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While I looked for a knife and the cutting board, we chatted about our day. Daniel talked about several calls he had, especially one that had involved a child. "I told the little girl how proud I was that she called 911," he said. "Her mother was unresponsive and she knew something was wrong."
"How old is the little girl?"
"She told me she was four. Her mother had taught her how to dial the number in case of emergency. The mother is diabetic and had gone into a diabetic coma. One of the local news crews followed us to the house and shot some video as we brought the woman out."
"Wow!" I said. "It was a good thing the little girl knew what to do."
"Oh, yeah. She was a smart kid," Daniel agreed. He decided the oil in the skillet was hot enough and began dumping in the chicken and peppers and onions, along with dashes of the assembled seasonings.
I smiled as I watched him. Daniel loved his job as an EMT and was well respected by his fellow firefighters, as well as among law enforcement. He didn't mind being called out at odd hours, either, though I was very glad that tonight was his night off. Those were the times when we planned dinners together.
"Let’s catch the news and see if the little girl made it on tonight," I suggested. I wanted to see if Daniel was on the video, too. He deserved some recognition for the work he did. On the other hand, I knew that he wasn't in this line of work for attention and if he'd seen cameras pointed at him, he would have dodged them.
We sat down to eat and watched the local news. The first story did concern the little girl and her bravery. "Oh, look! There you are!" I watched as he helped lift the gurney into the ambulance, very excited to see him on TV even if he did have his back to the cameras. "I'm so proud of you!"
"Aw, just a normal day's work," he said, but he did give me a quick smile before turning back to his plate of stir fry. "How about some music? I guess we've seen the best part of tonight's news."
Just as I started to answer I heard the reporter mention something about the homeless. "Wait – I want to hear this," I said as I slowly set down my plate as I listened to the field reporter on the screen.
"The homeless man was known in the community only as 'John.' He was found dead from a suspected drug overdose. That is all they are releasing at this time."
I stared at the screen. The reporter wiped her hair away form her face. "This emphasizes what Councilman Carpenter has been saying for months now: that drug use and the homeless are issues that must be addressed." The switched to a clip of a man campaigning at a podium with a few important looking people standing beside him.
Stunned by the news, I could only sit motionless and try to think. "I can’t believe John is dead," I finally said. "How is that possible? I just saw him this morning!"
"Is that the homeless man that you give coffee to? Are you sure it's the same John?" asked Daniel.
I nodded slowly, still trying to make sense of what the reporter had said. "What other Homeless John is known in the community. He's the only one that I know. He and I talked as usual today, around mid-morning. He told me Councilman Carpenter was making a big deal about the homeless littering the streets. Those were the councilman’s words. I heard him call them 'rats' one day at Roasted Love."
I shook my head, and stared up at Daniel. "I can’t believe that poor John is dead."
Daniel leaned back and sighed, though his eyes held sympathy. "Laila, it can be hard to understand just how tough it really is to break an addiction. This guy was probably using on a regular basis just to get through his day. Being homeless is a tough way to go through life."
My jaw tightened. "He didn’t do drugs," I said.
Daniel shrugged. "I’m just saying that it can be hard to tell whether someone is an addict or not. Depending on where you catch them in their high, they can appear as lucid as you or me."
I just sat there in silence. Daniel lowered the volume on the TV and then, almost as an afterthought, switched it off. The only other sounds in the room were Thor and Benji munching dog food in the corner of the kitchen.
Finally I looked over at Daniel. "I just feel sure that John was not an addict. He told me only this morning that he never used at all – not after he saw what happened to his brother."
"What happened to his brother?"
"Went to prison for possession of cocaine," I said quietly. "And selling to an undercover cop."
Daniel just nodded silently, and turned back to his plate again.
Slowly I reached for my own plate, but only pushed the food around with my fork. "Between his brother being in prison for drugs and everything he's seen on the streets, John never touched drugs of any kind. I'm just sure he never did. And I know you see all kinds of stuff while you're at work, but I can tell you one thing: This time, you're wrong about John."
Daniel gave me a tolerant smile, though the look in his eyes told me he thought I was a little naïve. "Look, I know you felt sorry for the old guy. But it doesn't matter, anyway. It'll all come out when the toxicology reports come in."
"We have plenty of customers who saw John almost every day in the coffeehouse." I wasn't giving up. "They'll tell you the same thing about him – that he was not on drugs. He told great stories every day. He made perfect sense. He wasn't high, or out of it."
"Okay, Laila, but let me ask you a question: Why would this guy John overdose on heroin if he wasn’t an addict?"
"That’s just it," I insisted. "I don't think he overdosed on anything – at least, not by choice. Someone did this to him." I looked up at Daniel and said it again. "Someone did this to him."
"So – are you calling this a murder?"
