Burning Heat

by David Burnsworth

  Warrez looked at her watch. “Mr. Pelton and I will see you at your church then. Thank you.”

  None of us gathered in my office said a word. Eventually I looked at Paige and she said, “Why would someone send this to you?”

  I shrugged.

  “Could be many reasons,” Crawford said. “Intimidation. Whoever it is might be taunting you.”

  Warrez said, “If that is Willa Mae’s necklace and her clothes, whoever sent it knows you’ve been looking into her murder.”

  “Everyone in the projects knows that,” I said. “Brother Thomas announced it in his service.”

  Detective Warrez left her partner behind together with their cruiser and the Cove’s attractive group and rode with me and Shelby to the Church of Redemption.

  Whoever sent the package was one sick individual. It didn’t make any sense. Why send it to me? Why not have just burned it up with the body?

  Whatever the reason, at least Warrez couldn’t say I wasn’t playing fair. If I’d thrown caution to the wind and opened the box myself, the contents would have been next to useless in court. Or they could be used to try and nail me for the murder. At least this way, the evidence followed a more incontrovertible chain of custody. And I’d sidestepped the proverbial landmine.

  Inside the Church of Redemption, Warrez and I sat with Brother Thomas in his office. The necklace and pendant rested in a separate plastic evidence bag.

  Warrez said, “I’m sorry to have to ask, Brother, but are you sure that’s her necklace?”

  Brother Thomas nodded when Detective Warrez handed it to him. “Yes. There ain’t none others like it. I bought it in the Market about five years ago. There was a local woman. Made it herself. She still live here in town. She can tell you about it.”

  Warrez touched his massive shoulder.

  Brother Thomas wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, seeming to gather an inner strength. It looked to me like he’d faced this kind of grief before and knew he had to pull himself together and keep going.

  On the drive back, Warrez said, “So why are you still involved in this, anyway?”

  “Brother Thomas asked me to. And Willa Mae earned it when she took the bullet for me and Aphisha.” I passed the entrance ramp to the bridge that would take us back to the island, continuing instead down East Bay Street.

  Warrez asked, “Are we taking a detour?”

  Turning onto Market Street, I found a parking spot on a side street. “I had the sudden urge for a double scoop of Pralines and Cream. How about you?”

  Shelby barked his approval. I opened my door and let him out. He waited dutifully while I snapped on his leash. Warrez still sat in the truck. Through the open rear door, I asked, “Well, are you coming?”

  “I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” she said and opened her door.

  “On the contrary,” I said. “We have all kinds of choices. It’s the one thing we’ve got free and clear. I learned that from Brother Thomas.”

  Warrez offered her hand and Shelby gave it a friendly lick.

  “Your dog is one well-trained chick magnet,” she said.

  “He told me so when I found him in the shelter,” I said.

  We walked to the ice cream parlor and I handed Warrez the money to get us our cones so I could stay outside with Shelby. Even in the middle of the week the shops around the Old City Market were busy. People talked and laughed as they passed us, and a few, mostly women and children, stopped to pet Shelby.

  Warrez came out of the shop, handed me my cone, and set a small cup of what looked like vanilla on the ground for Shelby. He licked her face before diving into the treat. She had gotten herself a single scoop of chocolate, I had my Pralines and Cream, and we stood there, quiet, and enjoyed the evening.

  At least, we tried to enjoy the evening. We both knew that a killer had sent me the trophies of his victim, a twenty-two-year-old who had been trying to get herself straight so she could be a responsible mother to one child, a good sister to another. Her killer’s gift to me was a mocking gesture and only stirred the coals burning inside of me. And my friend was back in his church picking up the pieces of Willa Mae’s life.

  After finishing our ice cream, we sat on the tailgate of my pickup. Detective Warrez phoned her partner and told him not to wait for her. Shelby slept behind us in the truck bed.

  When she hung up, Warrez turned to me and said, “He’s still at your bar.”

  “Of course he is,” I said. “I just hope he likes kids.”

