Storm Walk Page 8

  “Mr. Firecloud,” the man said, putting out his hand. “I’m Jim Devlin.”

  “Just Sam and Lacey is fine,” Lacey said as they took turns shaking hands. “It’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for seeing us.”

  “We should be thanking you,” Elaine said. She wore a matching sweater and slack set of rich russet brown while her husband sported jeans and a light blue polo shirt. He was easily six inches taller than his wife, with vivid blue eyes. They both smiled easily. Lacey hoped they would still be able to do that by the end of the evening.

  Elaine led them into the living room where a multitude of people sat in every conceivable seat except two dining room chairs apparently reserved for Sam and Lacey.

  “Everyone,” she said, calling for attention. “This is Sam Firecloud and Lacey Fitzpatrick.” Then she named each person around the room, pointing as she did so. “Lois and Andy Rafferty, Jay’s parents; then their daughter Arleta with her husband Bill and their baby; their daughter Donna, her husband Ansel; their two girls, Molly and Lucy; and our son, Peter.” She laughed. “We should have gotten name tags. Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “Just water would be great,” Lacey said. Together she and Sam made the rounds of the room, shaking hands with everyone as they circled back to their seats. Lacey just hoped she could remember all the names.

  Lois and Andy looked several years older than the Devlins; she had frosty blonde hair, which Lacey thought probably covered gray. He was a big man with a paunch, thinning hair and a sad smile. Arleta was the younger daughter, and had apparently not lost the baby weight; the baby she held was only a few months old. Her husband, Bill, had an intense look about him, dark eyes and a square jaw. Donna was slender and willowy, perhaps a result of chasing her two school-age daughters who bounced around the room. Her husband, Ansel, looked fit and athletic. Peter, Pam’s younger brother, wore a serious expression, and did not try to smile.

  Sam waited until Elaine brought two glasses of water, then when she had settled in her seat, he looked around at all the faces.

  “Thank you for coming,” he started. “Lacey and I are very sorry for the losses both your families have endured. This whole thing has been such a terrible tragedy, which is why we asked to speak with you.”

  Lacey held all the documents, and now Sam pulled out the construction layout. She was glad he hadn’t taken the diagram with the body locations.

  “The LAPD will be giving you their report when the investigation is concluded, but—”

  “I thought their investigation was complete,” Bill interrupted. He sat with his arms crossed, making no bones about his displeasure with the whole thing.

  Sam acknowledged him. “Yes, it was initially. But when Lacey and I discovered some new evidence, the police reopened the investigation. What I’d like to do is tell you—show you—what happened that day.” He held up the layout.

  “What new evidence?” Bill barked.

  Lacey glanced around. She saw a couple people nodding in support of his question, but saw a few others rolling their eyes or frowning with impatience. She guessed Bill was the family nay-sayer.

  Sam appeared unconcerned. “I’ll get to that in a minute,” he said calmly. With concise statements, he gave a brief summary of the chain of events, the amount of rain, the way the back quadrant roof failed, the succession of failures that followed.

  “How do you know that?” Bill asked. “That wasn’t in the original police report.”

  Lacey saw Arleta put a hand on her husband’s arm, perhaps a silent request for patience. Donna even shushed him.

  “Please,” Sam said, holding up a hand. “Bill is right; it wasn’t part of the initial report.” He looked around the circle of faces. “I’m not sure if you’re all aware, but I am a medium. The private investigations that Lacey and I do are unusual in that we consult with the victims of crimes. I communicate with the dead.” He paused, leaving his last statement to hang in the silence. For once, Even Bill held his tongue.

  “The people in that warehouse told me what happened,” Sam continued. He looked directly at Andy and Lois Rafferty. “Your son was probably the first to die, and he died instantly.” He lowered his voice. “He did not suffer. He literally never knew what hit him.” He sat back, addressing the entire group again. “Jay and Tate, the other forklift driver, were the first casualties, as their part of the roof was the first to fail. Directly on the heels of that, this front quadrant fell, then the back, then the last bit at the front.” He pointed to the sections of the layout as he spoke.

