The Night Gardener

He clicked on Outlook and got Asa's e-mail site. Numerous messages appeared, but upon inspection, all of them appeared to be spam. He went into the Deleted and Sent files and found the boxes empty. He did the same with Journal, Notes, and Drafts, and got the same result. Ramone went online, got the Yahoo! opening screen, and clicked on Favorites. Asa had few sites listed in the column. Most were of the game and entertainment variety, and a few seemed to deal with the Civil War and local Civil War forts and cemeteries. Ramone went to Word and checked the files labeled 'Asa's Documents.' Everything saved appeared to be school related: essays and papers on science and history, and many dealing with the themes and characters of books.

It was odd that there was so much scholastic material and nothing of a personal nature on the computer of a teenage boy.

Ramone got out of the chair and stood in the center of the room. He removed his gloves as he looked at the walls, the bookshelves, and the top of the dresser. History told him that he had learned something here today, even if it had not yet come to him. But it was always frustrating to be at this stage of inertia in an investigation.

He went downstairs to a silent first floor. He found Terrance Johnson in the backyard, seated in a lawn chair, a can of beer in his hand. Ramone found a similar chair, folded and leaning against the house, and carried it over to where Johnson sat.

'You go

'I don't think so, thanks. I've still got some work ahead of me.'

Ramone settled in.

'Talk to me,' said Johnson. His pointed white teeth peeked out below a sweaty lip.

'I don't have anything solid to report yet. The positive news is there's no reason to believe that Asa was involved in any kind of criminal activity.'

'I knew that. I kept that boy straight.'

'Did he have a cell phone? I'd like to get a look at his incoming and outgoing calls.'

'Nah. I already told Detective Wilkins, we didn't think Asa was ready for the responsibility.'

'That's how Regina and I keep track of Diego.'

'I didn't need to look for him. I didn't let him go to parties, sleepovers, or nothin like that. He was home at night. That's how I knew where he was.'

Ramone loosened his tie at the neck. 'Asa kept a journal, apparently. It would look like a notebook, or even a regular hardcover book without a title, with blank pages inside. It would be very helpful if I could locate it.'

'I don't recall seeing anything like that. He did like to write, though. He liked to read a whole lot, too.'

'Lotta books in his room.'

'Too many, you ask me.'

How could there be too many books in a teenager's room? thought Ramone. He would have been pleased if Diego had been interested in just one.

'I didn't mind the boy reading,' said Johnson. 'Don't get me wrong. But I was a little worried about him, focusing on just that. A young man needs to be well-rounded, and that goes beyond being book smart or getting good grades in school.'

'You're talking about athletics.'

'Yeah.'

'I heard he had dropped out of the football program.'

'I was upset with him when he quit it, I'm not go

'I guess it was doubly disappointing to you. I mean, you played a lot of football when you were coming up, didn't you?'

'When I was a kid. I played here in the city. But I had an ankle that got broke and then kept breaking on me. By the time I got to high school, I couldn't compete. I would have been a good player, too. My body betrayed me, is what it was.'

Ramone remembered Johnson at their sons' football games. He was one of those fathers who frequently second-guessed the coaches and vocally berated the referees. He'd often see Johnson talking to Asa on the sidelines, telling him to find some heart, telling him to hit somebody. Always telling him what he was doing wrong. Ramone had seen the hurt in Asa's eyes. No wonder the boy had lost his desire to play. His father was one of those guys who demanded his son be the athlete that he himself never was or could be.

'I bought him that new North Face coat he was wearing,' said Johnson, looking at the weedy patch of grass at his feet, his voice gone low. 'Two hundred dollars and seventy-five. I made a deal with him, told him that if I bought him that new coat, he was go

Ramone, embarrassed and also a bit angry, did not look at Johnson.

'When was the last time you saw him?' said Ramone.

'I work a seven-to-three, so I'm back here around the time the boy gets home from school. He was headed out and I asked him where. He said, "I'm going for a walk." I said, 'It's too warm out for you to be wearin that coat. And you know you shouldn't be wearing it anyway, 'cause you broke an agreement we had.'"

'And?'

'He said, "I love you, Dad.'" A tear broke loose from Johnson's eye and rolled down his cheek. 'That's all he said. Asa left out the house right after that. The next time I saw him, he was cold. Someone had put a bullet in my boy's head.'

Ramone looked at the sky and the shadows lengthening on the grass. There were few hours of light remaining. He rose from his seat.

Diego Ramone had been kicked out of the fake 7-Eleven in Montgomery County that afternoon by a guy, looked like some kind of Punjabi to him, who worked behind the counter. He could have been a Pakistani or even one of those Shiites. Dude had a turban on his head, was all Diego knew.

'Get out,' the man had said. 'I don't want you in here.'

Diego had been with his friend Toby. Toby was topped by a black skully, and both wore their jeans low and had drawstring-style bags on their backs. Diego had wanted to get a Sierra Mist before he got on the bus headed back to the District.

'Wa

'I don't want your money,' said the man, pointing to the door. 'Out!'

Diego and Toby had hard-eyed the man for a moment and left the store.

Out on the sidewalk, on the avenue lined with apartment houses, Toby held up both of his fists and affected a boxer's stance. 'I shoulda introduced him to thunder and lightning.'

'You notice he didn't come around the counter.'

'He was a bitch,' said Toby.

It wasn't the first time Diego had been tossed from a store for being young and black. He'd been rousted by the police here, too. This city had its own force, and they were known to break hard on kids who lived or hung down by the apartments. One weekend night Diego and Shaka were walking home from a party when a couple of squad cars came up on them. The officers inside the cars jumped out and shook the two of them down. They were put up against one of the cars and searched. Their pockets were turned inside out. One of the officers, a young white dude named O'Shea, had taunted Shaka, telling him to go ahead and say one thing out of line, just one thing. O'Shea said that he'd really like it if Shaka would lip off to him, but he figured he wouldn't, because Shaka was soft. Diego knew that Shaka, who could go with his hands for real, could have taken this man in a fight. But they kept their words to themselves, as Diego's father had told them to do when dealing with police, and let it pass.