Blood and Roses

by Douglas Pratt

  “No kidding,” I said, sitting up.

  “It was an interesting conversation I had with the sergeant that got me the file on Mitchell yesterday. I hope it was pure coincidence.”

  “Of course it was, Jason.”

  “Sawyer,” he said sternly.

  “Now, I’ll admit some curiosity,” I said. “It might be interesting to see who might come to his aid.”

  “According to the sergeant,” Jason said, “his lawyer is already arguing that the whole thing was entrapment. That seems like a stretch. His neighbor was the one who called 911 after hearing several gunshots.”

  “Entrapment. That’s a good one,” I said.

  “You don’t want to know if anyone was shot?”

  I answered, “Sure, was anyone shot?”

  “No, unless you count the guy’s sofa.”

  “That’s fascinating,” I said as I walked into the kitchen. Coffee seemed like a high priority at the moment. “Why would someone kill the man’s sofa?”

  “Want to know what’s really fascinating?” he teased through the phone.

  “Of course,” I said, scooping a heaping scoop into the coffee maker.

  “His lawyer is Brent Tangle.”

  “Jason, I guess I’m not up on the legal community. Who is Brent Tangle?”

  “Sawyer, don’t you at least read the Post, even if you aren’t reading the Daily,” he said in his condescending editor’s tone. “Tangle is head partner at the Tangle, Woods, and Collins Firm. They are quite high dollar and, in fact, are counsel for some big corporate names. Brent Tangle, though, represents Crowder Incorporated.”

  “Wait, that’s the company that owns the news station here.”

  Jason added, “That, and several other media outlets in the country. A couple of real estate companies, a large car dealership, a golf course, six 5-star hotels. Want me to go on?”

  “No, that’s enough. I get the point. Tangle is a big deal.”

  “No, he isn’t just a big deal,” Jason said. “He only represents Crowder Incorporated. That’s it. The other partners share the rest of the load.”

  “Oh,” I mumbled. My brain was still sluggish as I tried to grasp what Jason was saying.

  “I have things to do,” he said. “This should be an interesting piece the way you are going.”

  “I’m just trying to get some coffee in me right now.”

  “Perhaps because you had a late night.”

  “Or because I hate getting up this early.”

  “It’s after nine,” Jason scoffed and hung up as the coffee started percolating.

  Puzzle pieces were everywhere. Dropping into a chair, I texted Angela while I was waiting on the coffee.

  Searching the internet brought up the company website for Crowder Incorporated. The company was now publicly traded, but the CEO and founder was Mac Crowder. The company began buying dilapidated buildings in urban areas, then converting them to apartments. Crowder was born and bred in Memphis, having only spent his college and graduate school years in Knoxville at the University of Tennessee.

  The coffee maker started whistling as the last of the water steamed out the percolator. Filling my mug, I continued reading about the business opportunities that Crowder Incorporated was seeking. Jason was correct, the company owned affiliates and subsidiaries across the country. It was making no pretense that it was willing to buy up anything that it felt could add to the bottom line and profit the stockholders.

  Why would the lawyer representing a billion-dollar company be defending a guy like Mitchell? Was it Tangle or someone at Crowder Incorporated pulling those strings?

  A knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts. I peered through the peephole to see the face of Detective Terry.

  “Detective Terry,” I greeted the officer when I opened the door.

  “Mr. Sawyer, can we come in?” Two uniformed officers stood behind him.

  “Yes,” I answered ushering them inside. “I just made some coffee.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be having any,” Terry said as he stepped inside. “I need you to turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  “What’s this about?” I asked, complying with his demand.

  “Maxwell Sawyer, you are under arrest for the murder of Nathan Clements. Anything you say can and will be held against you.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked again.

  Terry continued rattling off my Miranda rights as one of the other officers cuffed my wrists.

  “I’d like to speak with my lawyer,” I demanded.

  “You’ll have that opportunity. We are also executing a search warrant for your home at this time.”

  “On what grounds are you arresting me?” I asked.

  “We have some corroboration that you were involved in Clements’ death.”

  “I have an alibi for that night,” I explained.

  Terry didn’t respond. He motioned for the officer to take me out. The young officer grabbed my arm and guided me out the door.

  This was Bryant, I assumed. Did he know I was behind Mitchell’s arrest? Was this some sort of retaliation?

  That didn’t matter, I assured myself. Angela could provide me an alibi for all of Saturday. This was just a ploy to take me off the board.

  Then, why bother with a search warrant? Was it just to make sure the whole arrest looked legitimate. There was nothing there.

