{"id":3288,"date":"2023-06-10T09:14:27","date_gmt":"2023-06-10T13:14:27","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/nymysteries.com\/?p=3288"},"modified":"2023-06-10T09:14:29","modified_gmt":"2023-06-10T13:14:29","slug":"new-york-mysteries-com-9","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/nymysteries.com\/?p=3288","title":{"rendered":"New York Mysteries. Com"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n \n \"Fb-Button\"\n <\/a>\n <\/div>
<\/div><\/div>\n

Celebrating Proud June<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My short story,\u00a0Family Matters<\/em>, centers around the gay marriage of Minister Tom Reed and Attorney Malcolm Babian. Tom Reed\u2019s father-in-law, Hank Simpson, hates Gays. Tom\u2019s mother is divorcing Hank but not before she is murdered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Family <\/em> Matters<\/em> is published in Level Best Books anthology, Justice for All, and in Kings River Life Magazine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Family Matters – Mary Jo Robertiello<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Young and old, gay and straight, black, brown and white streamed through Smith Memorial\u2019s doors. It was a perfect fall day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Standing at the church door, Tom Reed, Smith Memorial\u2019s senior minister, held Malcolm, his new husband, with one arm and shook hands with the other. Tom had a shaved head and an open and welcoming facial expression. Malcolm was about 5\u20198\u201d, trim, black hair with a part on the left as straight as U.S. Route 20.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 As part of the wedding celebration, blue and yellow balloons were tied along the fence surrounding the Greenwich Village church. A yellow one came loose and floated upwards. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across Washington Square South a man crouched behind a plane tree. He watched the ascending balloon and raised his right arm, cocked an imaginary shotgun, and shot. Underneath his Mets cap his face was lit up with fury. Hank Simpson, husband of Wendy Reed, turned back to the lively scene at the church entrance. He watched his wife kiss her gay son before she joined another group. She wants AIDS? Divorce? No can do, he said under his breath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A neighborhood dachshund woofed up at Hank. Hank tore his eyes away from the happy mother, son, and his husband, glared at the dog, put his navy running shoe on the dog\u2019s right front paw and rammed it into the sidewalk. The dachshund yelped and sunk his sharp little teeth into Hank\u2019s slightly soiled khakis until he reached hairy skin. Hank\u2019s yelp was much louder than the dog\u2019s, drawing attention from across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm glanced over Tom\u2019s shoulder. \u201cHoly shit,\u201d he muttered. \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom laughed. \u201cFed up already?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm jerked his head toward the street. Tom looked across at the angry man bouncing on one leg and holding on to the tree trunk. \u201cHoly shit is right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The newly married couple\u2019s youth and good looks added to the charm of their well-cut, flashy suits. Even so, they both realized that their approaching guest\u2019s outfit cost more than the two of theirs together. The extremely tall man and his extremely short wife mirrored the general happiness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat guy across the street?\u201d Lorenzo smothered them with his sexy Italian-English accent. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom: \u201cThe one who\u2019s attacking a dog?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Lorenzo: \u201cI know him.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom: \u201cYou know him?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe saw me at a fundraiser. He stalked us, waited outside our place. Remember, darling?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monique, his wife, laughed knowingly. \u201cBrrr.\u201d Her sculpted shoulders shuddered theatrically. \u201cHe hustled us down 70th<\/sup> Street.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

They all laughed, keeping an eye on the scene across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Hank hid behind the tree and shook his baseball cap at the yapping dog. A woman in pajama bottoms and a Disney Princess T-shirt yelled in chorus with her dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s my father-in-law.\u201d One of Tom\u2019s unusual traits was revealing what most people would keep secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm blurted, \u201cHe hates gays. Wouldn\u2019t come to the wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The laughter stopped. Embarrassed, Lorenzo and Monique gave Tom and Malcolm a quick hug and melted into a nearby group.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe right back,\u201d Tom said. Malcolm gave him a look. Tom held up his hands in surrender before heading through the loving crowd and down the stairs to the all-gender restrooms. He was following his mother. They had to talk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

All-gender in theory. In practice, the older members followed childhood rules: boys in one, girls in another. Tom wondered for the millionth time why women took so long. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The minute she came out of one of the restrooms, Tom said, \u201cMom, Hank\u2019s across the street.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy Reed was in her early sixties. She was plump with reddish-brown and white hair, giving her the look of a pretty fox. She said quietly, \u201cI saw him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom: \u201cWhy did you marry him, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe usual: Lonely. Alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few days ago was the first time her son had seen her in months. He and Malcolm had driven out to Benson Avenue to introduce Malcolm to Mom. But today, under the happy, hopeful atmosphere of Tom\u2019s wedding, Wendy\u2019s lips drooped when they weren\u2019t propped up in a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cTom, you\u2019ve got a life. I do too. I\u2019m divorcing him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe knows?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut isn\u2019t accepting it. It\u2019s our elephant in the bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom, we have to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The restroom door opened. Hank Simpson stepped out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three of them stood and stared for a few seconds that seemed like hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy said in a feeble, cordial attempt, \u201cYou\u2019re joining us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m using the men\u2019s room. Not against the law, right?\u201d Hank growled and headed up the back stairs to an open door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Son and mother kept their mouths shut until Hank was out of sight. Even then, they whispered. Tom pulled his mom into a deserted corner. He studied her wounded face, in contrast to her meticulous appearance. She adjusted his shirt collar. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust so,\u201d he teased her as he placed his hands on hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She blurted, \u201cI was a fool. I fell for his line. He had a good one, especially if you\u2019re lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019ve been married two years?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo hundred years, it seems like.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s giving you a hard time?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s putting it mildly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re discussing this tomorrow.\u201d Very much the minister in charge, Tom tapped on his cell and checked his busy schedule. He read on his iPhone calendar: 10\/31: Halloween – Stonewall.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMake that the day after tomorrow, November 1. Okay, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy stared at her son\u2019s phone. She saw the ubiquitous sexy girl image on Tom\u2019s cell, the logo of an Atlantic City gambling casino. \u201cTom?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom caught her glance. \u201cJust checking, Mom. They\u2019re always advertising.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPromise me you\u2019re over that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI promise,\u201d he said gently if not truthfully. \u201cSo, dear Mom, I\u2019ll see you the day after Halloween.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI made a batch of pumpernickel. I\u2019ll wrap some up for you and Malcolm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom raised his mom\u2019s hand and kissed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