  “Elaine, Jim,” he said, staring at the Devlins, “Pam was running for the door. She saw what happened in the back, where Jay was, and although she feared for him, she ran for the door. She thought she could make it, but she was wrong. She, like all the rest, did not suffer. They all died immediately.”

  Elaine bowed her head, no doubt, Lacey thought, giving thanks for that brief bit of comfort. Jim wiped one eye and pinched the bridge of his nose to forestall tears.

  “The order in which the quadrants fell gave us the timeline,” Sam continued. “And from that, we knew there was a problem with the roof. Ray Gibbons thought it was a design or construction flaw, and he hired us to investigate, but we didn’t find that. What we found,” and he gazed around the room, meeting all eyes, “was a blocked drainpipe.”

  “A blocked drainpipe?” This time it was Peter who spoke, his voice a combination of anger and disbelief. The twenty-year-old’s face flushed red.

  “Yes,” Sam said quietly. “The back drainpipe was completely blocked by dead, decaying leaves. The rain had nowhere to drain to, so the full weight of those seven inches rested on the roof… until it became too much, and the roof collapsed.” He met the boy’s angry eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Leaves?” Lois asked archly. “How can leaves do that?”

  Sam heaved a sigh. “It was a lot of leaves. Two-thirds of that drainpipe was packed solid. The LAPD ran a test, poured water in the top of the pipe, and none of it—not one drop—came through. It all just pooled at the top.”

  “Who is responsible?” Jim asked in a quiet voice—quiet, but determined.

  “Ray Gibbons,” Sam said. “As the owner of the building, maintenance was his responsibility.”

  “We should sue the son of a bitch,” Bill said angrily.

  Sam nodded. “That is an option. Neither Lacey nor I have any legal training, but an attorney can help you navigate the ins and outs of litigation.”

  “But the police?” Elaine asked. “Will they charge him with anything? Negligent homicide or something?”

  “That is a possibility,” Lacey chimed in. “No charges will be filed until they’ve examined all the evidence and are sure they have an airtight case. But they very well could.”

  “We don’t have to wait for them,” Bill said. “We can file a civil case now. Remember O.J. Simpson? We can do that.”

  All the members of the two families looked at each other, checking for agreement, looking for courses of action, looking for answers. Sam and Lacey stayed quiet. Lacey knew the families would have to sort this out on their own. And it wouldn’t be easy.

  “Would you two be willing to testify?” Lois asked quietly.

  Sam pulled in a deep breath. “We would certainly be willing to tell the court everything we’ve told you here today. The only catch is…”

  “Ghosts,” Jim said.

  Sam nodded. “Communication with the spirit world is not commonly admissible evidence.” He smiled grimly. “You might be better off sticking to physical facts, which are certainly evident.”

  There were nods and murmurs around the room, some more enthusiastic than others. Going to court seemed a likely course, but Lacey thought some might realize it could be a long slog.

  “Well,” Jim said, “I think we have a lot to discuss, and to decide.” He turned to Sam. “Is there anything else we should know?”

  Sam glanced at Lacey. “I don’t think so.” She agreed silently
and Sam looked back to the gathering. “That’s as much information as we have. If any of you have any questions, we’d be happy to answer them.”

  Lacey passed a handful of business cards to her neighbors, who sent them around the circle. She felt a palpable abeyance in the room, as if once she and Sam left, there would be a diverse and emotional discussion. She put the paperwork into her pack and made ready to go.

  Sam stood up, and she rose with him. All but Arleta stood, the baby asleep in her arms. One by one, Sam and Lacey shook hands with each person, expressing their sympathy again. One by one, each person thanked them for the work they’d done, and for letting them know. Lacey didn’t envy any of them what they had before them.