  Ocansey, I thought, or McCoy. Bryant knew he was missing, probably assumed he was dead. A search of my place might provide the evidence that he was killed there. I sighed with relief. Ocansey must have gone off task when he tried to kill me at Angela’s apartment. At least, I hoped that was how it was going to work.

  The officer shuttled me down the elevator and through the lobby. A couple of my neighbors watched as I was perp-walked out of the building and placed in the back seat of a blue and white police cruiser.

  26

  The pale light never seemed to change. The gray drab walls pulled my spirits down. Judging from the clock hanging in the corridor outside my cell, I had been in here for almost 24 hours. Somehow, though, I had been forgotten.

  Not from my own lack of trying. Every guard was annoyed by me at this point. Almost a whole day and I hadn’t gotten to see the detective or call my lawyer.

  To add insult to injury, the food was about three levels below abysmal. I hope they don’t expect a glowing review on Yelp after this.

  My cellmate had said nothing to me. He was already occupying the bottom bunk, leaving me relegated to the top bunk. I spent the majority of the day staring at the concrete ceiling, counting the flakes of paint and small fissures spiderwebbing around. When that got boring, which didn’t take too long, I slept or thought.

  “Sawyer,” a voice called. “Get up.”

  Rolling over on the bunk, I saw a guard at the cell door. He stood with his arms crossed waiting on me.

  “Get up,” he said again. I dropped off the bunk.

  “Come on,” he growled.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “I need to call my attorney.”

  “Just come on,” he said again. “Stop talking.”

  The guard marched me through the jail to the front. He handed me off to another guard, who seemed more congenial than the first.

  “What’s going on?” I asked him.

  He grunted, “Looks like you are getting processed out?”

  “What about the charges?” I asked.

  “Don’t know,” he said. “They only give me the papers saying to kick you out.”

  “Awesome.” I knew my tone sounded sarcastic. I was happy to get out, but I was in the blind about what was going on.

  The process took longer than the booking did. Maybe the jailers’ worry was geared more for keeping the right people locked up than for locking up the wrong people. Whatever the reason, I found myself stepping out of the Shelby County Jail a few minutes after noon.

  When my phone was returned to me, I found the battery
almost dead and 37 missed calls, most from Leo and Angela. I used the last few minutes of charge to call Leo and ask him to get me. Then I found a concrete ledge to squat on while I waited. A skinny homeless man ambled up to me looking for a handout.

  “We thought something happened to you,” Leo said when he picked me up. “I found your place tore up and no sign of you. We thought Bryant or Manning grabbed you. I have been sitting on Bryant since yesterday.”

  “You see anything?” I asked.

  “No, he’s acting boring.” He asked, “What happened with you?”

  “Terry arrested me yesterday for Nathan’s murder. He said they had a search warrant, but that was the last I heard. They locked me up and seemed to forget me.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “You have a very worried girlfriend waiting to hear from you.”

  I sighed. There was something comforting and warm about knowing that if I go missing for 24 hours there are people that notice and are worried.

  Leo turned on Union.

  “Isn’t Angela at the hotel?” I asked.

  “She checked out last night. She wanted to help find you.”

  “Did you not report me missing?” I asked.

  “Your friend, Jason, did. But you hadn’t been gone long enough to report you as a missing person, and there didn’t seem to be a record of your arrest.”

  “Seems I got forgotten,” I said.

  “Or intentionally lost.” Leo added, “Does this mean the homicide detective is in it too?”

  “Not sure,” I said as he parked on the street in front of the Preservation.

  Angela was waiting in my apartment. She had obviously been straightening up from the search that Terry conducted. Her arms embraced me as her lips pressed against mine. Leo stood back in the doorway gently tapping his foot.

  “What happened to you?” Angela asked when she finally pulled her mouth away.

  I filled in the details as I went to the kitchen to pour some orange juice.

  “What are we doing next?” Angela asked.

  “We?” Leo questioned.

  She turned and gave him a glare. “Yes,” she stated stoically. “We.”

  “First, I am going to call my attorney. I need to know how deep things have gotten. How likely I am going to be convicted of murder. What countries are extradition-free.”

  “I don’t think your lawyer can tell you that,” Angela said.

  “Cuba,” Leo said.

  Angela gave him another look.

  “I’m just saying, that the dollar is strong there. He can live comfortably for the rest of his life. Plus, the weather is ideal.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said as I plugged my phone up to the charger. I started for the desk that I used more for filing loose scraps of paper in an organizational system I had yet to name. “I have to find Kristi’s card. I don’t have her number on this phone yet.”