  Warrez laughed. “I heard about your manager’s propensity for hiring single mothers.”

  I caught the sight of a late model Crown Victoria creeping past us for the second time. Dark tinted windows hid the occupants. Purple metal-flake paint shimmered in the street lights like glitter. And like one of the cars that chased me and Mutt. The twenty-four-inch rims it rolled on were so ten years ago, but that didn’t bother the current crop of gangster wanna-bes. Fat exhaust pipes angled out from under each side of the back bumper.

  On this second lap past us the passenger window of the car rolled down and something poked out. I shoved Warrez down onto the bed of the truck to shield her with my body, and grabbed Shelby’s collar to hold him down.

  A staccato round of bullets fired from a submachine gun. It busted the back window of my truck. Shelby went nuts barking. I heard the Crown Vic’s engine rev and speed away.

  Immediately Detective Warrez pushed me off her, jumped down from the truck, and pulled her Glock in one fluid motion. She stood in the middle of the street, squinting, apparently trying to get a plate number. I had a hunch that the light bulbs illuminating the license would not be functioning, if the car even had a plate.

  Luckily, because it was a side street there were no tourists. Shelby was shaking and whining as I stroked his fur to calm him down. For his sake I kept my reaction in check, thinking it was time to pay the gangbangers a visit of my own.

  The police were nice enough to impound my truck. It was evidence, though I had a feeling that the damage caused by the bullets was about to multiply as the crime scene technicians attempted to dig out each one. I would feel every dollar of my insurance deductible on this one. My history of claims for damaged vehicles already had me on the probationary list.

  The Mayor arrived not too long after. After a long discussion with Warrez and her commanding officer, they decided damage control was in order. For the good of the city. Surprisingly, it included the truth, which was that this was a specific gang-related issue and not some kind of terrorist attack. The fact that no innocent tourist had been involved helped.

  Of course, Darcy showed up with her camera crew and did a segment.

  While Detective Warrez and I watched Darcy from the sidelines, Warrez said, “You don’t seem fazed by almost getting shot just off Market Street.”

  “I’m getting kinda used to it,” I said.

  Her partner, Detective Crawford, arrived and gave us lifts home.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The next morning, Darcy picked me up at my house. Using every resource at her disposal, she’d tracked the girl from Willa Mae’s funeral, Camilla, to a rehabilitation center in West Ashley. How Willa Mae’s friend got there and who was providing financial assistance were unknowns that even Darcy’s deep pockets hadn’t unearthed yet.

  A woman with short hair, a middle-age paunch, and inquisitive brown eyes asked us to sit in a waiting area while she requested permission for us to speak with Camilla.

  After ten minutes, someone else, this one a tall woman wearing a gray business suit, white blouse, and low-heeled shoes, greeted us. She introduced herself as Dr. Townsend.

  Darcy and I explained why we wanted to speak with Camilla.

  “In situations like this,” Dr. Townsend said, “it is up to my discretion as to whether or not it is appropriate for our guests to have contact with outside influences.”

  “Neither of us knows Camilla,” I said. “She attended the funeral of the woman whose murder we a
re looking into.”

  “Shouldn’t the police be leading that investigation?” Dr. Townsend asked.

  “Yes, they should,” said Darcy. “Unfortunately, the victim was from the poor side of town and not exactly a model citizen.”

  “I see,” the doctor said. “And how do you think Camilla can help you?”

  “We’d like to discuss her relationship with the victim,” I said. “If she knew Willa Mae well, Camilla might be able to give us better insight.”

  We played it straight with the good doctor, something I wouldn’t necessarily do. But in this case, we figured the truth would earn us more points. And it did, as Dr. Townsend agreed to our request.

  Darcy and I waited for Camilla underneath a pavilion at a picnic table on the grounds. Ten minutes passed and then we saw her. Black hair to her shoulders, the same black-rimmed sunglasses, and ivory skin. Camilla was blessed with a very full figure—sort of a white Mariah Carey. She sat at the table in front of us, removed a Camel Light from a pack of cigarettes, and lit it with a purple Bic lighter. “You’re with Channel Nine News, aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Darcy said, “But the camera crew isn’t here.”

