We talked about other things after that. One of the great pleasures of our relationship was that we never ran out of things to discuss. That evening we covered three or four current events before our entrees came. Then Phoenix smiled at me again and said, “Eat up. You’re going to need your strength.”
36
On Saturday morning we showered separately so someone could answer the phone. The call came in at nine when I was toweling off. Phoenix stepped into the bathroom and handed me my cell. Then she pecked me on the lips, hung up her bathrobe, and said, “I hope you left me some hot water.”
“Keisha?” I said, taking the phone into the next room as I pulled on my own robe.
“Mr. Rimes?”
“Yes.”
“Was that your lawyer friend? The one you sent flowers?”
“Yes. Phoenix Trinidad.” I heard the shower turn on.
“She sounds nice. It sounded so sweet, the two of you together. So normal.” Her voice caught. “I want normal again.”
“If your folks are safe, Keisha, we’re almost there.”
“They’re safe.”
“Good.”
“So are Fatimah and her family. All out of state.”
“I won’t ask where.” Robe soaking up the water on my back, I sat on a bistro chair at my kitchen counter and shifted the phone from my right hand to my left. A pad and pen were already there, waiting. I picked up the pen. “How and where should we meet?”
“Not here. Bianca and Jen have been so good to me I don’t want them to risk anything else.”
“They don’t have to.”
“Jen even took a couple of sick days to stay home with me in case—in case somebody showed up here.”
“Is Jen with you now?”
“Yes. They both are.”
“I don’t need to know where they live, just where you want to meet.”
“How about Tim Horton’s?”
“Which one? Feels like there’s one every three blocks.”
She must have lowered the phone. Her voice sounded far away when she said, “He wants to know which one.”
“Pick one with a single door,” I said, raising my voice so they would hear me.
A knocking sound indicated the phone had changed hands.
“Rimes? It’s Jen.”
“Hi, Jen. Pick a Timmy Ho’s with one door. That way I can watch it as we talk.”
“I’ll be there with my off-duty piece to cover your six,” Jen said. “But I’d rather watch one door than two or three. I spent time in E District. You know the Tim’s across from UB Main Street?”
“Yes. One door.”
“Meet us there in forty-five minutes.”
“I’ve got friends in homicide. My lawyer and I will take her to them afterward. She have any evidence?”
“Not that I’ve seen but I believe her.”
“Thanks, Jen.”
“Listen to her and then thank me by fixing this.”
37
Keisha and company got to Tim Horton’s ahead of us. In jeans and a purple down jacket that covered her gun, Jen was already seated across from the door when Phoenix and I walked in. Bianca, in a hooded green tracksuit, and Keisha, in a brown headwrap and bulky Christmas sweater, sat in cushioned armchairs near the decorative electric fireplace. Their coats held the remaining two armchairs for us. Bianca paid no attention to Jen, who seemed to be watching a soundless but captioned MSNBC program on the TV above the fireplace.
I counted six other customers seated with coffee cups and donuts or breakfast meals: three young women at the table farthest from the door, a man of grad student age typing on a laptop, a thirtysomething man in dark work clothes, and an elderly woman two tables away from Jen. A young couple stood at the counter, looking up at the lighted menu and discussing what they should order. Behind the counter were five employees—three filling orders, one working the cash register, and the last at the drive-thru window. If we kept our voices low, we could have a private conversation.
We sat. I introduced Phoenix to Keisha and Bianca. They already had coffee, as did Jen, so Bianca got in line to get a medium for each of us.
It was hard to reconcile the Keisha who sat across from me with the pretty, cheerful-looking woman I had seen in photos on her parents’ mantel. The night her clumsy disguise to get into the ICU failed, her face had become a mask of terror. Now, with no make-up and her body in a hideous sweater too large to be hers, this Keisha looked more tired than afraid, more resigned than hopeful. But when our gazes met, I remembered Glendora Chancellor-Pratt’s theory that the eyes were a window to the intellect. However tired the skin around them made her seem, the eyes behind Keisha’s glasses were sharp and calculating.
“Being on the run is hell,” I said softly, trying to set the right speaking level for all of us. “Even when you have good friends to help.”
“Worse when you put your loved ones in danger.” Keisha matched my volume. Good.
“But they’re safe right now, so you can think past worrying about them to ending the threat to all of you.” I leaned toward her. “I want to hear what happened, but how you share that is up to you. I can ask questions, you can tell your story without interruption, or we can make it a conversation. Your choice. Phoenix will clarify any legal questions. When we’re done, I’ll call a friend in homicide. He’ll advise us what to do next. Officially.”
“What about unofficially? Jen says I don’t have much evidence.”
Unofficially, she had a fan who would solve her problem happily if she identified the people after her. But the price of getting into bed with Spider Tolliver—and, by extension, Lorenzo Quick—was likely too high.
“We’ll worry about all that later,” I said. “How would you like to start?”
“I’ve smoked weed three times,” she said. Her voice was steady and her eyes drilled into me. “I can tell you the month and year but not the day, except for that Christmas Eve party sophomore year of college. Apart from that, I’ve never used illegal drugs in my life.”
