Colleen popped in, curled into the far corner of the sofa closest to me. “Me, of course.”
“Right,” I said. “That would work.”
“It appears we’ll always have a teenager, at any rate.” Nate drained his glass.
“Where have you been?” I asked. “I was surprised you didn’t show up at Georgia Causby’s house.”
“Yeah, I wanted to come,” said Colleen. “But I needed to stick with Darius.”
“You’ve been with him since he left with Sonny and Jenkins?” I asked.
“Every second,” she said. “I had to cover my eyes a few times, like when he changed into his jumpsuit. Where did you think I was?”
“Most of the time I have no idea where you are,” I said.
“I’m here when you need me.” Her voice held a touch of fake hurt.
“Lookit,” I said. “You’ve had a lot of quality time with him. Plenty of opportunity to poke around in his head. Did he kill Trina Lynn or not?”
“Why would I be protecting him if he killed someone?” she asked.
“Well I just found out you were protecting him,” I said. “And that’s not an answer.”
“I sent you over there to begin with.” Her voice held a healthy dose of teenage outrage.
I focused on my breathing, keeping my blood pressure down. “That was mostly Moon Unit. Could I just please, for once, have a yes or a no?”
“No.” She raise her chin, looked away.
“No, I can’t have a straight answer, or no, he didn’t do it?” I asked.
She sighed dramatically. “You take all the fun out of this. No, he did not kill Trina Lynn. And I’m shocked you think I’d be involved if he had.”
“Colleen.” I gave her a level look. “My initial assumption was that he must be innocent because you were involved. But I am a fan of clarity and simply wanted confirmation. Now. You’re sticking awfully close to him. Closer than you typically stick to me even. Do you think he’s in danger?”
“No,” said Colleen. “I know for a fact he is.”
“From who?” I asked.
“I sense multiple threats.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Is Darius in danger while he’s in custody or once he’s released?”
“Both,” she said.
“Where is he right now?” asked Nate.
“He’s with Fraser, so he’s safe for the moment.”
I looked at my watch. “It’s nearly 9:00. Why is he just now getting to speak with Fraser?”
Colleen did her best to look innocent. “Somehow, the paperwork got mixed up. He was in the wrong holding cell.”
“I take it this was your handiwork. Why?” Nate asked.
“Some of Troy Causby’s old buddies are in jail. They know Darius has been arrested for Trina Lynn’s murder. They’ve put the word out. I needed to buy some time, slow things down ’til after supper.”
“This has to do with an alternate scenario?” I asked. One of Colleen’s gifts was the ability to see alternate outcomes of situations depending on actions taken or not taken.
“Yeah,” said Colleen. “But this doesn’t keep him safe for long. Make sure Fraser asks for protective custody—solitary confinement—whatever they call it these days. I’m going to stay with him until he’s released. But it’s better if I can keep a low profile.”
“I’m glad you’re keeping him safe—thank you,” I said. “But I can’t help but wonder why you’re doing that. Typically, you only protect people who have a direct impact on Stella Maris.”
“I guess you answered your own question,” said Colleen. “Gotta fly.”
SIX
Mercedes Westbrook, Fraser’s administrative assistant, showed us into his stately office the next morning at nine sharp. Fraser Alston Rutledge III came from Old Charleston money, his lineage distinguished. But he’d earned his reputation as one of Charleston’s best criminal defense attorneys. At forty, he was fit, a nice-looking man, and though he was well-groomed, his style choices were a mix of traditional and outlandish. He wore his brown hair combed back on the sides and gelled on top so that it stood on end. Today’s seersucker suit was oyster grey with a red striped bowtie and red suspenders. He was a character, and he looked the part. Fraser looked up from a file on his heirloom quality mahogany desk. “Mr. Andrews. Good work on Lucas.”
