catch up to them.”
I thought about it for a few seconds, doing calculations in my head. “The shorter one was no more than five eight and three quarters, accounting for the heels in his loafers.” The green-eyed cop snorted, but I noted that his smile went all the way to his eyes.
“Five eight and three quarters in his loafers,” he said as his partner scribbled in a small notebook. “That’s incredibly accurate, Mr. Chaudry. How can you be so sure about that since you only got a cursory look at him?”
“Even from a distance, I can tell how tall he was because that’s what I do,” I replied.
I glanced nervously at Patsy who was watching me in earnest. I rushed to add, “I’m a mathematician and statistician.
I don’t know how to explain it to anyone who isn’t except to say that I am 97 percent sure I’m right. ”
The detective smiled and then glanced at his partner. “Make sure you note that, Mike.”
The older detective nodded, doing his best to hide a smile with thinned lips as he scribbled. “Got it.”
“Can you tell me how much the shorter one weighed…approximately?”
I thought about it. “One hundred and seventy-two pounds which is less accurate than his height because he was wearing a coat.”
Detective Ryan nodded. “But if I were to guess, you already accounted for that?”
I felt myself smile just a little. “Of course.”
“And you can tell he was one hundred seventy-two pounds under a coat?” Napoleon asked.
“If Wes says he can, he can,” Patsy said, jumping in. He sounded almost defensive…of me.
I looked over at him. He wore a bit of a surprised expression, but it was the affection in his voice which couldn’t be missed.
“Okay, then…and that man was wearing loafers, you said?”
“Yes, dark in color with tassels.”
“Tassels,” he replied flatly.
I nodded. “And the coat was a nice one, not something off the rack.”
“You could tell that from a distance? How far away were you? I didn’t ask.”
“Patsy and I were about fifty feet away when we first spotted them assaulting Father Gilmartin but then I started running and got as close as thirty feet before they took off.” I looked over at Detective Williams who was writing everything in his notebook.
“And, you can always tell if clothing is off the rack. It’s in the tailoring. ”
He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true,” he said. “Okay, anything else? Hair color, age, eye color?”
“They both wore Fedora type hats, very uncharacteristic for this neighborhood,” I replied. “I got the impression they came right off the set of The Godfather or something. And no, I couldn’t make out facial features, their ages, or hair color on either man.”
“Okay, what about the second man?”
I gave the detectives my best calculations of height and weight of the second, taller assailant and watched as Williams took notes.
When I was finished, they thanked me and then went to talk to Father Gilmartin as Patsy pulled me back into the kitchen with Napoleon to make a fresh pot of tea for the priest.
“Ya never told me that ya were a mathematician, Wes,” Patsy said with a smile.
I nodded. “And a statistician.”
“That description of the assailants was surprising in its accuracy,” Napoleon added as I put the kettle back on. When I turned back to them, they were smiling at each other.
“It’s simple math.”
“Ya new job is with Caltech Seismological Laboratory,” Patsy said. “Is that what you’ll be doin’ for them?”
I chuckled. “What I’ll be doing for Caltech is a lot more involved than simple math, I assure you. My job is to help enhance their existing models and, in many cases, build new models for earthquake predictions.”
Patsy’s jaw dropped open. “Holy Mother of God, that’s impressive work, Wes.
” He sounded awed by the knowledge which made me blush just a little.
To hide the flush, I pivoted back to the stove and went to grab the kettle with my left hand, forgetting the wound in my bicep.
Pain shot down my arm so fast and hard, I felt dizziness wash over me.
I must have stumbled back because a second later, I had a man on either side of me, supporting my weight as they steadied me on my feet.
“Shite!” Patsy exclaimed. “I forgot all about yer own injuries.” I could hear the deep regret in his voice as he and Napoleon steered me to a small booth built into a kitchen nook a few feet from the stove.
I grabbed the edge of the Formica tabletop with my right hand as I dropped onto a padded bench.
“Ya stay there while I finish up with the detectives and Father Gilmartin, then I’m takin’ ya home with me. ”
I felt a sudden panic at his words. “Oh, no, Patsy, that’s not going to work, but if you want to drop me back at my car—”
“No, Wes!” He leaned over, bracing both hands on the table as he frowned down at me.
“Listen to me. Ya may not know me yet, but here’s what’s goin’ to happen.
I’ll take ya home with me where you can get a hot meal and a hot shower, and you’ll be sleepin’ in my bed until yer all healed up.
” When I opened my mouth to protest, he cut me off again.
“I’ll sleep on the couch and yer not to argue with me. ”
What could I say? Even if the promise of a hot meal wasn’t on the cards, he’d had me the second a shower was offered.
Cleaning up at the public library bathroom sink in cold water had never been my preference.
And I already knew I couldn’t get into the Y for a shower for another couple of days since they gave out tickets for the homeless who took turns.
The shelters were always stuffed to the rafters on cold winter days, so that wasn’t an option either.
“I’d be grateful. Thank you, Patsy.” I smiled at him.
He returned my smile. “Grand.” He straightened. “I’ll be back,” he said, before turning and walking out of the kitchen.
“He’s very stubborn,” Napoleon said, leaning one hip against a kitchen cabinet as he held a fresh pot of tea for the priest. “You won’t get him to change his mind about anything once he decides that you’re his.”
I snorted. “His?”
He grinned widely and the contrast of his straight teeth in his dark face was stark. “His.”
With that, he straightened and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me sitting in the booth, feeling overwhelmingly happy for the first time since learning I had to leave home all those months ago.