November First, 4 p.m. Tom pulled up to the curb at Benson Avenue, relieved his eight-year-old clunker made it. I\u2019ll get it fixed as soon as I\u2019m paid off\u2026right now, I\u2019ve got to find out what\u2019s going on with Mom.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom swept bagel crumbs off Mom\u2019s birthday present, a black and tan plaid shirt. He was back in the Brooklyn neighborhood, light years from his Manhattan life. He inhaled deeply the ocean breezes from nearby Coney Island. The neighborhood looked sleepy, worn out from Halloween. He studied his childhood home, a single-family house built in the 1930s. Mom and Dad bought it for peanuts about thirty years ago. He thought it looked good with its fresh coat of white paint and royal blue trimmed shutters. There was the large Halloween bowl still near the front door at the top of the steps. Mom forgot about it, he figured. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He gripped the steering wheel. He had to ask her point blank; did she tell Hank before they married that she had a gay son?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMom?\u201d Tom called as he lugged the bowl through the living room and parked it in the eat-in kitchen. On the sill of the east window, he saw the purple African violets they\u2019d brought Mom a few days before. Her kitchen was so spacious. So tidy compared to their West Village nest. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom\u2019s inner nine-year-old pawed through the bowl\u2019s remaining candy on a Snickers search. Out of habit, he opened the refrigerator. He smiled at his mom\u2019s meticulousness: clean jam jars, Ketchup containers, salad dressing bottles lined up according to brand. On the top shelf was a loaf of homemade pumpernickel wrapped in Saran Wrap. His name and Malcolm\u2019s were written across it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he had passed through the living room, he\u2019d noticed a drawer in the TV bureau was pulled out. Concerned, he circled back and poked around in the drawer. He assumed Mom had found his old gambling receipts. That was in the past, for the most part. He looked around the darkened, familiar room. The silk drapes were closed. The room was a study in books, cozy armchairs, and oriental rugs. A fireplace, once welcoming with a warming glow, was swept clean. Where was the MacBook Air? Four days ago, it was on a desk near the fifty-inch TV. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom was flooded with memories. Ten years ago, Dad had a heart attack and died in his favorite armchair. This is where he told Mom he was gay. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease be careful. I love you,\u201d were the first words out of her mouth. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom shook himself out of his thoughts. \u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No sound. He headed for the backyard recalling she often took an afternoon nap. Where\u2019s Hank, he wondered. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom saw his mom\u2019s curly ginger hair peeking over the top of an Adirondack chair. He walked around to the front of the chair, not wanting to startle her. Her eyes were closed. Her face was red as if lit from within. She was still. Too still. Tom noticed her wedding band was missing. He touched her left hand. It was cold. He grabbed the chair for support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMom,\u201d he said softly, then louder. The tears rolled down his cheeks. He yanked out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He lightly touched her bruised neck. The first call was to 911. The second call was to Malcolm. Tom folded himself into the cell, sobbing. \u201cShe\u2019s dead. She\u2019s dead.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm said he\u2019d be with Tom within the hour. \u201cI love you,\u201d were his last words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Within thirty minutes, the Emergency Medical Services, cops\u2014including an inspector\u2014and lastly, the coroner arrived. Officers had Tom sit in the living room. They wandered in and out asking him questions. When was the last time you saw your mother? What time did you get here today? Have you talked to anyone in the neighborhood this afternoon? She lived alone? Was she married? Was she in good health? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom had often faced death. Many a midnight call from a parishioner begging him for help. Why were they keeping him away from his mom\u2019s body? She\u2019d had a minor stroke a few years ago but the bruises told another story. The EMS crew treated him like a kid or a moron. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s Hank?\u201d he said to an officer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOn his way,\u201d was the noncommittal answer. After a half hour, Tom stood up and walked briskly into the backyard. A young cop stopped him. Tom wished he\u2019d worn his collar. He curled his fingers, noticing the cop staring at his purple nail polish. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

