The overdressed detective completed his conversation with Terry and then walked toward me. I stopped breathing. Not because I was scared, but because once again I had lost my focus. The man reminded me of my father.
The detective strutted prettier than a pinstriped peacock. He wore the midnight blue pinstriped suit well. His hat hung low at the brim like Colombo, like my dad’s did. Only in Atlanta could I see detectives wearing hats. Southerners sure loved tradition.
The brim covered most of the detective’s face. I wanted to see his eyes, learn his age, anything I could use to prepare myself for his questions. I prayed that my stomach wouldn’t erupt on the detective’s nice silk shirt. The man must have his own money, because Dekalb Police didn’t pay enough for silk anything.
He stopped short of stepping on my toes. I flinched.
He look at me and smiled. “No need to ask you how you know the victim.”
He had a slight Peruvian accent, which dripped a familiar touch of disdain for me. It didn’t matter. My brother-in-law had just been killed and my sister sat in the Crown Victoria shaking like a tail feather. I needed answers, so he could take his sarcasm and shove it up his lollipop.
“Good. So we can lose the small talk and you can ask me the big questions.”
He stepped back and grinned. “You don’t know who I am?”
“You’re the man arresting my sister for a crime she didn’t commit. Detective . . . ?”
He took off his hat. I exhaled. His dark brown eyes housed small flames. I’d met him before. He was a well-dressed man with a sexy swagger, sizzling voice, and sleepy eyes. If I didn’t already know him, I would have mistaken him for the devil.
“You can call me Salvador, like you used to call me back when you worked at the Sentinel, but I’ll take Detective Tinsley, too, from the new and improved Angel Crawford.”
I wanted to crawl in the back of a cruiser and call it a night. I had to change the game somehow, regain some of my power. I straightened my shoulders. My chest and my confidence had no choice but to lift.
“Are any of those squad cars over there for my friend and myself, Salvador?” I asked.
He turned around, faced the gray sedans taking up most of the front drive, then swiveled back and raised his brow. “No, matter of fact, you aren’t a suspect. Your friend isn’t either, but I sure would appreciate it if you would let me ask the questions.”
I nodded. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Detective Tinsley signaled the officers standing near us to help out somewhere else on the property. “I wouldn’t expect less from you.”
“Expect what? You know I won’t incriminate my sister.” I retorted.
“No, Angel, because I know who you are and what you’re capable of.”
“What am I capable of?” I tried to look dumbfounded, but I could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn’t buying it.
He looked at Justus, who was with me again, then back at me. “Getting your sister convicted.”
My chest burned. He was righter than right on that one. I suspected even Ava knew it. That’s why she cautioned me to stay out of it.
“That won’t be a problem, Detective. I learned my lesson six years ago.”
I watched Justus. He smiled peace into me.
It didn’t help.
“The best I can do for my sister is watch her kids like she asked me.”
Salvador took out his PDA and asked, “When was the last time you saw your sister, excluding here?”
“A few hours ago.”
He typed my response. “Where were you?”
“At my home.”
“Where is that?”
“In Sugar Hill.”
“Wow, that’s far. Do you see each other often?”
I wanted to lie but had already told Justus the truth.
“No,” I said, and prayed that Tinsley would not ask me what I would ask next myself.
Detective Tinsley stopped typing and looked up. “So the rumor is true?”
“What rumor?”
“That you’ve grown a conscience.”
Justus stepped forward. “Officer, excuse me. My name is Reverend Justus Morgan, and to me, your remark is a bit out of line. Ms. Crawford’s brother-in-law has been murdered. This is a very charged situation as is. Those comments don’t help either of us.”
“My apologies, Reverend.” Tinsley looked at me.
I didn’t move.
“So your sister, whom you’re not close with, was at your home tonight because she wanted you to watch her kids? Why?”
“She didn’t say and I didn’t ask. Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” He closed his PDA and looked at me. “If you’re watching the kids, then why are you here?”
9
Friday, 3:30 AM
Justus came closer to me and placed his hand in the small of my back. He made me steady again. If the circumstances weren’t so bad, tonight would have been one of the most romantic nights of my life, which is sad. I chuckled to keep from crying.
“Maybe I can give you a little information to help jog your memory,” Salvador said. “Will that help?”
I wanted to go home and crawl under the covers. That would help. I nodded instead.
“According to Terry, Bishop McArthur called him tonight and told him that your sister had taken the kids and run off.” He paused. “She was leaving him.”
He stared at me; I gulped. “News to me.”
“Terry said that he had advised the bishop to call Mrs. McArthur’s cell and threaten to order an Amber Alert on the kids if she didn’t return.”
“Come on. Everyone knows that’s not how it works. Ava wouldn’t fall for such a stupid ploy.” I sighed. “An Amber Alert . . . please.”
“Maybe or maybe she did, but what he said makes good sense.”
“Please tell me that your deduction skills hadn’t fallen off since the last time we met.”
“Not at all, and I guess it’s safe to say that you’re still as sharp as a razor blade.”
