Shred of Evidence

I saw everything and yet I saw nothing.

I spotted La Strada in the distance. The rectangle of bright white light sucked me in, as it had every weekday night for weeks. As I left work at the university police station on the Cal campus in Berkeley, the evening was singularly dark, high clouds hiding moon and stars. A nip in the air. A storm in the making. It was midnight and I had just gotten off my second shift tour of the campus. My job was to break up an occasional drunken brawl at a dorm, be there for the co-ed walking home alone from an evening seminar, chase the sleeping homeless out of the bushes.

I should have scurried home before the storm broke, thrown a slice of pizza in the microwave, and watched whatever I had recorded that evening with Tivo. But I didn’t. I never did. La Strada was a transition for me from a lonely job to an empty apartment. Not that the place was packed with life that late at night. Most times I was the only customer. And Jose Cardone the only employee.

Bright lights, white walls and ceiling, open to the sidewalk summer and winter. Clean, very clean. The place was antiseptic, sterile—like an operating room. Nothing soft, warm, cozy, personal. But I was not looking for a home. It was the brightness that attracted me. The fluorescents blasted away all shadows, illuminated all corners and crevices. There was enough darkness in my life.

I was not the only one drawn to La Strada’s bright lights. Perfect place to study. For all the background noise filtering in from the street, quieter than most college dorms. I had noticed on my way to work that the place was packed with students absorbed in their books and laptops, knots of friends gossiping, teams working on joint papers. No beer, no pool, no ESPN, no rock music. But that was not my La Strada. Too crowded. I liked it around midnight just before it closed. I had the place to myself. Jose and I.

And now her.

Would she be there tonight? She had not missed an evening in over a week. I quickened my pace. I left the campus and crossed Bancroft. No traffic. The other stores on the street—Outback Clothes, Rhino Records, Organic Foods—had long since closed for the night. No pedestrians. The tiny rectangle had become a luminous cavern.

I could see Jose, broom in hand, sweeping the place yet once again. He was the restless type who couldn’t stand to not be doing something. If there was no one to wait on, he would grab a broom and chase after what little dust or stray candy wrappers had floated in from the street. Then he’d pick up a rag and go over the round Formica tables. He liked me there. Made him feel better to have a cop in the place late at night, even if only a campus cop.

“The bad guys don’t know whether you’re campus or not,” he once told me.

“We share jurisdictions,” I explained. “I can make arrests if necessary in areas that border the campus.”

She sat at her regular table where the sidewalk abutted the open storefront, back next to the far wall. Twenty something, she had long straight black hair that fell down her back to her waist. Serious brown eyes and a complexion that I couldn’t place. Sepia with just a hint of freckle. A slight fold in the eyelid suggested Chinese ancestry. Tall. I had never seen her standing, but I guessed her height as at least five foot ten inches. She dressed as if she were heading for a discothèque. Tight black leather pants, matching shirt, spiked heels. Yet she studied a thick textbook and typed into a laptop. She hadn’t looked up as I entered.

No one ever met her. She left when I left, which was when the place closed at one. She studied her textbook and I studied her. What was her ethnicity? Why the party outfit when all she ever did was study? What was she studying? What was she really like? I didn’t even know how her voice sounded. I wondered if she knew she shared this space with me night after night? That I stared at her? That I desired her? She gave no indication of knowing.

I took a table across from hers. Jose placed his broom against the wall and came to greet me. I ordered a latté, double, grande, non-fat milk. He returned in five minutes with my drink. Then he sat down in the seat opposite mine.

“Forget about it,” he said.

“About what?”

“Her.”

“Who?”

He nodded in the girl’s direction.

“I know what you’re thinking. That look in your eyes. Some chick, but she’s an ice queen.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried to talk to her.”

“I don’t even know her name.”

“Cindy Quan.”

“Chinese?”

“No, Hawaiian. What they call on the islands a haba. Mixed ancestry.”

Fitted. Polynesian mixed with Chinese, Caucasian. Tall, thin.

“Why the get up? You’d think she was going clubbing.”

“Sexy lady. Love that leather. Maybe it’s an island thing.”

“What’s she studying?”

“Microbiology.”

“You kidding?”

“Ever try to talk up a chick on microbiology?”

“Is that all she’s interested in?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” he challenged me. “Maybe she’s got a thing for cops.”

“Not tonight.”

He shook his head. Then he got up and sauntered back to his counter. He picked up a rag and began to go over the already clean tables.

I knew I would never approach her cold. It’s not easy to date when you work second shift. And I like to keep to myself. I don’t like to go up to strange ladies and pester them. They might say no. My soul mate at La Strada was perfect for me. I could transform her in my mind into whatever I wished. She was my obsession.

I sipped my latté and absorbed Cindy from a distance. I noticed a slight movement in her head. Had she noticed me? The corners of her delicate mouth turned up into a smile.

I heard a click-click from the sidewalk. I didn’t need to look. A skateboard, ubiquitous in the Cal neighborhood. Then a deep rumble from the street. A car must have been passing on Bancroft. The car slowed. I continued to stare at Cindy hoping to make eye contact. Would I look away if she looked up at me? I didn’t know.