An older official joined them. \u201cI\u2019ll take care of this.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom glanced at the woman\u2019s ID on her lapel. \u201cYou\u2019re a detective?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDetective Judy Yelvington and the inspector assigned to this\u2026\u201d The detective gestured to the Adirondack chair, surrounded by her team. \u201cYou\u2019re the Smith Memorial minister, Reverend Reed?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. What\u2019s going on?\u201d He eyed the older woman whose face had spent too much time on the beach but whose hazel eyes were large and clear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour mother didn\u2019t die a natural death,\u201d Detective Yelvington said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom put one foot behind him, steadying himself, waiting for the next words. Things were about to get worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cThere is evidence she was strangled.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom covered his face with his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Detective Yelvington led him to a picnic table and some chairs. After questioning him about his relationship with his mother, she said, \u201cDo you have access to your mother\u2019s legal documents?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI\u2019m gay. She was completely supportive.\u201d He sensed the detective was ill at ease, so the words spilled out of his mouth. \u201cLoves, loved my husband.\u201d The detective flinched but remained steady. \u201cWe were married two days ago. She was there.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was he a suspect? Suspected of killing Mom? Tom\u2019s innards did push-ups. He slouched over from the thought. First person to find the victim. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your husband\u2019s name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMalcolm Babian. He should be here by now. \u2026\u201d He looked across the lawn at the young man running toward him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cAt last,\u201d Tom cried. After a tight embrace, he introduced Malcolm to the detective. \u201cMom made us pumpernickel,\u201d Tom whispered. \u201cStrangled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d Malcolm yelled and jumped back from Tom. A look of confusion spread across his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom looked down at his empty, outstretched hands. He glared at his husband. Does he suspect me too?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm grabbed Tom\u2019s hands. \u201cSorry, sorry, sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective studied the two men. \u201cReverend Reed, I\u2019m requesting you not to leave the neighborhood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going anywhere. I want to be close to mom.\u201d Tom still glared at Malcolm. \u201cI have to call the church.\u201d He opened the kitchen door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThose legal papers, Reverend,\u201d Yelvington called after Tom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom ducked into the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Malcolm started to follow him, Detective Yelvington blocked his way. \u201cTake a seat, Mr. Babian.\u201d She pointed at the nearby chairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm followed her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTom\u2019s a wonderful man. He\u2019s loved, admired at the church.\u201d Malcolm put his head in his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake your time. I need your assistance.,\u201d Yelvington\u2019s rambling talk calmed people, usually. \u201cTell me about Reverend Reed. Where did you and Tom meet?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm\u2019s lawyerly instincts snapped to attention. He figured he\u2019d tell the truth but not the whole truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAtlantic City. We were both into weekend gambling. Not seriously,\u201d he added. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your profession?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were married a few days ago?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas Mrs. Reed at the wedding?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course. She and Tom were close. She knew he was gay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about Tom\u2019s father?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe died about ten years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s remarried?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. A guy who hates gays.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas he at the wedding?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHank Simpson stood across the street and gawked at us. You know the Village? The church is on Thompson & Washington Square.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Detective Yelvington nodded. \u201cBeautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is this lady playing sensitive or being truthful, Malcolm wondered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cTom and I were here a few days ago before the wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTom hadn\u2019t seen his mother very much. Combination of guilt trip and introducing me to Wendy.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHere\u2019s the hard part.\u201d Yelvington studied Malcolm who was clamping his shaking hands together. \u201cAny reason why Tom would kill his mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm held on to his outrage. She was doing her job. \u201cHe loved and respected her. I wish I had a mom like Wendy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington looked up from tapping on her cell. \u201cFinancial problems?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, of course not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou met in Atlantic City?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective stood up. \u201cShow me the house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay. I\u2019ve been in it once four days ago,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They walked up the back steps and into the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sitting at the round table, Tom had his ear to his cell and papers in front of him. He pointed to some documents. \u201cI dug these out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington sat down and examined the power of attorney, health care proxy, and a two-year-old will. Malcolm peered over the detective\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe told me about the will, but this is the first time I\u2019ve seen it,\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about you?\u201d Yelvington turned her head toward Malcolm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSame goes for me,\u201d Malcolm said as he noticed that Wendy Reed had left her estate equally divided to her husband and her son. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe married him on August 10th<\/sup> two years ago and the will was drawn up August 15th,\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington read a name from the will. \u201cHer lawyer?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom sent the lawyer\u2019s cell number to Yelvington. \u201cShe told me that she was divorcing him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid she say his reaction?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom thought a minute. \u201cShe said it was the elephant in the bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMeaning?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHank is usually on the verge of a temper tantrum,\u201d Tom said. \u201cWhere is he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s talking to my team downtown.\u201d Tom figured she meant the police station. \u201cTom, let\u2019s walk through your home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He figured being called by his first name was a plus. He shoved papers into his briefcase and locked it in the pantry. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington watched but didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow many floors?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo and there\u2019s an attic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll start at the top.\u201d At the second floor, Yelvington pulled in air. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom and Malcolm looked out the window, giving Yelvington time to breathe easy. Tom texted Malcolm: Tell everything? Malcolm: Wait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington\u2019s eyes roamed over the clean, quiet space. Three doors were open. \u201cWhat have we got?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy mom and her husband\u2019s room,\u201d Tom pointed to the room closest to the backyard. \u201cThat second door leads to my dad\u2019s office. Now, it\u2019s a junk room.\u201d Tom pointed to the door nearest the stairs. \u201cThat\u2019s my old room. Now, our room.\u201d He smiled at Malcolm. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s hit the attic.\u201d The detective pulled the hatch in the ceiling. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe didn\u2019t go there the other day,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington had already started a slow climb up the steep stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 She yanked on the light. It cast a dull glow to the dark attic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shades were pulled down on the four windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cWelcome to my childhood.\u201d Tom\u2019s hearty tone didn\u2019t hide his anxiety. He stared at the shady heap of bikes, trikes, wagons, and scooters. Puzzled, he walked closer and ran his hand over a cut bike tire. He eyed the mangled mass of wheels. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow does your attic usually look?\u201d Detective Yelvington said, thinking of her own jumble heap. \u201cI never assume a neat attic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom was a neat freak.\u201d Tom fingered the bikes\u2019 tires. \u201cThey\u2019ve been slashed.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington tripped over a cloth. She yanked away the shredded remnants of a Boy Scout uniform. \u201cWhen was the last time you were up here?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cA few years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective pulled out a compact flashlight, then got on her phone, telling the team to send some guys to the attic. She ran the strongest lighting mode over the labels adorning the jumbled boxes, many ripped open. Boy Scout uniforms, Camping stuff, Hot Wheels. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour stuff?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I was a spoiled kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHot Wheels?\u201d Malcolm said in a tone of wonder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Yelvington directed her light at the guys\u2019 feet so she didn\u2019t blind them. \u201cWhere\u2019s the stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In double shock, Tom shook his head, his mom\u2019s murder and now this, his childhood destroyed and missing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They heard stomping up the stairs. \u201cMy team\u2019s going over this.\u201d Yelvington yanked open the attic\u2019s stuck door. \u201cWe\u2019re looking at your room now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Down on the second floor, Tom swung open the door. Dated posters of David Bowie and Brad Pitt faced the single bed. On the wooden floor was smashed glass and a man\u2019s portrait ripped in two. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom banged his fist on the nearby bureau. He bent over to pick up the torn pieces. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington blocked him. \u201cDon\u2019t touch it.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom gave her a dirty look but stepped back while Malcolm videoed the ripped photo, using his phone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019s he?\u201d Yelvington looked down at the destroyed photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDag Hammarskj\u00f6ld. A gay social rights activist.\u201d Tom propped his arms on the bureau and hid his face. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm slid behind him and put one arm around his waist. With his right hand he showed Yelvington a recent selfie. \u201cTaken four days ago.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The guys, smiling deliriously, were holding Hammarskj\u00f6ld\u2019s photo between them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSend me that photo.\u201d She contacted her attic team. \u201cSecond floor, Tom\u2019s bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re out of here.\u201d She pointed her thumb toward the corridor. \u201cYour mom\u2019s bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom remembered his parents\u2019 bedroom as being comfy and lavish. His mom had splurged on cashmere spreads, linen sheets and creamy pillowcases piled on an ivory canopied bed. His dad had teased her about their royal suite, but Tom had figured Dad liked it too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bed now resembled a neglected orphan. Rough white sheets and pillows squirming out of too-tight covers. Tom hadn\u2019t been in the room in a few years, ever since Hank and Wendy married. He and Malcolm looked out the window down at the backyard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington circled the room, yanking open bureau drawers, examining a desk\u2019s contents, exploring the bedside tables. At the back of a drawer in Wendy\u2019s bedside table, she found a container labeled Xanax. She looked up to see Tom staring at her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour mom took tranquilizers?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom shook his head. \u201cI can\u2019t say. She was anxious at our wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington slipped the Xanax into an evidence bag. She opened the mahogany closet. One side had dresses, slacks, nightgowns. The other side had only a dirty T-shirt on the floor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bathroom medicine cabinet was empty except for a toothbrush. After calling the team, she joined the guys at the window, staring down at Hank being escorted by an officer into the backyard. At that moment, Hank saw them. He clenched his fists. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When they reached the kitchen, Yelvington gestured at the large table. \u201cSit here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The backdoor opened and a young officer came in. He nodded at Detective Yelvington, Tom and Malcolm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReverend Reed, Mr. Babian, this is Detective Brinkly,\u201d said Yelvington. \u201cReverend Reed, you are not to leave the premises. We need a few days to collect information. Mr. Babian, you\u2019re free to go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m staying,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToday is the first of the month. We\u2019ll meet on the third.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about Hank?\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Simpson is not staying on the premises.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, where\u2019s he staying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not at liberty to say. I\u2019ll see you in two days.\u201d Detective Yelvington opened the back door and was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a lawyer, Mr. Babian?\u201d Detective Brinkly said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cYes. Call me Malcolm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cHere\u2019s my cell number and email address,\u201d the detective added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm reached into his hip pocket for his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlready got it.\u201d Detective Brinkly said. \u201cWe\u2019ve sealed off the second floor, the attic, the cellar and the backyard. The rest of your house is yours. We\u2019ll be coming in and out. Ignore us.\u201d Detective Brinkly looked at Tom. \u201cReverend Reed, someone needs to identify your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom knew this was coming but it was still nerve wracking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course, I\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll pick you up tomorrow around three.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Babian, that won\u2019t be necessary,\u201d Brinkly said with finality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom clutched his cell. \u201cI need my laptop and iPad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm held up his hand like the teacher\u2019s pet. \u201cThey\u2019re in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank God,\u201d Tom said quietly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two hours later, most of the take-out pepperoni pizza eaten and a few beers drunk, Tom said, \u201cOne hell of a honeymoon.\u201d The brave tone slipped away, and tears started rolling down his cheeks. Malcolm got up and folded Tom in his arms. They pulled out the living room\u2019s sofa bed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, they toasted Wendy\u2019s pumpernickel and heated up coffee. Neither guy had slept well. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom turned the kitchen into his makeshift workspace while Malcolm chose a living room corner. Unlike Tom who was used to lots of parish activity and wouldn\u2019t be bothered by the law enforcement walkthroughs, he liked working in privacy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Around nine, the backdoor opened. Detective Brinkly escorted an older woman into the kitchen. She glanced at Tom and Malcolm before following the detective. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom addressed his church\u2019s daily meditation group on Zoom. Malcolm heard the congregants offering their condolences. Detective Brinkly had told Tom not to go into details about Wendy\u2019s death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For lunch they had their choice of Kraft cheese, more pumpernickel and leftover pizza. Malcolm ate his sandwich with one hand and held his cell with the other as he argued about licensing. Tom had no appetite. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Working on his laptop, Tom heard the law\u2019s footsteps on the second floor. He checked his cell: 2:50. \u201cPorch?\u201d he texted Malcolm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the porch steps they whispered about the house being wired. Had Tom\u2019s car been wiretapped? Or Malcolm\u2019s rental car?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t recognize that woman,\u201d Tom said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen she probably didn\u2019t recognize you,\u201d Malcolm said with more love than logic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Detective Brinkly poked his head out the front door. \u201cHi, you ready to head downtown?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure.\u201d Tom stood up, all business.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brinkly drove into town. He stopped at the one traffic light. \u201cTom, you want to talk about anything?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everything.<\/em> \u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d he said. \u201cWho was that woman you brought through the house?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA neighbor.\u201d Brinkly kept his eyes on the traffic light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou wanted her to identify me? I didn\u2019t recognize her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re here.\u201d Brinkly opened the main door of a nondescript three-story building. He showed the desk officer his ID and led Tom down a corridor, stopping outside a metal door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once inside, the smell reminded Tom of other morgues where he had accompanied parishioners. He stared at the rows of drawers. An attendant pulled out a refrigerated drawer with a covered body on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom and Brinkly stood on one side and the attendant on the other. Brinkly nodded and the attendant lifted the gray-green covering, Only the head showed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom looked at his mom\u2019s still face. \u201cThat\u2019s my mom, Wendy Reed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll wait outside,\u201d the detective said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pulling into the Reed driveway, Brinkly said, \u201cDetective Yelvington will call to set up our Wednesday appointment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cThanks, Detective. These tasks must be hard on you too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou said it.\u201d Brinkly drove away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