  She thought sure it was going to be some time before any of them found solace.

  ~~~

  SEVENTEEN

  The next morning, they retraced their path to Inglewood for the last meeting. Luckily it was just past rush hour and the freeways were not quite as crowded as they would have been earlier.

  Sam brought a smudge stick with him, and told Lacey he wanted to stop by the site after they met with Mrs. Escobar. She was glad. She thought the ruins there could use a good clearing.

  Luz Escobar lived in a small bungalow a few miles from the warehouse. Her neighborhood was just on the fringe of the industrial area. Her husband’s work truck was parked in the dirt driveway.

  Sam and Lacey walked to the door and stood on the bare wooden porch. There was no doorbell; Sam knocked on the door, and a few bits of peeling paint fluttered from the dry wood.

  The door creaked open and Mrs. Escobar greeted them. “Hola,” she said. “Please, come in.”

  She was shorter than Lacey, almost tiny. She wore a dark housedress and her black hair was pulled back in a simple bun. She smiled only briefly, then cast her eyes down as Sam and Lacey stepped inside.

  “Mrs. Escobar,” he said, “I’m Sam and this is Lacey. We want to say how sorry we are for your loss.”

  She took the hand he offered and patted it with her free hand, nodding acknowledgment. For the first time, she stared directly at him.

  “I know who you are.” Her eyes shifted to Lacey. “I heard of you.”

  She motioned toward a dim living room, and they all took seats. The windows were small with dark sheers over them, filtering the sunlight. The dark, patterned carpet seemed to suck up the bit of light, but every table, every surface held a gather of flickering votive candles amid framed pictures: Luz and Mario; the six children; the family at Disneyland. As Lacey scanned the room, she saw the tall, decorated glass containers on the mantle, in niches in the walls, and on small shelves. A picture of the Virgin Mary hung over the fireplace mantel, the wavering orange glow of the candles breathing life into her.

  “Thank you for calling me,” Mrs. Escobar said. “Mr. Gibbons—he tell me nothing. I don’t know why my Mario had to die.”

  Lacey had the diagrams in her pack and pulled them out now. Sam took the layout of the warehouse, prepared to explain the sequence of events.

  “No.” Mrs. Escobar put her hand on Sam’s arm to stay him. She lifted beseeching eyes to his. “Was it… act of God? Like they say?”

  Sam handed the layout back to Lacey. “No. It was Gibbons not maintaining the building. Too lazy or too stingy to keep it safe.” He paused. “I’m so sorry.”

  She patted his arm absently, her gaze drifting to the candles surrounding a picture of Mario. For a moment she was lost in thought, or memoires. Lacey didn’t know which.

  Then she turned back to Sam. “You see him? You speak to him?” Her hand crept into his and curled there, like a small animal seeking comfort. He clasped both hands around hers.

  “I did not speak to him,” he said in a quiet tone, “but I felt him. He was thinking of you, of the children. He was so very sorry to leave you.” Sam glanced up at sweet Mary over the mantle. “He crossed himself just before he died.”

  The woman sat quietly, staring down at their two hands joined in sorrow. A tear slid down her cheek and dropped onto the back of Sam’s hand. It left a glistening trail across his copper skin.

  “Will you be all right?” Sam asked. “You and the children?”

  She drew in a deep breath and sighed, then wiped the tear track from her cheek. When she looked up at Sam, she smiled wanly.

  “We will be all right,” she said. “I work; I clean rooms in hotel. My sister live not far. I have… much family.” She made an expansive gesture with one hand. “We will be all right.”

  Sam nodded. “I’m glad. Family is good to have around, yes?”

  “Yes.” She smiled more broadly, taking in Lacey and Sam both. “You are family?” she asked.

  Lacey laid her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Yes, we are family,” she said. “Two children. Not as many as you.”

  The woman nodded. “It is good to have children. For children to have mother… and father.” Her attention drifted again to the pictures surrounded by votive candles.

  Lacey wondered what else they could do for this sweet, simple woman. “The police,” she said, “are still investigating. There may be charges brought against Gibbons.” She thought to offer Mrs. Escobar the idea of suing, as the other families had mentioned, but how could this quiet, unassuming woman spearhead an effort like that? She worked, she had six children to care for. How would she ever find the energy for a lengthy court battle?

  Mrs. Escobar was already shaking her head. “God will provide. Jesus… and Mary. Our saviors.” She patted Sam’s hand. “You do good here. You bring comfort. You bring my Mario back to me.”

  “Actually,” Sam said, “we are going to the warehouse next. To clear it. To send all the people on their way.” At his words, Mrs. Escobar brightened. He smiled. “Would you like to go with us?”

  She nodded, her chin trembling as she smiled, her eyes glistening. “Yes. I go with you. One minute.” She held up one small, brown finger, then slipped out of Sam’s hands. “I hurry,” she said.

  “There’s no hurry,” Sam said. “We’ll wait.”

  She disappeared down the hall with short, quick steps.

  “The poor woman,” Lacey whispered.

  Sam turned toward her. “She’ll be okay,” he said.

  “But she has so little. Six kids and one meager income? How will she manage?”

  “In some ways,” Sam said quietly, “she has more than the Devlins and the Raffertys. She’s used to having little in the material world, but she’s got a much larger spiritual world. She has her family; she has her faith. She’ll be okay.”

  Lacey could only attest to the conviction in his voice, the soft confidence in his eyes. Sam understood things like this more than she ever would. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