  A few minutes later, I was on the phone. Kristi listened as I gave her the rundown on the last week.

  When I finished, she asked, “Max, I’ll see what I can find out. There won’t be much we can do about the arrest. They’ll say they had credible evidence to make an arrest, and the jail has a tendency to lose inmates in the computer. They let you out after 24 hours, so they probably didn’t have enough to level formal charges. However, let me rattle my sabers and see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Kristi. I’d like to know where I stand.”

  “Max, it’s Saturday. Don’t expect any solid answers till Monday.”

  “Yeah, okay,” I responded. “I guess I’m getting weekend rates, huh?”

  “Of course,” she laughed. “You’re helping me buy a new condo in Panama City.”

  When I hung up with her, Angela and Leo were staring at me.

  “Well?” Angela finally asked.

  “Do you really want to help?” I asked. “It’s not been going too well for me this week.”

  “Yeah,” she answered.

  “Great,” I said and looked over at Leo. “Better clean up. We are going to a swingers’ club tonight.”

  27

  A membership to Trois cost $2500 per person and as we quickly discovered, a personal reference from a member. What I read on their website was mostly correct. Single men were not allowed. Exceptions were made but on rare occasions and not without a stringent vetting. While dropping five grand seemed a little steep, I was willing to do it if the result was finding Naomi. The personal reference might be a little more difficult. Short of Mitchell, we had no idea who was a member. Somehow we didn’t expect him to be very willing to help us out. His reference might mean very little if he was just there to supply drugs to the members. This dead-end is what brought the three of us to Mama’s sitting room, trying to brainstorm an idea.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Mama said as she handed a glass of white wine to Angela. “Exclusive is an understatement. The price tag is just the first deterrent. The location and the hours are the second.”

  “Where is it located?” I asked, sipping another glass of Angel’s Envy.

  “Somewhere near the airport, in one of those areas that the average upper-middle-class soccer mom and dad are too scared to venture into during the day, much less after ten on a Saturday night.”

  “Do you know anyone that goes?” Leo asked.

  “It’s very likely that I do, but I’m not sure who,” she answered. “There are some things people won’t talk about, even to me.”

  I glanced at Leo. “That’s kind of what Manning said.”

  “No one talks to Manning,” Mama laughed.

  “No,” I said, “he said these people did things even he found ‘reprehensible.’”

  Mama nodded in agreement. “From what I hear, the place is ‘anything goes.’ I’ve only heard rumors. You have to remember that some people’s ideas about ‘anything goes’ are usually a great deal more vanilla than others.”

  “What do they do there?” Angela asked.

  Mama turned to face her. “I think the question might be what do they don’t do there.”

  “I thought that it was just a swingers’ club,” Angela said.

  “That’s what the official stance is,” Mama explained. “I’ve met some girls that worked an event or two there. The stories I heard were…well…depraved even from my point of view.”

  “How depraved are we talking,” I asked. “Any underaged girls?”

  “Not that I heard. And none of the rumors I’ve heard have been illegal, except maybe one with a snake.” She shivered as she spoke. When she caught me watching her, she just said, “Snakes.”

  “Is it really worth going in if we don’t know that the girl is even connected?” Angela asked. “You are talking about a lot of money.”

  Leo answered before I could. “This might be one of those times that we use something else as leverage. The girl might not be there, but someone that knows something might be.”

  “Like I told you, Angela,” I explained, “it’s stirring the pot.”

  She rolled her eyes a bit. “Seems an expensive way to stir anything.”

  Mama added, “Sweetie, these types of people will do anything to keep their kinks secret.”

  “I guess,” she said. “It’s all new to me.”

  “How do we get in then?” I asked, trying to focus on our immediate problem.

  “Let me make a phone call,” Mama said, “I might know someone who will know a little more details. If there is anyone I know that has been there, it’ll be him.”

  She stepped out of the room, and I stood up. Too many hours cramped in the jail cell had made me nervous. I wanted to move. Pacing in front of the front window, I thought that even going for a run sounded like a good idea. I hate running, too.

  “You have something on your mind,” Leo said matter-of-factly.

  Staring out the front window of the parlor, I watched two girls on bicycles glide past. “Why do I have a feeling that we are about to stumble neck-deep in
something?”

  Leo didn’t answer. Angela rose to her feet and stepped next to me. Her head rested on my shoulder. She didn’t say anything, which was nice. We stared out the window together for a few minutes in silence.