  “I can see that,” Camilla said. She looked at me closely. “I know you, too.”

  I raised my eyebrows and felt my blood tickle my ears and cheeks.

  In all of my inconsolable escapades after I returned from war, I never woke up with a woman like Camilla. At least, not one that asked me for any money afterward.

  “Not like that,” she said. “I mean, I know you from somewhere.”

  “He’s been on TV almost as much as I have,” Darcy said. “I report the news, but Brack has a habit of making it.”

  Camilla smiled. She had a really nice smile. It seemed genuine.

  “I’ve been there.” She took a drag from her cigarette.

  I really wanted to find out what news she’d made, but figured Darcy knew or could find out.

  “Thanks for agreeing to meet with us,” Darcy said.

  “We have a lot of group therapy here,” Camilla said. “It’s a nice break not to have to listen to another train wreck. I’ve heard enough on ways to self-destruct to last me quite awhile, thank you very much.”

  I said, “We would like to know what you can tell us about Willa Mae.”

  “What makes you think I know someone by that name?”

  “We saw Aphisha hug you at her sister’s funeral,” Darcy said. “And you seemed to have an effect on Boy Wonder, here.”

  Camilla gave me another big smile and turned back to Darcy. “Okay, so how’d you find me?”

  “Darcy has sources all over this town,” I said.

  Camilla took a deep drag on her cigarette. She let the smoke turn around in her lungs, exhaled, and seemed to go deep within herself. After a few seconds, she took off her sunglasses and looked at me. Brown eyes showed resolve. “Me and Willa Mae were special. Caroline used us for her higher-paying clients. The men liked Willa Mae because she looked like she came right from the islands. Tie some towels around that girl and they thought they were with an Amazon princess or something. I’m not sure why they liked me so much.”

  “I can think of a few reasons,” Darcy said. “I’m sure Brack can, too.”

  Camilla gave me that grin again and I felt my ears heat up.

  “Anyway,” she said, taking a last puff before she stubbed the butt out on the concrete floor of the pavilion, “there was really about six of us. Caroline sent us all together a lot. Parties. Conventions. Elections. A lot of the time it was the same group of men. Very exclusive. I’m not sure how much she got but we were making a lot of money. Enough to support a very expensive coke habit, anyway.”

  “Who’s Caroline?” I asked.

  “My employer.”

  Darcy said, “You think she’s connected to Willa Mae’s death?”

  Camilla frowned. “I don’t know. When Willa dropped out, I was shoving a gram a day up my nose. My only thought was for the next party. We were all just simple, stupid girls. Willa Mae from the projects. Me from the trailer park. All that mattered was how we looked.”

  I asked, “How did you end up with Caroline?”

  Camilla’s dark eyes brightened. “You mean instead of walking the street with a crack pipe in my purse?”

  “Um—”

  Camilla touched my arm. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  “He deserved it,” Darcy said.

  “No,” Camilla said, “he didn’t. I know the path I took is just another version of the same story. At least, I realize that now. I honestly can’t answer the question.”

  Darcy said, “Do you mind telling us how you got started?”

  “I’m nothing but a cliché,” Camilla said. “Bad home life. Stepfather started spending the night in my room instead of my mom’s. At first, she acted like nothing was going on, then blamed me for taking her man, which might have been true except I was thirteen. So, I ran. All the way from North Charleston. Met up with a group of other runaways. We stole to get money for nice clothes. The nice clothes got us into the nicer clubs. The nicer clubs got us rich boys. The rich boys gave us good drugs. The good drugs got us hooked. And that got me tricking. Rafe found me in the clubs and got me to join their ‘organization,’ as they called it. Suddenly, I had a great apartment and didn’t have to steal any more. And the rich boys became older rich men.”