  ~~~

  The ride to the warehouse only took a few minutes. Mrs. Escobar settled in the back seat of Lacey’s car and watched out the window as they drove. As if she were taking an ordinary trip to the grocery store…. or church.

  The warehouse was not there. The wreckage had been razed, the lot cleared. One large dumpster sat to the side, the last bits of refuse sticking up above the walls of the container.

  Lacey parked in front and they all walked to the place where the soil was scraped bare except for the tracks of giant tires. Small pieces of debris were scattered about: a bit of metal, a fist-sized chunk of concrete. It was hard to even reconcile that the warehouse had been there at all.

  Mrs. Escobar pulled her cardigan sweater together beneath her chin. In her other hand, she held one of the tall votive candles. She looked to Sam.

  “Where?” she asked simply.

  “Over here.” Sam led the way. While Lacey tried to gauge Mario’s last position by the barely perceptible footprint of the building, Sam walked unerringly to the spot. He knelt down and extended his hands, fingers spread. “Here,” he said.

  Mrs. Escobar set the candle in the dirt. Sam pulled out his small lighter and flicked it on, then set the flame to the wick of the c
andle. As the wick began to blacken, the fire danced on its tip. Sam stood and put the lighter to his smudge stick next, and held it until the sage bundle began to smoke.

  He stood quietly with Mrs. Escobar, allowing the blue smoke to drift gently over the spirit of Mario. The woman bowed her head, and although Lacey could hear no words, she saw her lips moving, and Mrs. Escobar fingered a white rosary. In compassion and respect, Lacey bowed her head as well, and waited.

  After a few moments of prayer, Mrs. Escobar lifted her head. Sam held his arm out to her.

  “Walk with me?” he asked.

  She took his arm. With Sam leading, they walked the building, from one corner to the next. Sam held his smudge stick up before them, the smoke trailing behind, and Mrs. Escobar continued her soundless prayers. At each location, they stopped, spent a few moments, then walked on. Lacey was oddly reminded of the Stations of the Cross, and thought this small procession was no less meaningful. A slight breeze scattered the smoke and ruffled the skirt of Mrs. Escobar’s dress. By the time they returned to the votive candle, the blue smoke had completely disappeared.

  Sam left her there. He walked to Lacey and stubbed out the smudge stick on the ground. When he stood up beside her, she saw the depth of his caring, his compassion, and his gratitude in his dark eyes. She slid her arms around him.

  “I love you,” she said fiercely.

  He held her close for as long as Mrs. Escobar needed.

  ~~~

  EIGHTEEN

  Saturday dawned clear and sunny. Lacey was glad. After all the heavy emotions they’d been dealing with, a bright celebratory day was just what they needed.

  They planned to show up at the birthday party about 11:30. Christine was taking Kenzie and her best friend to a movie, so Ed was chaperoning the mayhem at Roxx Plus. Lacey felt sure he’d appreciate some support.

  They pulled into the parking lot and found a space several rows away. As they exited the car and Lacey locked it up, a voice called out.