November 3rd, 8 a.m. Tom\u2019s cell phone rang. He held it so Malcolm could hear. \u201cWe\u2019ll be at your place in an hour. Meet us at the kitchen table. Any questions?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aside from asking if you\u2019ll be arresting me for murdering my mom? he thought. \u201cI\u2019ll save my questions for later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington clicked off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At nine, Detective Yelvington opened the back door. She was accompanied by two younger associates. Their biceps and hands clasped behind their backs beamed ex-military. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cTom and Malcolm, let\u2019s sit down.\u201d Yelvington pulled out a folder. Ignoring Tom\u2019s and Malcolm\u2019s stares, she sorted the contents like solitaire cards. Her two associates stood behind her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom\u2019s and Malcolm\u2019s eyes were glued to the stacks of gambling debts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me about the gambling.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom took a deep breath. \u201cI had a problem but that\u2019s almost in the past.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom recalled the open drawer in the living room. \u201cHank have anything to do with this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s claiming you killed your mom for her money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom gritted his teeth. \u201cMy poor mom.\u201d His voice broke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lawyer Malcolm countered, \u201cHank gets half her money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington placed a document in front of Tom and Malcolm. \u201cThis is a copy of a new will signed and sealed a week ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Everything was left to Tom. Nothing to Hank. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour church knows about the gambling?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot yet.\u201d Tom took a deep breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy call. My fault.\u201d Malcolm held up his right hand to stop Tom objecting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, God damn it. I was wrong.\u201d Tom sat very straight. \u201cI was out to get hired. A man of God who hid his faults and lied to get the job.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington studied Malcolm\u2019s expression of protectiveness, surprised by her own reaction to the normalcy of their closeness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop. Your problem with your church is your problem. Whether or not you killed your mother is my problem.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo I need a lawyer?\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got one,\u201d Malcolm answered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re taking Hank Simpson on a walk through the house.\u201d Yelvington put a recorder and the new will on the table, the latter placed so it could be easily spotted by anyone who might pass by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Someone knocked on the back door before swinging it open and a moment later, Hank shuffled in. To each side, was an officer. They were replaced by the two officers behind Yelvington. A sickening scent, a mixture of booze and unwashed body parts, filled the kitchen. Scratches lined Hank\u2019s face. He stumbled and placed his large right hand flat on the table for balance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom\u2019s insides turned to water as he studied his dead mother\u2019s husband. To redeem any past failings, he asked, \u201cCan I help you, Hank? Maybe we got off to a bad start.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm itched to text Tom: Are you fucking crazy? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hank held on to the table. He ran his eyes over the new will. \u201cThey forced her. She told me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat did Wendy Reed tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe hates me. Lots of times,\u201d Hank mumbled and glared at Tom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRecently?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, the afternoon they killed her. She told me her faggot son wanted everything.\u201d He shook his head, agreeing with himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid anyone overhear you?\u201d Detective Yelvington said. She expected a demand for a lawyer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, she got \u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She tapped on the recorder. The first sound was Hank screaming, \u201cYou bitch!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGet out. I\u2019m divorcing\u2026\u201d Wendy Reed cried. No more words. Grunting sounds. Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThat\u2019s a neighbor\u2019s recording,\u201d Yelvington said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe woman Detective Brinkly escorted through the kitchen the other day?\u201d Tom interrupted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington nodded and continued, \u201cMr. Simpson ran into the house at 2:58. The neighbor remembered because she checked her watch. Then she approached Mrs. Reed, who was shaking and crying. She told the neighbor she was expecting her son.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective looked at Hank. \u201cWhere were you, Hank?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His blood-shot eyes focused on Tom. \u201cHe\u2019s a minister who gambles with the church’s money,\u201d he ranted. \u201cQuestion him. Ask him why he scavenged though his old belongings so he could hawk the contents for cash. When that didn\u2019t cover the debts, he killed her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWere you in the house that day?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, it\u2019s still my house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOn the landline, there\u2019s a 3:05 call to the family lawyer. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No answer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChecking on the will!\u201d Tom yelled. His voice rose an octave as he stood up and moved toward a sweating and cringing Hank, who was shielded by the officers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSit down, Tom,\u201d Yelvington ordered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Yelvington gave a signal to the officers. One of them showed a photo of Hank in a Thompson Street pawn shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The cop swiped to the next photos. In each one Hank was selling attic toys and using an old Tom Reed license for ID. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the date on that photo, Officer?\u201d Yelvington said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOctober 30.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOur wedding,\u201d Malcolm said. \u201cUsing a false ID and pawning stolen stuff to frame us for a murder we never committed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom jumped out of his seat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou strangled my mom?\u201d He grabbed Hank\u2019s arm as the officers moved in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t touch me,\u201d Hank screamed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMrs. Reed recorded her own death on her cell,\u201d Yelvington switched on the recorder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom froze, hearing mom\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy Reed panted. Hank cursed. For five long minutes, Wendy fought to live, gasping slower and slower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake your final breath, Mom.\u201d Tears and sweat poured down Tom\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The End<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Young and old, gay and straight, black, brown and white streamed through Smith Memorial\u2019s doors. It was a perfect fall day.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Standing at the church door, Tom Reed, Smith Memorial\u2019s senior minister, held Malcolm, his new husband, with one arm and shook hands with the other. Tom had a shaved head and an open and welcoming facial expression. Malcolm was about 5\u20198\u201d, trim, black hair with a part on the left as straight as U.S. Route 20.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 As part of the wedding celebration, blue and yellow balloons were tied along the fence surrounding the Greenwich Village church. A yellow one came loose and floated upwards. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Across Washington Square South a man crouched behind a plane tree. He watched the ascending balloon and raised his right arm, cocked an imaginary shotgun, and shot. Underneath his Mets cap his face was lit up with fury. Hank Simpson, husband of Wendy Reed, turned back to the lively scene at the church entrance. He watched his wife kiss her gay son before she joined another group. She wants AIDS? Divorce? No can do, he said under his breath. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