  Darcy asked, “And Rafe is … ?”

  “Caroline’s underling. He does whatever she needs him to do. And I mean anything.”

  I said, “Tell us about Willa Mae.”

  Camilla lit a second cigarette. “Most girls are too easy. A few shots of vodka and they’re ready to give it up on the dance floor. Girls like Willa Mae and me, we knew what to look for. Money and attitude. The ones that liked paying for it. Liked thinking they owned us.

  “Willa was really smart, ya know? Like street smart. At least, up until the moment she fell in love and dropped out of sight.”

  Darcy said, “Fell in love?”

  Camilla blew out a stream of smoke. “Yeah, like she had the look.” She touched Darcy’s arm. “You know what I’m talking about … the look? Like everything all of a sudden is a bag of candy.”

  “So who was the lucky guy?” I asked, wondering if she knew about Willa Mae’s diary and that she’d been in it.

  “Not sure,” Camilla said. “She just wasn’t into the johns any more. Her regulars started complaining. Caroline tried to talk to her but it was a lost cause. Like telling the cat not to touch the catnip.”

  Darcy asked, “She continued to work?”

  Camilla held her cigarette between the two fingers of her left hand. “I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I don’t think it was too much longer after all this started that she left.”

  I asked, “How long ago was this?”

  “Maybe a month. I OD’d right after the funeral and here I am.” She waved her arm around.

  “Better than the alternative,” I said.

  Camilla’s eyes met mine. “You fought in Afghanistan, didn’t you? And now you own a bar or something on one of the islands.”

  “Yes.”

  The smile returned to Camilla’s face. “Aren’t you a little old to be going to war?”

  “I had a death wish,” I said. “Kind of like doing coke and tricking.”

  I expected her smile to leave, but it didn’t. Camilla just kept smoking her cigarette and I realized she’d already made the association between our self-destructive behaviors. She wanted to see if I had. Any time a beautiful woman was involved, I always seemed to take the bait. And be at least a few steps behind.

  “Wow,” Camilla said, “a judge and a gentleman.”

  “And that’s not the half of it,” I said.

  Camilla said, “No kidding.”

  “Can we get back on track, please?” Darcy had more than a hint of annoyance in her voice.

  “Absolutely,” I said.

  Darcy aske
d, “Why would someone kill Willa Mae?”

  Camilla shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  I said, “You got any idea who might have?”

  “There was this guy,” Camilla said. “About two years ago, we’re in this club doing our thing and this guy grabs Willa and tries to drag her out of the place. The bouncers and a few others beat him up. It was ugly. We didn’t make any money that night.”

  “He got a name?” I asked.

  Camilla reached over and touched my cheek. She retracted her hand and said, “I asked Willa, but she just blew it off. Said he was some guy from her old neighborhood. Terrance or something like that.”

  “Trevor?” I asked.

  “Could be. I’m just not sure.”

  After we ran out of questions, Darcy and I stood to leave. I handed Camilla a Pirate’s Cove business card. “My number’s on the back. Give me a call if you think of anything else that might be helpful.”

  She took the card and looked at it. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “Come by when you get out of here,” I said. “I’ll buy you a shrimp cocktail.”

  We walked away.

  In the parking lot by the car, Darcy said, “I’ll buy you a shrimp cocktail? That was a pretty lame line, Romeo.”

  “You should be more concerned about what she didn’t tell us.”

  Darcy paused at the driver’s side door. “Like what?”

  “Like the names of the johns.”

  After she dropped me off at my house, Shelby and I went for a run.

  Later that afternoon, sitting on the upper deck of my inherited dive of a bar overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, my cell phone vibrated in my shorts. I grabbed it and looked at the caller I.D. before answering.

  “Hey, Darcy,” I said.

  “They got to Camilla,” she said.

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “She’s gone. Left the clinic not too long after our visit,” she said.

  “She’s a big girl,” I said. “If she wanted to leave, I guess that was her right. What makes you think someone got to her?”