Page 117 - Ext. Listening Reading_Neat

It had been five or six weeks, and Emmitt Emmitt drank down the last of the tea in
hadn’t heard of any progress on the case.
“Rierson said Juan was dealing and using
cocaine,” Phoebe said. “What about
Deshawn?” “He was using marijuana and
cocaine and doing neighborhood B & Es to
buy drugs when he was arrested,” Emmitt
said. “We never had any evidence he was
selling. Like I said, the last I heard, he
was off drugs and doing well. Rierson
thinks Juan’s death was drug-
related?”“That’s the current theory.”
Emmitt stared down at the dead boy.
Drugs and violence often went hand-in-
hand, but these kids were younger than
the usual victims. It was hard to imagine
them as a threat to anyone. “If you want
help with the notification, I’ll go with you.
I know Deshawn’s grandmother. She’s
going to take this hard.” The woman was a
member of Emmitt’s church, and he had
known her for more than twenty years.
She asked Emmitt for help when the boy
had been arrested. Phoebe gave him a
grateful look. “Thanks, Emmitt. I really
appreciate it. I’ll give you a call when I
finish here.”
***
On a Saturday afternoon a couple of
months later, Phoebe called again. Emmitt
was mowing the grass. The weather was
unseasonably warm, and recent rains had
encouraged a growth spurt that had the
lawn looking scraggly. He took the phone
from his wife in one hand and the glass of
iced tea she held out to him in the other
and smiled his thanks. “What can I do for
you, Phoebe?” “Emmitt, I hate to bother
you on the weekend, but there’s been
another shooting.”
“Another kid?”
“Yeah, I’m afraid so. He was dumped in
the Coliseum lot last night or early this
morning, over near the Education
Building. A worker coming in to set up fair
exhibits spotted the body. No ID. I was
hoping you could have a look, see if you
recognize him.” “You think it’s tied in with
the other two?”
“Too soon to say, but he’s about the same
age, and the shooting looks similar.”
two long wallows and set the glass in the
sink.
“What’s going on here, Phoebe?”
“I don’t know, and I could use some help.
We haven’t made any progress on the
other two kids. Working a possible drug
connection hasn’t produced any leads.
Everywhere we’ve looked has been a dead
end.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he said.
“Another boy’s been shot?” his wife asked
when he hung up the phone.
Emmitt looked into eyes that mirrored his
distress, “Phoebe wants me to have a look.
See if I know him.”
He showered and dressed in record time
and gave his wife a brief hug on the way
out the door.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll give
you a call if it looks like I’ll be late for
dinner.”
“Someone’s out there killing kids,” she
said, her eyes on their two youngest sons
who were shooting baskets on the
driveway, “dinner can wait.”
When Emmitt pulled into the parking lot,
he didn’t have to guess where to go. A fire
truck, an EMS van, and a half dozen
police cruisers blocked access to the area
near the Education Building. He added
his car to the mix and threaded his way to
the tape. Phoebe spotted him and waved
him in.
“Thanks for coming, Emmitt.” Her
welcoming look almost made up for the
scowl Rierson gave him when he stepped
closer to the body.
“What are you doing here?” Rierson asked.
“I called him,” Phoebe said. Her
expression told Emmitt she was
embarrassed by her partner’s surliness.
“I thought Emmitt might help us make an
ID.”
Emmitt was struck by the similarity to the
scene in the park two months earlier. The
kid was in his early teens, sprawled face-
up on the damp, oily surface of the lot.
This time a white boy, and Emmitt knew
him. “Bryan Mabe,” he said.
“Another juvenile delinquent.”
Rierson shook his head in disgust.
“He was only thirteen or fourteen,”
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