A neighborhood dachshund woofed up at Hank. Hank tore his eyes away from the happy mother, son, and his husband, glared at the dog, put his navy running shoe on the dog\u2019s right front paw and rammed it into the sidewalk. The dachshund yelped and sunk his sharp little teeth into Hank\u2019s slightly soiled khakis until he reached hairy skin. Hank\u2019s yelp was much louder than the dog\u2019s, drawing attention from across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm glanced over Tom\u2019s shoulder. \u201cHoly shit,\u201d he muttered. \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom laughed. \u201cFed up already?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm jerked his head toward the street. Tom looked across at the angry man bouncing on one leg and holding on to the tree trunk. \u201cHoly shit is right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The newly married couple\u2019s youth and good looks added to the charm of their well-cut, flashy suits. Even so, they both realized that their approaching guest\u2019s outfit cost more than the two of theirs together. The extremely tall man and his extremely short wife mirrored the general happiness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat guy across the street?\u201d Lorenzo smothered them with his sexy Italian-English accent. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom: \u201cThe one who\u2019s attacking a dog?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Lorenzo: \u201cI know him.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom: \u201cYou know him?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe saw me at a fundraiser. He stalked us, waited outside our place. Remember, darling?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Monique, his wife, laughed knowingly. \u201cBrrr.\u201d Her sculpted shoulders shuddered theatrically. \u201cHe hustled us down 70th<\/sup> Street.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

They all laughed, keeping an eye on the scene across the street.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Hank hid behind the tree and shook his baseball cap at the yapping dog. A woman in pajama bottoms and a Disney Princess T-shirt yelled in chorus with her dog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s my father-in-law.\u201d One of Tom\u2019s unusual traits was revealing what most people would keep secret.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm blurted, \u201cHe hates gays. Wouldn\u2019t come to the wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The laughter stopped. Embarrassed, Lorenzo and Monique gave Tom and Malcolm a quick hug and melted into a nearby group.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBe right back,\u201d Tom said. Malcolm gave him a look. Tom held up his hands in surrender before heading through the loving crowd and down the stairs to the all-gender restrooms. He was following his mother. They had to talk. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

All-gender in theory. In practice, the older members followed childhood rules: boys in one, girls in another. Tom wondered for the millionth time why women took so long. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The minute she came out of one of the restrooms, Tom said, \u201cMom, Hank\u2019s across the street.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy Reed was in her early sixties. She was plump with reddish-brown and white hair, giving her the look of a pretty fox. She said quietly, \u201cI saw him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom: \u201cWhy did you marry him, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe usual: Lonely. Alone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A few days ago was the first time her son had seen her in months. He and Malcolm had driven out to Benson Avenue to introduce Malcolm to Mom. But today, under the happy, hopeful atmosphere of Tom\u2019s wedding, Wendy\u2019s lips drooped when they weren\u2019t propped up in a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cTom, you\u2019ve got a life. I do too. I\u2019m divorcing him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe knows?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut isn\u2019t accepting it. It\u2019s our elephant in the bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom, we have to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The restroom door opened. Hank Simpson stepped out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The three of them stood and stared for a few seconds that seemed like hours.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy said in a feeble, cordial attempt, \u201cYou\u2019re joining us?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m using the men\u2019s room. Not against the law, right?\u201d Hank growled and headed up the back stairs to an open door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Son and mother kept their mouths shut until Hank was out of sight. Even then, they whispered. Tom pulled his mom into a deserted corner. He studied her wounded face, in contrast to her meticulous appearance. She adjusted his shirt collar. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust so,\u201d he teased her as he placed his hands on hers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She blurted, \u201cI was a fool. I fell for his line. He had a good one, especially if you\u2019re lonely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You\u2019ve been married two years?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo hundred years, it seems like.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s giving you a hard time?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s putting it mildly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re discussing this tomorrow.\u201d Very much the minister in charge, Tom tapped on his cell and checked his busy schedule. He read on his iPhone calendar: 10\/31: Halloween – Stonewall.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMake that the day after tomorrow, November 1. Okay, Mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy stared at her son\u2019s phone. She saw the ubiquitous sexy girl image on Tom\u2019s cell, the logo of an Atlantic City gambling casino. \u201cTom?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom caught her glance. \u201cJust checking, Mom. They\u2019re always advertising.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPromise me you\u2019re over that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI promise,\u201d he said gently if not truthfully. \u201cSo, dear Mom, I\u2019ll see you the day after Halloween.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI made a batch of pumpernickel. I\u2019ll wrap some up for you and Malcolm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom raised his mom\u2019s hand and kissed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

November First, 4 p.m. Tom pulled up to the curb at Benson Avenue, relieved his eight-year-old clunker made it. I\u2019ll get it fixed as soon as I\u2019m paid off\u2026right now, I\u2019ve got to find out what\u2019s going on with Mom.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom swept bagel crumbs off Mom\u2019s birthday present, a black and tan plaid shirt. He was back in the Brooklyn neighborhood, light years from his Manhattan life. He inhaled deeply the ocean breezes from nearby Coney Island. The neighborhood looked sleepy, worn out from Halloween. He studied his childhood home, a single-family house built in the 1930s. Mom and Dad bought it for peanuts about thirty years ago. He thought it looked good with its fresh coat of white paint and royal blue trimmed shutters. There was the large Halloween bowl still near the front door at the top of the steps. Mom forgot about it, he figured. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