Nate stopped beside one of the visitors’ chairs in front of Fraser’s desk, but he hesitated before sitting. “All I did was tie up a few loose ends. You can thank my wife for the solid case you’ll be taking to court.” His voice was easy, calm. But he met Fraser’s gaze and held it.
Fraser looked from Nate to me. “Very well then. Thank you, Miz Talbot.” He dropped his customary emphasis on “Miz.”
Nate and I took our seats.
“Were you able to get Darius into protective custody?” I asked.
“He is in the protective custody wing at Charleston County Jail, yes. But let us not delude ourselves that his safety is guaranteed there. It is not unheard of for individuals in protective custody to attack other inmates. I have requested a bond hearing, and I am hopeful that will be held on Friday. With a modicum of luck, Mr. Baker will be home later that day.” Fraser Alston Rutledge III liked the sound of his own voice so much that he rarely used contractions. He preferred to use as many words as possible.
“Do you have any information regarding what evidence the police might have against Darius?” Nate asked.
“I am delighted you asked, Mr. Andrews.” Fraser raised his right hand and lowered his palm to the desk for emphasis. “As it turns out, our fair solicitor was most pleased to tell me that she has an eyewitness who saw Mr. Baker discard the murder weapon.” He nearly shouted the word “eyewitness,” and he got louder from there. The combination of his gold, brown-flecked eyes, his perfectly white teeth, and his spiked hair brought to mind a lion roaring.
“What?” Could he possibly be guilty? Could Colleen be wrong? Had that ever happened? My thoughts scrambled back. “That can’t be right.”
“I sincerely hope you are correct, Miz Talbot,” said Fraser. “I detest losing. I took this case at your request. And while I did not specifically ask if our client was innocent, nor is that a requirement of my representation, I do like to know what I am getting into. I surmised he was unjustly charged from your characterization of the matter.”
“I believe that to be the case.” I originally thought that because I figured Sonny must think he was innocent. Damnation. I needed to talk to Sonny. This situation with his new partner was not working for me in the slightest.
“Let’s back up, shall we?” Nate said. “Do we know who this witness is?”
“We do not,” said Fraser. “We do know it is a tourist who, and this is the part I especially like, asked Mr. Baker for his autograph. Mr. Baker was kind enough to oblige.”
“Oh dear God,” I said.
“Okay, so it was definitely him the witness saw,” said Nate. “No chance it was mistaken identity. But what exactly did he or she see him do?”
“I have not been given these details, Mr. Andrews. That was all Miz Wilson was inclined to share with me at this juncture.” Scarlett Wilson was the Ninth Circuit Solicitor. “Though I deduce that since she specifically referred to the murder weapon—she didn’t say ‘a gun’—a weapon must have been recovered, and it must have been identified as the murder weapon.”
“What did Darius have to say about all this?” I asked.
“I spoke with the solicitor after I had spoken with Mr. Baker. I have not had the opportunity to inquire as to his version of this encounter with the tourist.”
“What did he tell you about his movements Sunday night?” I asked.
“He said he had dinner with Miz Causby at Hall’s Chophouse. The reservation was for 8:00. During the course of dinner, they had an argument. Miz
Causby then left for an appointment with a source at approximately ten minutes before 10:00, at which point Mr. Baker decided to take a stroll around our fair city. Alone. He has no alibi for the estimated time of the murder, shortly after 10 p.m. He was on the 11:30 ferry back to Stella Maris.”
“Who discovered the victim’s body?” asked Nate.
“That would be yet another tourist—wait,” he glanced at his notes. “Twin tourists. Margie Sue Frentress and her twin sister, Marylou Willis. They’re in town from Paradise, Texas. They’re staying at the inn at number two Meeting Street. They happened upon Miz Causby when they cut down Philadelphia Alley on their way back to the inn after dinner at The Peninsula Grill.”
“I’ll try to see them first thing,” I said.
“That would be a very good idea,” said Fraser. “I have no idea how long they plan to be in town. I only happened by the knowledge that they discovered the late Miz Causby by virtue of it being reported by Live Five News at five this morning.”