So, it was going to be a conversation, which was fine with me.
“I believe you. Everything I know about you says I should. What about Odell?”
Keisha bit her lip and looked off for a moment. “Odell was a good man. Smart, kind, playful but gentle. His parents and friends and students all loved him. I loved him too.” Her eyes moistened. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. “Odell didn’t use drugs either, not even weed. That stuff in the paper about him being a dealer was one hundred percent Grade A Angus bullshit. He was so high on life he said he might try weed if he came down. But he never came down. Even if he did use, he didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Phoenix leaned forward and took Keisha’s hand. “Nobody deserves to die like that.”
“Tell me about that night,” I said.
Bianca returned just then and set our coffees on the low table around which the chairs had been arranged. Seeing the tears, she sat and took hold of the hand Phoenix had released.
“Odell proposed at dinner that night.” Smiling faintly, Keisha didn’t even try to wipe her eyes. “I’d been suspecting it was coming soon. We had been talking about maybe moving in together, getting a house near apartments where our parents could live.” She sniffled, and Bianca handed her a napkin. “He took me to Panorama on Seven at the Marriott downtown,” she said after wiping her nose. “We sat at a table by one of those giant windows overlooking the harbor. No clouds, the lights and moon reflecting on the water—it was beautiful!”
I heard Phoenix swallow beside me as if clearing her throat. I made no move to take her hand, for fear the gesture would distract Keisha. Neither one of us had sipped coffee yet.
“He was nervous as all get-out,” Keisha said. “He was so cute like that I just wanted to pinch his cheeks. He couldn’t wait for the meal. He took out the box right after we ordered the wine and opened it. The ring inside was wrapped in paper, which confused me at first. He gave it to me. When I
unwrapped it, I saw it wasn’t a diamond ring at all. The stone was red, and the paper had been cut out of a Bible, part of a page from Proverbs.”
“A price above rubies,” I said. “That’s what you were to him.”
Blinking as more tears came, she nodded. It was apparent she needed a moment. Bianca put a hand on her shoulder and leaned as close to her as she could.
In the silence that followed, Phoenix and I both reached for our coffees and drank a little. I gave her hand a quick squeeze.
“What happened to the ring?” I asked when Keisha seemed ready to go on. I feared I already knew the answer.
“I guess they took it.”
“Who took it?”
“The men who stopped us. The men who—” Shuddering, she covered her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Take your time,” I said after a couple of seconds. “There’s no good way to tell it. No easy way. Maybe you should start with how you got to Jefferson and Best.”
She nodded again, removed her hand, and reached for Bianca’s. “We took a ride after dinner. A nice long ride, just to talk, because I said yes. We drove up Main all the way out to Williamsville and then we took Union Road to the Kensington Expressway. We got off at Best because we were going back to my house. The basic route is left on Jefferson, right on High, right on Orange. But a car pulled alongside us and wouldn’t let Odell get in the left lane for the turn. They forced us across the intersection, and Odell cut into the Wiley parking lot. They followed us in and pulled ahead and slammed on the brakes right in front of us. Odell tried to back up but hit a high curb. Before he could shift again two men jumped out and pointed guns at the car. Odell locked the doors but one of them put his gun right next to the driver’s side window and told us to get out or get shot. We—we got out.”
Keisha was squeezing Bianca’s fingers bloodless, to what must have been a point of pain. But Bianca remained silent.
“Can you describe the men? Did you know them?”
“No. Both medium brown-skin, one a shade darker than the other. Both big, the biggest one maybe your size. They looked enough alike I thought they were brothers.”
“What about their car? Make? Color?”
“Big SUV. Dark, I think black. It looked black in Odell’s headlights.”
“You know the make?”
“No. Sorry.”
“You think the car was following you all along?”
“I don’t know. Must have been.”
“What happened next?”
Keisha released Bianca’s fingers and shifted uneasily. “They turned off our headlights and made us stand in front of the car. Between the streetlights and stadium night lights, we could see just enough. They made us take off our coats and roll up our sleeves. I still wasn’t sure what was happening. At first, I thought they just wanted to rob us. But when they took out this little case that held a needle, I got really scared. I took a step back like I was gonna run. The bigger one—he was on my side of the car—he pointed his gun at me and kinda giggled. A creepy giggle, so I froze, too scared to cry. The other one, the one in charge, put the case on the hood of the car and told Odell to pick up the needle. His voice sounded familiar, but I still wanted to believe this was random bad luck. Odell picked it up and said, ‘Now what?’ The guy said, ‘You’re gonna send nosy Miss Sugar Notch here up in the elevator.’ Felt like a kick in the belly, like there was no chance we could survive now. Odell said hell no, even if it meant getting shot. The guy said, ‘What if you’re not the one shot?’ Next thing I knew I had two guns at my head. From then on Odell did whatever they said, right down to choosing which arm and wrapping his tie around it. He plucked the needle, squirted some out, and they said not too much. Then Odell injected some into me. They said to give me half. But I think he gave me less and saved for more himself. He gave his life to give me half a chance.”