He gripped the steering wheel. He had to ask her point blank; did she tell Hank before they married that she had a gay son?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMom?\u201d Tom called as he lugged the bowl through the living room and parked it in the eat-in kitchen. On the sill of the east window, he saw the purple African violets they\u2019d brought Mom a few days before. Her kitchen was so spacious. So tidy compared to their West Village nest. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom\u2019s inner nine-year-old pawed through the bowl\u2019s remaining candy on a Snickers search. Out of habit, he opened the refrigerator. He smiled at his mom\u2019s meticulousness: clean jam jars, Ketchup containers, salad dressing bottles lined up according to brand. On the top shelf was a loaf of homemade pumpernickel wrapped in Saran Wrap. His name and Malcolm\u2019s were written across it. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When he had passed through the living room, he\u2019d noticed a drawer in the TV bureau was pulled out. Concerned, he circled back and poked around in the drawer. He assumed Mom had found his old gambling receipts. That was in the past, for the most part. He looked around the darkened, familiar room. The silk drapes were closed. The room was a study in books, cozy armchairs, and oriental rugs. A fireplace, once welcoming with a warming glow, was swept clean. Where was the MacBook Air? Four days ago, it was on a desk near the fifty-inch TV. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom was flooded with memories. Ten years ago, Dad had a heart attack and died in his favorite armchair. This is where he told Mom he was gay. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease be careful. I love you,\u201d were the first words out of her mouth. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom shook himself out of his thoughts. \u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No sound. He headed for the backyard recalling she often took an afternoon nap. Where\u2019s Hank, he wondered. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom saw his mom\u2019s curly ginger hair peeking over the top of an Adirondack chair. He walked around to the front of the chair, not wanting to startle her. Her eyes were closed. Her face was red as if lit from within. She was still. Too still. Tom noticed her wedding band was missing. He touched her left hand. It was cold. He grabbed the chair for support.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMom,\u201d he said softly, then louder. The tears rolled down his cheeks. He yanked out a handkerchief and wiped his face. He lightly touched her bruised neck. The first call was to 911. The second call was to Malcolm. Tom folded himself into the cell, sobbing. \u201cShe\u2019s dead. She\u2019s dead.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm said he\u2019d be with Tom within the hour. \u201cI love you,\u201d were his last words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Within thirty minutes, the Emergency Medical Services, cops\u2014including an inspector\u2014and lastly, the coroner arrived. Officers had Tom sit in the living room. They wandered in and out asking him questions. When was the last time you saw your mother? What time did you get here today? Have you talked to anyone in the neighborhood this afternoon? She lived alone? Was she married? Was she in good health? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom had often faced death. Many a midnight call from a parishioner begging him for help. Why were they keeping him away from his mom\u2019s body? She\u2019d had a minor stroke a few years ago but the bruises told another story. The EMS crew treated him like a kid or a moron. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhere\u2019s Hank?\u201d he said to an officer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOn his way,\u201d was the noncommittal answer. After a half hour, Tom stood up and walked briskly into the backyard. A young cop stopped him. Tom wished he\u2019d worn his collar. He curled his fingers, noticing the cop staring at his purple nail polish. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