“We need to find out who our witness is in the worst way,” I said. “If he or she was just in town for Labor Day weekend, they could already have left town.”
“That would be correct,” said Fraser. “However, in this particular case, budget is not a concern. If you need to book llamas to Machu Picchu, Mr. Baker’s retainer will cover it.”
“Understood,” I said. “The solicitor must believe she can establish motive to a jury. The only reasonable motive I can think of—and I’m not saying he had a motive, just that they are ascribing one to him—is anger. Jealousy, three ex-wives later, isn’t plausible.”
Fraser nodded. “If, Miz Talbot, the prosecution knows that Mr. Baker just learned that he has a twenty-year-old son, they may well surmise that a woman hiding that kind of information would make a man angry enough to kill. It remains to be seen whether they are in possession of this particular fact or not. Some of my friends in the Charleston Police Department have suddenly lost their spirit of cooperation.”
He meant Sonny. Fraser’s partner, Eli Rutledge, and Sonny Ravenel were good friends. “We’re having the same issue,” I said.
Fraser said, “I think it’s safe to assume the command staff wants to avoid any appearance of preferential treatment due to Mr. Baker’s celebrity status. They are handling this case very carefully.”
“The only person I can think of who might have told the police about Darius’s son is Georgia Causby, Trina Lynn’s mother. I know they spoke to her. She didn’t say that she told them about the child. In fact, she practically scoffed at the idea that Darius killed Trina Lynn right up until she found out he’d been arrested. She wanted to keep that baby a secret, not tarnish Trina Lynn’s name. It’s hard to believe she would’ve told them.”
“But we have to assume they know, unless and until we find out otherwise,” said Fraser.
“Agreed,” I said. “Did Darius happen to mention how he came to learn that he has a twenty-year-old son? Did Trina tell him?”
“Mr. Baker indicated that he was contacted by the young man in question directly,” said Fraser.
“Did the adoption agency release that information?” Nate asked.
“No,” said Fraser. “Apparently he ran into trouble there. The laws in South Carolina are complex, evolving, and at times interpreted differently by various agencies. Additionally, as I understand it, his adoptive parents did not want him to pursue a connection with his birth parents. He traced his paternal line through one of those ancestry family tree applications and a DNA test.”
I squinted at him. “But Darius would also have to be in the database.”
“Mr. Baker is likewise a heritage hobbyist. He had his own DNA tested. There are several tools online that help you connect with relatives. The young man reached out to Mr. Baker, who was naturally skeptical, given his financial position. But these test results are impressive evidence.”
“Did Darius tell him who his mother was?” I asked.
“I did not ask him that. I will when next I see him,” said Fraser.
Colleen had warned us that Darius was in danger from several fronts. “We need to find out who Darius’s son is,” I said. “We don’t know anything about him. He could be angry that he was given up for adoption.”
Nate said, “You’re thinking he might have killed Trina Lynn?”
“I think we have to consider the possibility,” I said.
“We need to get moving,” said Nate.
Fraser stood. “Keep me apprised.”
SEVEN
Nate and I had brought both cars to Charleston that morning in case we had to split up. We street parked towards the end of Broad, near the Old Exchange and Provost Dungeon, me in front of Fraser’s office, and Nate across the street a half block away. At 9:45 in the morning, it was already too hot to stand on the sidewalk and talk. We climbed into my car, and I started the engine and got the air conditioning going. The first order of business was finding the witness who claimed to have seen Darius discard the murder weapon.
“The only people we can say for certain know who that so-called witness is are Sonny and his partner, the solicitor, and the witness him or herself,” I said.
“Right,” said Nate. “But I think Sonny has told us by his actions that he can’t talk to us. We don’t know what his reason is, but we know Sonny. It’s a good one.”
“Agreed. We shouldn’t badger him.”
“Do we know anyone in the solicitor’s office?” Nate asked.