“My God,” Phoenix said, so softly it was almost to herself.
“They made him leave his prints on the syringe,” I said. “Do you remember anything else?”
“Everything for the first few seconds. The bigger guy told Odell, ‘Your turn.’ I was terrified as Odell wrapped his tie around his own arm but I never saw the needle go in. All of a sudden there was this wave of pleasure all over. Warm and tingly everywhere.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Kind of like coming and coming and coming but without sex and without sound. Then I felt happy, drifting, peaceful, kind of like after sex when you’re falling asleep.”
“Do you remember the paramedics reviving you?”
“The memory is vague. I can’t be sure if what I remember is real or imagined because of what I know from pharmacology class. I remember gagging, coughing. I’m pretty sure I was cold because I was shivering, but I’m not sure why. Was it because of the drug or the time of year? I kind of remember being in the car with Odell next to me, but maybe all that’s from what I read in the newspaper or saw on the Eyewitness News website. I wasn’t fully myself till I woke up in the hospital the next day.”
We were all quiet for a time. Bianca excused herself to use the restroom. Phoenix took a deep breath, sank back in her chair, and took a hefty swallow. I heard her whisper, “Wow.”
Keisha sank back in her chair also, seeming lighter somehow. Sipping what was now warm coffee, I was glad Jen was there because I had become so caught up in Keisha’s story I lost all track of my surroundings, something I was unaccustomed to doing. I looked about, chiding myself for not having seen or heard the changes. There were more people now, all the previous diners except the man with the laptop having been replaced. Two were reading newspapers. Several were engaged in their own conversations.
I drank a bit more and set down my cup when Bianca returned.
“Keisha, are you good for a few more questions?” I asked.
She put her glasses back on and leaned toward me. “Yes.”
“Did the police question you when you woke up?”
“Not much. I tried to tell the hospital staff what happened and was told rehab required me to take responsibility. They said I was lucky not to be charged. So when a detective came to see me later that day, he asked questions that fit the narrative, and I kept the truth to myself.”
“Do you know why this happened to you and Odell?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Tell us about it.”
“For many years I was the secretary at my church. I took minutes at various meetings, handled basic correspondence, did the newsletter, and maintained the church’s Facebook page. All pretty routine stuff because I can write and type fast. I’m good with computers and know my way around the web.”
“Does the church have much of a web presence beyond Facebook?”
“There’s a website but it hasn’t been updated for a long time. Mostly, we used the domain and space from the provider for email and cloud storage.” No longer speaking of the night her fiancé was murdered, Keisha seemed almost relaxed, matter-of-fact. “The church has a general email in its domain, which I managed as part of my duties. Dr. Markham has a personal email. So did I. Also his wife, the deacon, and deaconess board chairs, the building committee chair, the youth group mentor, the congregation president, and the treasurer.”
“Sounds like a lot of bureaucracy for a church with, what, five hundred members?”
“More or less, but Dr. Markham has visions of getting bigger and branching out. He’d like to have a megachurch, not in the Texas sense with five thousand members, but enough to have two morning services and one evening service on Sunday and eventually open a branch up in Niagara Falls. He said we needed a solid administrative structure to do that.”
“How could he manage three services in Buffalo and one or two in the Falls?”
“Oh, Mrs. Markham is ordained too. She would handle Niagara County.”
Neither of the Markhams had mentioned that she was a minister too. I thought about that for a moment. “All that in addition to her work at the Sermon on the Mount Community Developme
nt Foundation?”
“Oh, she’s dynamic. She preaches once every couple of months. She’s the deputy choirmaster, back-up organist, and a community leader. When I was young I wanted to be just like her.” Keisha sighed. “But it’s funny you should mention the foundation. That’s where all this started. Two months ago we got an email I thought was from a church member. It was a forward with documents attached. Sometimes when things needed a response I’d save them to a flash drive and take them home to work on them later. I did that with these files. When I opened them I skimmed paragraphs about selling foundation properties for huge profits. I didn’t know what it was about but I figured the sender had been spoofed.”
“Who was the sender?”
“Raheem Harris. He’s only fourteen and addicted to PlayStation. His mother is a friend of mine.” She shrugged. “The spoofing was no accident but I figured the real sender had posted it to the wrong church account. So I read through the docs more closely. This time I recognized the addresses on Best and Virginia and realized somebody was planning to force the foundation out of the benevolent landlord business. It was some company named—”
“FBF, Flame Bright Fame,” I said.
“Yes. I’d never heard of them. I couldn’t find much about them on the web other than they were in Detroit, which made no sense for something small in Buffalo.” Her own coffee was now cold enough for her to finish it in a long swallow. She set the empty cup back on the table. “I made back-up copies of all the files because I didn’t know what was going on and wanted a record. Then I went back into the church email and saw the message was gone.”
“Who had access to that email?”
“The Markhams, the board chairs, the treasurer, and a couple of committee chairs.”
“Did you check the log-in history to see who deleted the original?”
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