Unknown Victim by Kay Hadashi (classic books for 11 year olds .TXT) 📕

Driving around a few of the surface streets, she discovered why she hadn’t noticed the park on earlier trips. It was nearly hidden from view by the freeway on one side, and was barely discernible from the botanical gardens. There was little parking, only a few spots along one side. No other cars were there when she parked.

Unlike back home in Cleveland, there were no tents pitched in the park. Instead, cardboard boxes were being used as structures, and tarps were spread over picnic tables and shopping carts. While Cleveland’s homeless camps looked like shabby campgrounds, Kapalama Park was even more ramshackle and disorganized.

Only a couple of men were up, mostly sitting on benches next to their little homes, smoking cigarettes for breakfast. Gina wondered how someone could afford cigarettes but not a proper tent in which to live.

She walked through the park, checking out what there was to it. The pictures of it she’d seen online projected a different image, that of a neighborhood park that could be enjoyed by all. What she found was playground equipment being used as props for tarps, and a subtle sense of desperation.

But the grass had been mowed recently, which was why she made the trip. Picking up a few blades, they were still soft and mostly green. She put some in a ziplock bag she’d brought for closer examination later.

Gina didn’t notice him until the man had walked right up to her. He was wearing an old team shirt of some sort, with a number on the front, and Islanders stenciled above it.

“Can’t smoke that stuff,” he said.

“I suppose not.” She looked around to see if anyone else was approaching. She noticed the restroom not far away, maybe where the man was headed.

“You could, but it wouldn’t accomplish much.”

She wiped her hands together to rid them of dirt and grass. “Just taking a look around.”

“You a cop?” the man asked.

“What makes you think that?”

“You look like a cop.”

“I’m not sure if I should feel insulted or flattered.”

He stuck his hands in the pockets of his baggy shorts for a second, and she took half a step backward. He must’ve noticed her subtle protective stance, because he took his hands out again. “Haven’t had any cops around here in a couple of days. It’s about time one of you showed up.”

“If I were a police officer, why would I be looking at grass clippings?”

He gave it some thought. “I don’t know. If you’re not a cop, why are you here so early in the morning? Most of us are still sleeping. No reason to roust us out so early.”

“Seems like I’d have a partner with me if I were going to roust people around, wouldn’t I?”

“You still look like a cop,” he said, walking toward the restroom.

One thing was for sure, Gina felt like a cop right then. She checked out the women’s restroom and found nothing terribly remarkable except that it was overdue for some scouring powder.

“Or at least hosed down,” she muttered, going back out into the bright sunshine. “I wonder if anyone comes by on holidays?”

She saw the man in the Islanders shirt leave the restroom and went in his direction. Maybe he could be useful to her.

“Hey, you seem like you know what’s going on around here.”

“More than you do.”

“Thanks. That I’ll take as a compliment,” she said, closing the distance between them. “I’ll tell you a secret about something if you answer a couple of questions.”

“About what?” he asked.

“First, how often do they mow here?”

“The grass? What kind of stupid question is that?”

“I thought you were going to cooperate?”

“Once a week, except in the summer,” he said.

That answered her question for how long he’d been living there. “What day of the week do they mow?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he said.

“You seem to have a lot of answers. What day do they mow?”

“Fridays. Except the last couple of weeks. Friday been holidays, right? The city don’t mow on holidays.” He sniffed derisively. “City don’t do nothing on holidays.”

“Maybe because the workers want days off. When was the last time they mowed?”

“Sunday.”

“They mowed on a Sunday?” she asked.

“Law against mowing the lawn on a Sunday?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Might be a union rule or two, though.” Since the guy was convinced she was a cop, she figured she could push that impression in the direction of a little white lie. She got out her phone and brought up the picture of the dead man. “This guy look familiar to you?”

When he looked, he inadvertently touched the screen, which sent it to the next picture. That was of the bloody knife that had been found in the dead man’s pocket. Gina swiped her finger across the screen to bring back the picture of his face.

“Look hard. Does he live here at the park?” she asked.

“He your old man?”

“No. Have you seen him here?”

“He looks like a lot of people who live here.”

“He looks like them or they look like him?” she asked, purposefully trying to confuse him. With that, she was trying to restart his memory. “Maybe he wears a white T-shirt and dark trousers, with old leather shoes.”

“Maybe he hangs around sometimes.”

“He doesn’t live here?”

He shook his head. “Just hangs around.”

“Ever talk to him?”

“Everybody talks to somebody sometimes.”

“Did he tell you his name?”

“We don’t know names here. Too many coming and going. All the time, coming and going.”

“Thanks.” Gina wanted to reward the guy, but her purse was back in the Datsun. She had an old pack of cigarettes hidden at the bottom of it, both as a challenge as an ex-smoker, and to hand out a couple to cooperative witnesses. They weren’t doing her any good right then, though.

“You said something about telling me a secret?”

“Yeah. I’m not a cop. But don’t tell anyone else that.”

She saw another man walking across the park in the direction of the restroom. Even though the morning was already warm, he had on a windbreaker.

“Yellow with green stripes on the