An explosion. Cindy’s head crashed onto her laptop’s keyboard. The computer buzzed as the curser scrolled back and forth across the monitor. Liquid dripped onto the clean floor. Then poured. Red. Blood. I shouted and rushed to her.

I had never for a second taken my eyes off her. But I might as well have been home in bed for all the use I’d be as a witness to her murder.

* * *

I entered the high-rise dorm that Cindy had called home. Not a very homey place. Vending machines, trash everywhere. A television set blared away, but no one was watching. A group of Asian students, wearing Go Bear jackets pushed past me. The place must have been a culture shock for Cindy. I had learned at the administration office that she was the only child of high school teachers from a small village on the big island.

I was determined to find out who killed her and why. The shift sergeant insisted that I keep out of it.

“She’s Berkeley’s problem,” he had said.

“But she’s my problem. She died as I watched.”

“So you tell Berkeley what you saw, but that’s it.”

He finally relented and allowed me to follow up on the Campus angle and report what I discovered to Berkeley.

I took the elevator up to the seventh floor and found Cindy’s room. I walked into chaos. A boom box blared gangsta rap, clothes were flung over chairs, beds unmade, Big Mac wrappers on the floor, pizza crusts filled a grease-soaked box on a table. I smelled pot. I knew Cindy had three roommates but I didn’t see any occupants. I was about to walk out, when I noticed a lump in one of the double-decked bunks. I poked the mound.

“Hey, man. Get outta here.”

A young, very attractive African-American lady emerged from under the covers. Dreadlocks, round face, full lips, and a sparkle in her eyes.

“I’ll call the cops.” Then she opened her eyes wider and shook her head. “Hell, you are the cops. Whatya’ want? Whatever it is, I didn’t do it.”

I reached over and turned off the boom box.

“Hey man, I was listened to that.”

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I always listen to music when I sleep. What’s it to you, anyway?”

“Could you come down here? I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about Cindy.”

The expression on her face changed from defiant to sad. She started to get up. She was naked. Then she laughed and wrapped the blanket around herself, jumped to the floor, brushed a bra and panties off the room’s only chair, and curled up like a kitten.

“Not much to tell. Didn’t know her that well. Kinda’ kept to herself. Didn’t party with us mortals. Studying all the time. You know the type.”

“What type?”

“Orientals. They’re all like that. Get all the best grades.”

“She was Hawaiian.”

“Just like I said.”

“I thought that was what you’re here for, studying.”

She smiled at me, and laughed.

“You think you know me. You think I don’t study. No way I’d survive in this place if I didn’t study. Not with all those Asian kids. But I can party, too. Not her.”

“Did she have any boyfriends?”

“That’s a laugh. If you don’t party how are you going to meet any beef?”

“So there was no one.”

“Not really.”

“Then why did she get dressed up in a leather suit when she went out to study?”

“That’s a hoot. There was this guy.”

“I thought you said there was no boyfriends.”

“Not a boyfriend. Weird. She never even spoke to him. But she said she knew he liked her. Watched her while she studied. So she dressed up for him. A cop or something.”

Then she stared at me and laughed out loud. She pointed her finger at me shaking all over. The blanket slipped down exposing round breasts with dark nipples. I couldn’t help but stare. That made her laugh all the louder. She made an effort to cover herself with the blanket and the laughter subsided.

“It was you. Yes, you’re just like she described. Tall, thin like her. She could only go out with tall ones. Blond. Handsome, if you like the skinny types. You kill her?”

“I watched her while she was shot.”

“So you know who did it? Why you bugging me?”

“I didn’t see the killer.”

“Sad really. You know, she wasn’t that bad. Just square. From the country so what can you expect? You liked her, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, why didn’t you hit on her?”

“I…”

“A dork just like her. You two would have made a perfect pair.”

I had come to get answers and ended up being grilled myself. I sensed there were no answers here. Certainly her roommates didn’t kill her because she was a dork.

“Where are your other roommates?”

“Who knows? I haven’t seen Susan all semester. Shacking up with a frat guy. And Denise has a class. But they don’t know her any better than me. Actually I guess I was her only friend. Someone had to look out for her. Even took her to a party once. A basketball jock was all over her. Lucky lady, but she didn’t see it that way. She ran out of there.” She paused, her brown eyes taking me in. “I guess she had one other friend. You.”

“Me?”

“You were important to her, for some reason. Learn your lesson. Never hesitate. Life’s short.”

She winked at me. Bad timing. Cindy in death gripped me more than in life.

“Thanks for your help.”

“Don’t mention it. You know all that studying didn’t help her. She’s just as dead as some dumb dude hustlin’ at some project. Go figure.”

* * *

Jose spotted me as I crossed Brancroft and headed into La Strada. It was early afternoon and the place was packed. He must have just come on shift. He turned away and headed into the kitchen area. Trying to avoid me. Not a good sign. But I had some questions for him. He was the only other person there when Cindy was murdered. He must have seen something. I suspected that the Berkeley cops had worked him over. But I knew him and they didn’t. He was the kind of guy that watched the street. Knew everyone on it. Missed nothing. He liked to brag to me about his contacts, his scores with the ladies. Now, however, he didn’t seem to want to talk at all. Well, he was going to.