“Touché. Therefore, you know that I think Terry is dumber than hot rocks and I find him suspect. Did he tell you about his gun, the one he dropped when your guys showed up?”
He smiled; Justus frowned. I had forgotten he was standing between me and Salvador. I turned away from both of them. I couldn’t let Justus’s disapproving scowl throw me off, and I definitely couldn’t allow Salvador to realize that I had a soft spot where Justus stood, else he would use it against me later.
“He didn’t have to, thanks to you. However, what he did tell me about you was interesting, and he’s not as dumb as he looks.”
“Yeah, right.” I folded my arms over my chest again and then dropped them once I realized what I was doing. The arm fold was a classic defense move, so I rubbed my pants legs instead, which looked even guiltier than the arm fold. Great.
Salvador didn’t open his mouth while I fidgeted. He rubbed his chin. I knew I was giving him an eyeful.
I sighed. “Well, are you going to tell me what he said or not?”
“By the way you act, I don’t know if I should or recommend you for a psych evaluation before I question you.”
I bit my lip. “Stop playing. I’m a little shaken up. That’s normal for these circumstances. Tell me what that fool said.”
Justus grunted.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to him.
Salvador looked at Justus, then me and grinned. I lifted my chin. “I was talking to you.”
“Of course you were.” He stepped closer to Justus, coming to stand beside him.
I was facing them both. If I played chess, I’d think I had just been checkmated.
“Angel, according to what you just said, Mrs. McArthur must have been planning to hide out at your house. After the bishop’s call, she left the kids with you. Most likely feeling angry and scared, she went home. They argued again. Fought. He died. Could be self-defense, a crime of passion, or she was just sick and tired of b
eing sick and tired in that marriage. At this point, the why doesn’t matter so much. What matters is that your sister had a motive and, according to you, a perfect opportunity to kill him. Comprende?”
I folded my arms behind my back. “How do you know that it wasn’t me who killed him? Everyone knows I couldn’t stand the man.”
“You have a point.” He put his PDA back in his pocket. “But Dr. Browner already cleared you and your friend for murder.”
“There’s no way she could do that so fast.”
Salvador’s brow wrinkled, yet he continued to grin. “The only fingerprints on the alleged murder weapon belong to your twin. I don’t need a lab report to tell me that. However, I do have an accessory to murder theory that Dr. Browner could agree on. Want to hear that one?”
“That’s not fair. And you know it.” I turned from him.
“It’s hard, but it’s fair, Ms. Crawford. And I need you to answer my questions instead of questioning me. Because whether you believe it or not, I’m looking out for your best interest. Don’t worry. If your sister’s not guilty, then have faith that the truth will set her free.”
He had just recited the last line of the last Sentinel article I’d written. I looked at him and became nauseous. “Truth is relative.” My stomach churned.
Salvador nodded. “It can be.”
He continued talking, but my nausea made me deaf. I couldn’t hear a word he said. I turned to Justus.
He mouthed, “Are you okay?”
I shook my head.
“Ms. Crawford, do you need medical attention?” Salvador took off his hat and placed it in his hand.
I turned toward him, then spewed Justus’s mac and cheese over the detective’s silk shirt, upchucked peanuts on his pinstriped suit, and ralphed what was left of that stale coffeecake onto that cute fedora he held in his hand. It was disgusting. I truly felt bad about that.
While Salvador’s team retrieved some clean clothes for him out of his car, I was allowed a brief moment to talk to Ava after an EMT checked me out and gave me a plain white T-shirt to wear to complement my pajama bottoms. It didn’t matter how I looked, because I wanted to get to Ava before they took her downtown.
The police were walking her out of the house around the same time I left the EMT ambulance. Officer Todd saw me and motioned me over. I don’t know where Justus was at that point.
“Detective Tinsley is allowing you five minutes with her before we take her downtown. But we want to get her to the car first; then I will take you to her.”
“Thank you, Todd . . .” I patted his shoulder. “And again, let Salvador know that I’m sorry.”
“Yes, ma’am. Follow me.”
We walked down the line of squad cars that took up most of the drive. My heart quickened as I walked alongside Officer Todd. I stopped. “Are you sure I’m not being arrested?”
“Do you want to be arrested?”
“No.”
“Then stop asking stupid questions.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
It didn’t take long to find Ava. She sat with her head bowed in one of the seven gray police sedans lined along the front drive. I saw her back quake and quiver. My stomach flip-flopped watching her.
This was really bad. I stopped walking and looked away. My stomach was empty, so I had to be careful not to dehydrate myself, which would land me at Dekalb Medical Center quick, flash, and in a hurry. But watching her mourn in that police car made me feel like a big fat failure. I had never failed my sister until today. And what got me was that I had failed her in the worst way, because there was no way to make this right.
There were no do-overs when it came to death. I couldn’t bring Devon back from the dead; I couldn’t turn back time. All I could do was stand there and watch my sister’s world fall apart. My head swam, but I was willing my body to heal, because I had to come up with something. I had to find a way to fix this.
I made my way toward Ava, but despite the sun rising, I had trouble seeing. Now the police lights seemed to flash over the grounds like the disco ball at a skating rink, except Devon wasn’t splitting his pants trying to impress Ava with his horrible skating skills again. No. He was dead.