An older official joined them. \u201cI\u2019ll take care of this.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom glanced at the woman\u2019s ID on her lapel. \u201cYou\u2019re a detective?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDetective Judy Yelvington and the inspector assigned to this\u2026\u201d The detective gestured to the Adirondack chair, surrounded by her team. \u201cYou\u2019re the Smith Memorial minister, Reverend Reed?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right. What\u2019s going on?\u201d He eyed the older woman whose face had spent too much time on the beach but whose hazel eyes were large and clear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour mother didn\u2019t die a natural death,\u201d Detective Yelvington said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom put one foot behind him, steadying himself, waiting for the next words. Things were about to get worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cThere is evidence she was strangled.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom covered his face with his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Detective Yelvington led him to a picnic table and some chairs. After questioning him about his relationship with his mother, she said, \u201cDo you have access to your mother\u2019s legal documents?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cI\u2019m gay. She was completely supportive.\u201d He sensed the detective was ill at ease, so the words spilled out of his mouth. \u201cLoves, loved my husband.\u201d The detective flinched but remained steady. \u201cWe were married two days ago. She was there.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was he a suspect? Suspected of killing Mom? Tom\u2019s innards did push-ups. He slouched over from the thought. First person to find the victim. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your husband\u2019s name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMalcolm Babian. He should be here by now. \u2026\u201d He looked across the lawn at the young man running toward him. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cAt last,\u201d Tom cried. After a tight embrace, he introduced Malcolm to the detective. \u201cMom made us pumpernickel,\u201d Tom whispered. \u201cStrangled.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d Malcolm yelled and jumped back from Tom. A look of confusion spread across his face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom looked down at his empty, outstretched hands. He glared at his husband. Does he suspect me too?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm grabbed Tom\u2019s hands. \u201cSorry, sorry, sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective studied the two men. \u201cReverend Reed, I\u2019m requesting you not to leave the neighborhood.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going anywhere. I want to be close to mom.\u201d Tom still glared at Malcolm. \u201cI have to call the church.\u201d He opened the kitchen door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThose legal papers, Reverend,\u201d Yelvington called after Tom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom ducked into the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Malcolm started to follow him, Detective Yelvington blocked his way. \u201cTake a seat, Mr. Babian.\u201d She pointed at the nearby chairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm followed her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTom\u2019s a wonderful man. He\u2019s loved, admired at the church.\u201d Malcolm put his head in his hands.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake your time. I need your assistance.,\u201d Yelvington\u2019s rambling talk calmed people, usually. \u201cTell me about Reverend Reed. Where did you and Tom meet?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm\u2019s lawyerly instincts snapped to attention. He figured he\u2019d tell the truth but not the whole truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAtlantic City. We were both into weekend gambling. Not seriously,\u201d he added. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s your profession?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m a lawyer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou were married a few days ago?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm nodded.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas Mrs. Reed at the wedding?\u2019<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course. She and Tom were close. She knew he was gay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about Tom\u2019s father?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe died about ten years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe\u2019s remarried?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. A guy who hates gays.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWas he at the wedding?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHank Simpson stood across the street and gawked at us. You know the Village? The church is on Thompson & Washington Square.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Detective Yelvington nodded. \u201cBeautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Is this lady playing sensitive or being truthful, Malcolm wondered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cTom and I were here a few days ago before the wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTom hadn\u2019t seen his mother very much. Combination of guilt trip and introducing me to Wendy.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHere\u2019s the hard part.\u201d Yelvington studied Malcolm who was clamping his shaking hands together. \u201cAny reason why Tom would kill his mom?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm held on to his outrage. She was doing her job. \u201cHe loved and respected her. I wish I had a mom like Wendy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington looked up from tapping on her cell. \u201cFinancial problems?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, of course not.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou met in Atlantic City?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective stood up. \u201cShow me the house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOkay. I\u2019ve been in it once four days ago,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They walked up the back steps and into the kitchen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sitting at the round table, Tom had his ear to his cell and papers in front of him. He pointed to some documents. \u201cI dug these out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington sat down and examined the power of attorney, health care proxy, and a two-year-old will. Malcolm peered over the detective\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe told me about the will, but this is the first time I\u2019ve seen it,\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about you?\u201d Yelvington turned her head toward Malcolm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSame goes for me,\u201d Malcolm said as he noticed that Wendy Reed had left her estate equally divided to her husband and her son. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShe married him on August 10th<\/sup> two years ago and the will was drawn up August 15th,\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington read a name from the will. \u201cHer lawyer?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom sent the lawyer\u2019s cell number to Yelvington. \u201cShe told me that she was divorcing him.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid she say his reaction?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom thought a minute. \u201cShe said it was the elephant in the bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMeaning?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHank is usually on the verge of a temper tantrum,\u201d Tom said. \u201cWhere is he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s talking to my team downtown.\u201d Tom figured she meant the police station. \u201cTom, let\u2019s walk through your home.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He figured being called by his first name was a plus. He shoved papers into his briefcase and locked it in the pantry. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington watched but didn\u2019t say anything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow many floors?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTwo and there\u2019s an attic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ll start at the top.\u201d At the second floor, Yelvington pulled in air. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom and Malcolm looked out the window, giving Yelvington time to breathe easy. Tom texted Malcolm: Tell everything? Malcolm: Wait.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington\u2019s eyes roamed over the clean, quiet space. Three doors were open. \u201cWhat have we got?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy mom and her husband\u2019s room,\u201d Tom pointed to the room closest to the backyard. \u201cThat second door leads to my dad\u2019s office. Now, it\u2019s a junk room.\u201d Tom pointed to the door nearest the stairs. \u201cThat\u2019s my old room. Now, our room.\u201d He smiled at Malcolm. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s hit the attic.\u201d The detective pulled the hatch in the ceiling. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe didn\u2019t go there the other day,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington had already started a slow climb up the steep stairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 She yanked on the light. It cast a dull glow to the dark attic. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Shades were pulled down on the four windows.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cWelcome to my childhood.\u201d Tom\u2019s hearty tone didn\u2019t hide his anxiety. He stared at the shady heap of bikes, trikes, wagons, and scooters. Puzzled, he walked closer and ran his hand over a cut bike tire. He eyed the mangled mass of wheels. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow does your attic usually look?\u201d Detective Yelvington said, thinking of her own jumble heap. \u201cI never assume a neat attic.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMom was a neat freak.\u201d Tom fingered the bikes\u2019 tires. \u201cThey\u2019ve been slashed.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington tripped over a cloth. She yanked away the shredded remnants of a Boy Scout uniform. \u201cWhen was the last time you were up here?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cA few years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective pulled out a compact flashlight, then got on her phone, telling the team to send some guys to the attic. She ran the strongest lighting mode over the labels adorning the jumbled boxes, many ripped open. Boy Scout uniforms, Camping stuff, Hot Wheels. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour stuff?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah. I was a spoiled kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHot Wheels?\u201d Malcolm said in a tone of wonder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Yelvington directed her light at the guys\u2019 feet so she didn\u2019t blind them. \u201cWhere\u2019s the stuff?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In double shock, Tom shook his head, his mom\u2019s murder and now this, his childhood destroyed and missing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They heard stomping up the stairs. \u201cMy team\u2019s going over this.\u201d Yelvington yanked open the attic\u2019s stuck door. \u201cWe\u2019re looking at your room now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Down on the second floor, Tom swung open the door. Dated posters of David Bowie and Brad Pitt faced the single bed. On the wooden floor was smashed glass and a man\u2019s portrait ripped in two. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom banged his fist on the nearby bureau. He bent over to pick up the torn pieces. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington blocked him. \u201cDon\u2019t touch it.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom gave her a dirty look but stepped back while Malcolm videoed the ripped photo, using his phone. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWho\u2019s he?\u201d Yelvington looked down at the destroyed photo.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDag Hammarskj\u00f6ld. A gay social rights activist.\u201d Tom propped his arms on the bureau and hid his face. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm slid behind him and put one arm around his waist. With his right hand he showed Yelvington a recent selfie. \u201cTaken four days ago.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The guys, smiling deliriously, were holding Hammarskj\u00f6ld\u2019s photo between them. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSend me that photo.\u201d She contacted her attic team. \u201cSecond floor, Tom\u2019s bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re out of here.\u201d She pointed her thumb toward the corridor. \u201cYour mom\u2019s bedroom.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom remembered his parents\u2019 bedroom as being comfy and lavish. His mom had splurged on cashmere spreads, linen sheets and creamy pillowcases piled on an ivory canopied bed. His dad had teased her about their royal suite, but Tom had figured Dad liked it too. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bed now resembled a neglected orphan. Rough white sheets and pillows squirming out of too-tight covers. Tom hadn\u2019t been in the room in a few years, ever since Hank and Wendy married. He and Malcolm looked out the window down at the backyard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington circled the room, yanking open bureau drawers, examining a desk\u2019s contents, exploring the bedside tables. At the back of a drawer in Wendy\u2019s bedside table, she found a container labeled Xanax. She looked up to see Tom staring at her. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour mom took tranquilizers?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom shook his head. \u201cI can\u2019t say. She was anxious at our wedding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington slipped the Xanax into an evidence bag. She opened the mahogany closet. One side had dresses, slacks, nightgowns. The other side had only a dirty T-shirt on the floor. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The bathroom medicine cabinet was empty except for a toothbrush. After calling the team, she joined the guys at the window, staring down at Hank being escorted by an officer into the backyard. At that moment, Hank saw them. He clenched his fists. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re going downstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When they reached the kitchen, Yelvington gestured at the large table. \u201cSit here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The backdoor opened and a young officer came in. He nodded at Detective Yelvington, Tom and Malcolm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cReverend Reed, Mr. Babian, this is Detective Brinkly,\u201d said Yelvington. \u201cReverend Reed, you are not to leave the premises. We need a few days to collect information. Mr. Babian, you\u2019re free to go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m staying,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cToday is the first of the month. We\u2019ll meet on the third.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat about Hank?\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Simpson is not staying on the premises.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, where\u2019s he staying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not at liberty to say. I\u2019ll see you in two days.\u201d Detective Yelvington opened the back door and was gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019re a lawyer, Mr. Babian?\u201d Detective Brinkly said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cYes. Call me Malcolm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cHere\u2019s my cell number and email address,\u201d the detective added.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm reached into his hip pocket for his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAlready got it.\u201d Detective Brinkly said. \u201cWe\u2019ve sealed off the second floor, the attic, the cellar and the backyard. The rest of your house is yours. We\u2019ll be coming in and out. Ignore us.\u201d Detective Brinkly looked at Tom. \u201cReverend Reed, someone needs to identify your mother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom knew this was coming but it was still nerve wracking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course, I\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll pick you up tomorrow around three.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming,\u201d Malcolm said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMr. Babian, that won\u2019t be necessary,\u201d Brinkly said with finality.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom clutched his cell. \u201cI need my laptop and iPad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm held up his hand like the teacher\u2019s pet. \u201cThey\u2019re in the car.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank God,\u201d Tom said quietly. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two hours later, most of the take-out pepperoni pizza eaten and a few beers drunk, Tom said, \u201cOne hell of a honeymoon.\u201d The brave tone slipped away, and tears started rolling down his cheeks. Malcolm got up and folded Tom in his arms. They pulled out the living room\u2019s sofa bed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, they toasted Wendy\u2019s pumpernickel and heated up coffee. Neither guy had slept well. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom turned the kitchen into his makeshift workspace while Malcolm chose a living room corner. Unlike Tom who was used to lots of parish activity and wouldn\u2019t be bothered by the law enforcement walkthroughs, he liked working in privacy. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Around nine, the backdoor opened. Detective Brinkly escorted an older woman into the kitchen. She glanced at Tom and Malcolm before following the detective. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom addressed his church\u2019s daily meditation group on Zoom. Malcolm heard the congregants offering their condolences. Detective Brinkly had told Tom not to go into details about Wendy\u2019s death.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For lunch they had their choice of Kraft cheese, more pumpernickel and leftover pizza. Malcolm ate his sandwich with one hand and held his cell with the other as he argued about licensing. Tom had no appetite. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Working on his laptop, Tom heard the law\u2019s footsteps on the second floor. He checked his cell: 2:50. \u201cPorch?\u201d he texted Malcolm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On the porch steps they whispered about the house being wired. Had Tom\u2019s car been wiretapped? Or Malcolm\u2019s rental car?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t recognize that woman,\u201d Tom said. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen she probably didn\u2019t recognize you,\u201d Malcolm said with more love than logic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Detective Brinkly poked his head out the front door. \u201cHi, you ready to head downtown?\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure.\u201d Tom stood up, all business.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Brinkly drove into town. He stopped at the one traffic light. \u201cTom, you want to talk about anything?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everything.<\/em> \u201cI\u2019m okay,\u201d he said. \u201cWho was that woman you brought through the house?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA neighbor.\u201d Brinkly kept his eyes on the traffic light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou wanted her to identify me? I didn\u2019t recognize her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re here.\u201d Brinkly opened the main door of a nondescript three-story building. He showed the desk officer his ID and led Tom down a corridor, stopping outside a metal door. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once inside, the smell reminded Tom of other morgues where he had accompanied parishioners. He stared at the rows of drawers. An attendant pulled out a refrigerated drawer with a covered body on it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom and Brinkly stood on one side and the attendant on the other. Brinkly nodded and the attendant lifted the gray-green covering, Only the head showed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom looked at his mom\u2019s still face. \u201cThat\u2019s my mom, Wendy Reed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019ll wait outside,\u201d the detective said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Pulling into the Reed driveway, Brinkly said, \u201cDetective Yelvington will call to set up our Wednesday appointment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cThanks, Detective. These tasks must be hard on you too.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou said it.\u201d Brinkly drove away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