“Jose,” I yelled into the kitchen, “need to talk to you.”

“Busy, man, swamped.”

I swung around the counter and marched into the kitchen before he could get away.

“This won’t wait. Now tell me what happened last night.”

“I told the Berkeley cops all I know. I saw nothing.”

He hovered by a large steel sink piled high with small plates, coffee cups, and tall glasses. He looked down at his feet. The place was dirty. Not like Jose. He definitely had something on his mind.

“I know you, Jose. You saw something. You see everything.”

“Get off my back. Some friend.”

“You talked to Cindy. You know what she was like. How I felt about her. She didn’t deserve to die.”

“I don’t think she was supposed it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin,’ man, nothin.’”

I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up. He was a short guy. Full of bluster, no muscle. He started shaking.

“Whatcha doin’?”

I lowered him down again. He shrank from me. But there was no place to go. His back was up against the sink.

“The Berkeley cops were just cops. You tell them what you like. But with me this is personal. You saw her. You know she’d never hurt a soul. I want to know who did this. On purpose or not. And I know you know. So tell me because I’ll goddamn beat it out of you.”

I didn’t believe what I was saying but I meant every word. Cindy had gotten to me. Changed me in her death. Cindy would be avenged.

“Okay, simmer down. Maybe I did see something. Nothin’ I could testify to in court. Just got a glimpse.”

“Don’t worry about courts. I’m your court, your judge, your jury. If necessary I’ll be your executioner.”

“I heard this click, click. Skateboard. It was Little D. Knew him from the old neighborhood. One of the Acorn Boys in O-Town. A petty dealer. Out of his turf. Then this Beemer came down the street. Must have spotted Little D cus it slowed down. I caught a glimpse of the driver. Squeeze. Know that ugly face anywhere. Squeeze’s 88. 88 and Acorn been havin’ a turf war for years now. But they’s both off turf. I thinks anything might happen. Then the shot. Cindy collapses. Accident.”

“You tell any of this to the Berkeley cops?”

“No way. I don’t want Squeeze and his gang on my ass. I gotta live.”

“Where can I find this Squeeze fellow?”

“Use your head, for Christ sake. Try 88^th Avenue in Oakland.”

“And?”

“MacArthur.”

* * *

I spotted the BMW a block away. Not a neighborhood for spiffy cars. I walked down a street past a liquor store, windows covered over with plywood. An Arab face peered warily out at me. Next came the Full Gospel Tabernacle, led by the Reverend Willie White. Then two boarded up vacant stores, a hair braiding and nail establishment, three cottages guarded by chain-link fences with bars covering the windows. A snarling pit bull ran up to greet me.

A young boy, perhaps twelve, spotted me and walked over to the Mercedes. Squeeze would know I was coming. Fine with me. I strolled right up to the driver’s side of the car and peered in. I had my hand in my pocket clutching my 9mm Ruger. Squeeze was a massive fellow, more like a mound of flesh than a human being. Huge arm with a tattooed skull and crossbones stuck out the window. He stared at me, cool, not a flicker in his eyes. I was in his turf. He was not the least worried about a skinny white boy. He looked me over.

“You some rent-a-cop or sumptin?”

“University police.”

He laughed.

“Take a wrong turn on your tricycle?”

“I’m here because you murdered a girl named Cindy last night.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

I caught just a touch of worry in his massive face.

“I know what came down.”

“So tell me.”

“You saw Little D on a skateboard, took aim at him and killed a woman instead.”

He laughed in my face.

“So that what you figure? You figure wrong. I never make mistakes.”

I sensed motion inside the car. Was he getting ready to pull a gun on me? I tightened my grip on my pistol. If I died I died, but I’d take him down with me.

“You mean you meant to shoot Cindy?”

“That bitch dissed Tamal.”

“Who’s Tamal?”

“A blood, man, a bro. From 88. Plays hoop for Cal these days. But he’s one of ours. Told me about the bitch. Pushed him away at a party. Screamed at him in front of his teammates. Said he was maulin’ her. I tol’ him I’d take care of her. And I did.”

He pulled his arm in. At any moment I expected a gun to pop out and roar. I’d be dead. But I didn’t act in self defense. I would have shot him anyway. It was a matter of justice.

I pulled out my gun and fired. And fired. And fired. Until all six chambers were empty. He slumped in his seat, massive head fell on the car’s steering wheel. His horn blared out the news to the neighborhood. One less killer.

* * *

I walked past La Strada, close to my normal time off work. The fluorescents seemed unusually bright as if their task was to sterilize the place after Cindy’s death. I didn’t enter. I was not looking for a clean, well-lighted place. Shadows would suit me just fine. But not alone. I headed for Cindy’s old dorm. There was a young woman with an attitude, and a lovely figure, that I wanted to visit.