Page 72 of A Week Away

Tuesday late afternoon

Ileft after that, driving straight to Top Dog. It was around two o’clock. Maybe two-thirty. I wasn’t sure if the clock on the Thunderbird’s dashboard was correct. It was in the mid-sixties, warm enough to make the jacket I’d purchased uncomfortable. I didn’t take it off, though. It was the only way to carry the gun.

Entering the building, it was just a bit warmer than it was outside. In the lobby they had one of those ugly black directories, the kind with white plastic letters that clip into grooves and make it easy to swap out when the businesses fail. I read through the list of companies, searching for one that sounded like their business was re-insurance. It took a moment, but I settled on National Casualty. They were in suite 108.

Walking down the hall, I tried to think about what I needed to learn. But it was basically anything you could tell me at that point. I found the right door, opened it, and stepped in. The set-up was similar to Top Dog. A truncated reception area with a desk and two offices. No—they had three. Still, small. I wondered how national their casualties could be.

There was a girl at the reception desk who was little more than a teenager.

“Hello. I was told that someone in this office witnessed the shooting yesterday. Do you know anything about that?”

“It wasn’t me.”

An older woman stepped out of one of the offices. A plaque next to the door said LOIS SITWELL. Lois was around fifty, not very tall and a bit round in the middle.

“It was me,” she said. “Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of the woman’s family. They’ve asked me to look into this.”

I was avoiding using my name again. If I had to I would, but it seemed better to breeze right by it.

With a scowl, she said, “Isn’t that what the police are for?”

“Joanne’s family is concerned they won’t do their best.”

Using Joanne’s name was a good idea, since Lois relaxed a tiny bit. She said, “I didn’t see very much and I wish people would stop asking me about it.”

“What did you see?”

“I was leaving. Walking to my car. It was in the front parking lot. I was getting in when I heard the pop. It was loud. I wasn’t sure what was happening at first. My first thought was hunters, actually.”

“In Novi?” the girl said, skeptically.

“I didn’t say it was a rational thought. Anyway, I saw the kid running away, then I walked around the car and saw the woman, Joanne, lying on the ground.”

“You saw the kid? You saw that he was a Black kid?”

“Not exactly.”

“So you didn’t get a good look?”

“I saw the hooded sweatshirt he was wearing. You know, that’s the kind of thing they wear. And… well, he stole her purse.”

“But you never saw his hands or any part of his face?”

“It was the policeman, he said…”

But I could tell from her face that she couldn’t remember him actually saying the kid was Black. Likely he’d implied it enough to get her to agree. She had the decency to be embarrassed by her mistake.

“Tell me anything about the hoodie. What color was it?”

“Green.”

“Spartan green,’ the girl said. “That’s what you said.”

“Yes. It was Spartan green.”

“What kind of green is that?” I asked. The girl giggled.