I finally reached the car Ava sat in. The door was open, so I could see her cuffed hands in her lap. My stomach decided to take a roller coaster ride. I decided to ignore it.
“Get back,” Officer Todd said. “You’re too close, Angel.”
I stepped back. I wanted to lean in and take hold of her hands, but the officers standing beside me made me stand at a distance, close enough to look inside and fake a whisper.
“Ava?” I called for her.
She didn’t look at me. Her eyes were closed. She mumbled something familiar. I leaned closer and listened until I remembered what it was. She was humming an old hymn we learned in our parents’ church.
The Mother Board used to chant it when the church decided they needed prayer when we were little girls:
A charge to keep I have,
A God to glorify,
A never dying soul to save,
And fit it for the sky . . .
Watching and listening to her sing those words made me a bit nostalgic for Granddaddy’s old church, for a simpler time. Back then, to be a preacher’s wife in an African American church was synonymous with being the First Lady of the United States. The church was the only institution that black people could own for themselves. Back in Granny’s day, we didn’t need senators or lawyers or police. We needed the Black church, including a woman who represented the closest thing to purity and grace sharecroppers and wounded souls could see and touch. The preacher’s wife was the face of southern black aristocracy. Seventy-five years later, my sister embodied the role until tonight.
I began to sing along with her, badly, of course, until Ava looked up and stopped. “Angel . . .”
“Ava,” I exhaled.
She lifted her cuffed hands and extended them, but I couldn’t touch her. The police kept me at a distance. All I could do was smile back at her. A tear fell from her face. That broke my heart.
I saw sorrow and terror in her eyes. The last time I saw her face like that was the day Daddy died.
“You’ll be all right.” I assured her.
Yet, she looked a good mess. Her usual perfect coif sat scatterbrained all over her head. Her so-called waterproof mascara ran down her face and onto the pink feathers on her robe. Where in the world did she get that robe from, anyway?
And then something profound hit me. Ava couldn’t have killed Devon. Not tonight she couldn’t. Unkempt hair, trashy pink nightgown. Unh-uh. She would never look that bad on purpose, especially if she knew the press would be pulling into the driveway, while she sat in a police sedan looking like this.
“Officer Todd, it might be good business if you shut the cruiser door, because someone has let the press in.”
“Someone send the press back. I don’t think Karen is here yet,” he said through his phone this time. Karen was one of the police department’s spokespersons. I met her once at an Atlanta Press Club meeting.
If Ava intended to do this, she would be dressed to kill, literally, if nothing else. If Devon’s death was a crime of passion, she would be dressed to die for . . . for sure. Ava wasn’t an unpredictable hothead like me. She planned things, thought every detail of her life through as if she were playing chess with angels. That feeling in my gut grew stronger as my mind remembered every odd thing in Devon’s study and the glimpses of the mansion that were out of place. Ava didn’t kill Devon, and I no longer needed twin-tuition to believe it.
Officer Todd whispered, “We’re about to get her away from all this drama. Make sure you bring her a change of clothes to the jail.”
“Can I go inside to retrieve some?”
“Can a dog lay eggs?” He pulled out his phone again. “Go to the store, Angel.”
“I had to try.”
“And I was warned.”
“Can I ask one more thi
ng?”
“We are about to shut the door and the rear windows don’t go down. Jesus, Angel.” He growled. “Hold on for a sec, guys . . . Jeesh! This is it, Angel.”
“Thank you so much, really.”
“Go.” He whispered angrily.
I returned to Ava, then leaned toward her as close as I could and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me that you were leaving Devon?” I paused and frowned. “Why were you leaving him?”
She began mumbling to me, not looking at me at all.
I knelt down in front of her and tried to find her eyes. She wouldn’t open them. She was stuck out on the third realm of prayer or somewhere.
I sighed. “I know you’re hurting, but you have to snap yourself out of it. If Granny were here . . .”
Her eyes popped open. “She’d be in my shoes.”
I stumbled back, almost tripping over Officer Todd.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” I cocked my head to the side. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” She looked away. “You act as if you have no idea of the burden we bear.”
I shook my head. “Who? Preacher’s wives?”
“No, First Ladies. There is a difference,” she said.
If circumstances were different, I would’ve yanked her out of the car and smacked her pretentious self across her forehead. I glanced at Officer Todd, then pulled myself together. He wasn’t smiling at me anymore. I collected myself and blew out my frustration with my sister.
“This isn’t the time for our annual debate. I want to help you. What do you need me to do? How can I help you?”
“Protect Devon’s name,” she said.
“Have you bumped your head?” I shouted. I didn’t need to look around to know all eyes were on me. I closed my eyes and whispered, “What if I say no?”
Her mouth trembled. She mouthed. “Then I’m going to confess.”
“What?” I looked at her and at Officer Todd. “Did you say you wouldn’t talk until your attorney is present?”
She looked at Officer Todd and laid her head in her lap.
A Good Excuse To Be Bad Page 8
