The Fury - Jason Pinter [45]
"And I remember there were days when my mother
forget to pay her electric bills, and rather than own up,
she'd just go with Helen up to that cabin. Don't get me
wrong, Henry, in some way I loved my mother. But I
saw her death coming from miles away. It was only a
matter of time before her life ended, and ended badly.
But one thing I do know, that lovely Ms. Helen Gaines?
She was the biggest enabler my mother ever had."
The words struck me like a punch. Helen Gaines? I
knew Stephen had a habit, but Helen?
"Don't look so surprised," Sheryl said. "Based on
where they lived during that time, Alphabet City in the
'80s? Would've been a surprise if they didn't end up
addicts. I mean, I remember this WASPY-looking
young punk always coming by the house to drop off
whatever my mom had ordered. Remember his name
too, Vinnie."
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"Vinnie?" I said, the surprise in my voice evident.
Rose Keller had said that whenever she needed a new
supply she would call some delivery system where
they'd send over a guy named Vinnie. I had no idea how
many Vinnies there were, but it was clear this system
had been in place over a decade and was likely still in
business today. This wasn't just some petty drug deal,
but something much larger.
"Take that British singer, Amy Winehouse," Sheryl
said, "then multiply it by ten and that's how bad my
mother was. So my guess is this. If my mother was
killed while hiding out with Helen Gaines, I'd bet my
husband's Infiniti it's got something to do with drugs.
And Stephen Gaines must have crossed some damn un
pleasant people."
17
Rose Keller was home. This didn't quite surprise me--
most graphic designers worked freelance. So I figured
she wasn't the kind of person who woke up to an alarm
clock at six forty-five, got dressed and grabbed a tall
latte on the way to the office. When I called at eight in
the morning, it was no great shock that Rose Keller
sounded like a bear awoken from hibernation.
Actually, she kind of reminded me of what Amanda
sounded like before her first cup of coffee.
One thing I learned early on when talking to sources:
get them early, or get them late. During the day, everyone
was at work. There was always an excuse not to talk. I
hate to say this, but often a source would agree to talk
to you if only to prevent you from ever interrupting their
private time again. Probably the only time I would
compare my profession to that of the noble telemar
keter.
"I need a favor," I said to Rose. I put the statement
bluntly, accentuating the word need. Not want. Need.
And since she was close to Stephen, and aware that I
was tracking down his killer, she might be more apt to
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accept the rather large, not to mention illegal, favor I
was about to ask of her.
"What can I do?" she replied. Good start.
I filled her in on the details of Beth-Ann Downing's
murder, and the disappearance of Helen Gaines. I told
her about my conversation with Sheryl Harrison, and the
confession that her mother had maintained a ruthless
addiction her whole life. The silence on the other end told
me that Rose was well aware of why I was coming to her.
When I finished, I asked if I could fill her in in
person. She agreed, and I was on the next subway down
town to meet her.
Before turning on to Rose's block, I stopped at an
ATM and withdrew two hundred dollars. I had no idea
how much I'd actually need, but I figured better to have
more money and not need it than need more money and
not have it.
When I got to her building, I buzzed up and she rang
me through. She opened the door wearing a tank top and
pajama bottoms. Her eyes were weary, deep bags
settling under them like squished blueberries.
"Morning," I said.
"Is it morning already?" she asked.
I noticed the shades were all drawn, and there were
no clocks in sight. Half a dozen wrapped candy bars
were strewn around, as well as what looked like a
month's supply of Red Bull. It looked like the apartment
was stocked and prepared for a bout of hibernation.
"It's