“I don’t. We could maybe come up with a ruse to get close enough to the file to sneak a peek, if we have to. But that will be tricky and time consuming. I have an idea we can try first.” I smiled. “It’s nearly 10:00. Let’s head towards Kudu.”
Sonny’s habit was to have coffee and a pastry at Kudu Coffee and Craft Beer on Vanderhorst at 10:00 most mornings. Often, under normal circumstances, I met him there.
“I thought we just agreed to leave Sonny alone.”
“No,” I said. “We agreed not to pressure him to talk to us.” I pulled away from the curb.
Nate shook his head.
When we turned right off of King Street onto Vanderhorst, Sonny’s black Jeep Grand Cherokee was parked two spots down on the right, in front of the bicycle rack and adjacent to the courtyard at Kudu.
“Bingo,” I said.
“No offense, Slugger, but finding him was a no-brainer. Now what’s the plan?”
“We need one of the burner phones out of the back. And a couple ball caps.” I turned left onto Phillips Street, which ran behind St. Matthews Lutheran Church, but dead-ended at a loading dock for the College of Charleston bookstore. I executed a three-point turn and pulled into a parking space behind a white van, but cheated to the left so I could see around it. A sign on the exterior wall of the adjacent building clearly indicated that the parking space was for College of Charleston service vehicles only, twenty-four seven. We wouldn’t be here long.
“Oh, I see what you’re up to.” Nate hopped out and retrieved one of the burner phones we kept for anonymous calling. He climbed back into the car and handed it to me.
I tapped the top of the phone against my upper lip thoughtfully. “I know all emergency calls to Charleston County Consolidated 911 Center are recorded. I’m not certain calls going to the non-emergency and office lines at Charleston PD aren’t taped. I need to find a number that for sure won’t be recorded.”
Nate tapped his iPhone a few times, typed, and tapped some more. “How about the Victims Services Program? They work with witnesses too.”
“Perfect. What’s the number?”
He read it out and I typed it in. A woman answered after two rings. “Victim Services, may I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am. I think I must’ve pressed the wrong button by mistake. I need to get a message to Detective Ravenel.”
“I can transfer you—”
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“No, please don’t do that. I’m afraid you’ll lose me, and I’m scared.”
“Ma’am if you’re in trouble, I can get you help.”
“Oh, thank you. I spoke with Detective Ravenel earlier about that nice TV star, Darius Baker?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“I need to speak with him again immediately. I’ve remembered something else I forgot to tell him. And I think I’m being followed. I’m worried. Could you ask him to come right away?”
“Yes ma’am. I’ll get him a message. And I’ll stay on the line with you until he gets there. Now what was your name again?”
I ended the call.
Nate nodded, gave me a little grin. “As always, your acting skills are impressive. Worries me sometimes, how good you are at that.”
“Oh, puh-leeze. That’s what I love about you most. You never give me a reason to be anything other than exactly who I am. Let’s just hope my performance works.” I snagged a scrunchie from my purse, pulled my hair up, and slipped on my navy ball cap with the white palmetto and crescent design on front. We rotated the caps we wore, but this was one of my favorites.
“You think these are necessary?” asked Nate. “Has Sonny seen your new car?”
“Regrettably, yes. Not only that, since he’s all about bonding with his new partner, there’s a better than even chance Jenkins is there too. We want Sonny to be above a glimmer of reproach. If Jenkins spots us, he might suspect Sonny tipped us off.”
“Fair point.” Nate put on a faded blue Atlanta Braves cap.
Three minutes later, Sonny’s Jeep Cherokee rolled down Vanderhorst past the narrow intersection with Phillips. I pulled out of the parking space and turned left. I was the next car behind him, so I stayed back a ways.
We went through the intersection of St. Philip Street, then made a right on Coming, and passed the Cathedral Church of St. Luke & St. Paul. Five blocks later, Sonny made a left on Cannon Street and we followed.
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