#<\/p>\n\n\n\n

November 3rd, 8 a.m. Tom\u2019s cell phone rang. He held it so Malcolm could hear. \u201cWe\u2019ll be at your place in an hour. Meet us at the kitchen table. Any questions?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Aside from asking if you\u2019ll be arresting me for murdering my mom? he thought. \u201cI\u2019ll save my questions for later.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington clicked off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

At nine, Detective Yelvington opened the back door. She was accompanied by two younger associates. Their biceps and hands clasped behind their backs beamed ex-military. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cTom and Malcolm, let\u2019s sit down.\u201d Yelvington pulled out a folder. Ignoring Tom\u2019s and Malcolm\u2019s stares, she sorted the contents like solitaire cards. Her two associates stood behind her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom\u2019s and Malcolm\u2019s eyes were glued to the stacks of gambling debts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTell me about the gambling.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom took a deep breath. \u201cI had a problem but that\u2019s almost in the past.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom recalled the open drawer in the living room. \u201cHank have anything to do with this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe\u2019s claiming you killed your mom for her money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom gritted his teeth. \u201cMy poor mom.\u201d His voice broke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Lawyer Malcolm countered, \u201cHank gets half her money.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington placed a document in front of Tom and Malcolm. \u201cThis is a copy of a new will signed and sealed a week ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Everything was left to Tom. Nothing to Hank. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour church knows about the gambling?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot yet.\u201d Tom took a deep breath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy call. My fault.\u201d Malcolm held up his right hand to stop Tom objecting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, God damn it. I was wrong.\u201d Tom sat very straight. \u201cI was out to get hired. A man of God who hid his faults and lied to get the job.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington studied Malcolm\u2019s expression of protectiveness, surprised by her own reaction to the normalcy of their closeness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStop. Your problem with your church is your problem. Whether or not you killed your mother is my problem.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo I need a lawyer?\u201d Tom said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got one,\u201d Malcolm answered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019re taking Hank Simpson on a walk through the house.\u201d Yelvington put a recorder and the new will on the table, the latter placed so it could be easily spotted by anyone who might pass by.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Someone knocked on the back door before swinging it open and a moment later, Hank shuffled in. To each side, was an officer. They were replaced by the two officers behind Yelvington. A sickening scent, a mixture of booze and unwashed body parts, filled the kitchen. Scratches lined Hank\u2019s face. He stumbled and placed his large right hand flat on the table for balance. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom\u2019s insides turned to water as he studied his dead mother\u2019s husband. To redeem any past failings, he asked, \u201cCan I help you, Hank? Maybe we got off to a bad start.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Malcolm itched to text Tom: Are you fucking crazy? <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hank held on to the table. He ran his eyes over the new will. \u201cThey forced her. She told me.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat did Wendy Reed tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe hates me. Lots of times,\u201d Hank mumbled and glared at Tom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRecently?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYeah, the afternoon they killed her. She told me her faggot son wanted everything.\u201d He shook his head, agreeing with himself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDid anyone overhear you?\u201d Detective Yelvington said. She expected a demand for a lawyer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead, she got \u201cBullshit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She tapped on the recorder. The first sound was Hank screaming, \u201cYou bitch!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGet out. I\u2019m divorcing\u2026\u201d Wendy Reed cried. No more words. Grunting sounds. Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

            \u201cThat\u2019s a neighbor\u2019s recording,\u201d Yelvington said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe woman Detective Brinkly escorted through the kitchen the other day?\u201d Tom interrupted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yelvington nodded and continued, \u201cMr. Simpson ran into the house at 2:58. The neighbor remembered because she checked her watch. Then she approached Mrs. Reed, who was shaking and crying. She told the neighbor she was expecting her son.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The detective looked at Hank. \u201cWhere were you, Hank?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

His blood-shot eyes focused on Tom. \u201cHe\u2019s a minister who gambles with the church’s money,\u201d he ranted. \u201cQuestion him. Ask him why he scavenged though his old belongings so he could hawk the contents for cash. When that didn\u2019t cover the debts, he killed her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWere you in the house that day?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo, it\u2019s still my house.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOn the landline, there\u2019s a 3:05 call to the family lawyer. Why?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No answer. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChecking on the will!\u201d Tom yelled. His voice rose an octave as he stood up and moved toward a sweating and cringing Hank, who was shielded by the officers.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSit down, Tom,\u201d Yelvington ordered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom sat down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Yelvington gave a signal to the officers. One of them showed a photo of Hank in a Thompson Street pawn shop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The cop swiped to the next photos. In each one Hank was selling attic toys and using an old Tom Reed license for ID. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the date on that photo, Officer?\u201d Yelvington said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOctober 30.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOur wedding,\u201d Malcolm said. \u201cUsing a false ID and pawning stolen stuff to frame us for a murder we never committed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

 Tom jumped out of his seat. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou strangled my mom?\u201d He grabbed Hank\u2019s arm as the officers moved in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t touch me,\u201d Hank screamed. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

 \u201cMrs. Reed recorded her own death on her cell,\u201d Yelvington switched on the recorder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tom froze, hearing mom\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wendy Reed panted. Hank cursed. For five long minutes, Wendy fought to live, gasping slower and slower.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake your final breath, Mom.\u201d Tears and sweat poured down Tom\u2019s face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The End<\/p>\n

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