Five Minutes
Page 29
After Tamora’s X-ray’s showed no broken bones, the doctor informed Langford over twenty stitches ran from her upper arm down to the elbow on her left side. Only a few sutures were required on her face. Langford gave the doctor Evelyn Clifton’s name and number as next of kin and was allowed a few minutes to talk to his client before they wheeled her to a room.
“I’m gonna see if the cops’ll let her stay in the hospital to recover, rather than sending her to jail.” He allowed Jonelle to sit in with the caution to not say anything.
Tamora’s arm was bandaged, and an IV drip flowed into the other one. Gazing down at the self-absorbed woman willing to jeopardize her daughter’s safety, Jonelle wanted to shake the silly creature and shout at her for being so stupid.
“Did you tell the police who attacked you?” Langford asked.
“Yes,” Tamora whispered, eyes half-closed. “Lorraine did this. With a screwdriver.”
“Why?” Jonelle asked.
“Ms. Sweet. What did I say?” His tone warned her to keep quiet.
Tamora answered as if she hadn’t heard her lawyer. “Told her everything was going to hell and I wanted out. I thought at first the whole idea was no big deal. But, I couldn’t do . . . what they wanted me to do with Lark. Then Maxine went crazy, going out on her own, not telling anybody where she was, and I got scared she’d hurt Lark and I wouldn’t get my baby back.” A tear flowed from the corner of her eye and down the side of her face.
“Why didn’t you think about Lark in the first place?” Jonelle asked.
Langford shot Jonelle an angry look, but didn’t interrupt.
“I did this for my child,” Tamora said. “I needed the money. Everyone said she wouldn’t get hurt. It’d be like a holiday, like some sort of game we’d all play with her. That’s what Lorraine promised. She lied. And then things got worse with Maxine.”
“Where’s Watkins?” Langford asked.
“Don’t you understand? I had to defend myself.” Her eyes pleaded with Jonelle.
Jonelle kept quiet.
Tamora sighed deeply. “She keeps some of the apartment building’s tools in her car. She started screaming that everything bad happened because of me being so stupid, and she was leaving Maryland and I’d get the blame for this whole mess. I grabbed a hammer from the back. Only as a threat. That’s all, I swear. Anyway, she attacked me and started stabbing me with that screwdriver.” She closed her eyes. “I had to defend myself or she would’ve killed me.”
Jonelle repeated Langford’s question. “Where’s Watkins?”
When Tamora opened her eyes, they were filled with tears. “Left her near Reggie’s motor home. He parks it in the Westminster Walmart parking lot.”
“Reggie split in the RV. Try again,” Jonelle said.
Langford sighed. Jonelle imagined he wished he’d never met Tamora. “It’s over,” he said. “You either tell the truth or get yourself another lawyer.”
Tamora’s eyes started to lose focus. “I . . . the fight happened at her place. In the garage. I left her there. A cop stopped me when I ran a red light, saw all the blood and brought me here.”
“Was Watkins alive when you left?” Langford asked.
“Yes. At least I think so.”
“Where does she live?” Langford asked.
Tamora mumbled the address.
Considering Tamora’s condition, Jonelle wasn’t sure about Watkins. Tamora was younger and didn’t carry around as much weight. Still, Watkins looked like the type of woman a person wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley—especially if threatened.
Langford headed for the door.
“Where’re you going?” Jonelle asked.
“I’ve gotta tell the cops where to find Watkins.” He turned toward the body on the hospital bed. “I hope for your sake she’s still alive.”
Tamora responded by closing her eyes.
“What about Playcat?” Jonelle asked when Langford left. “Are they involved in this?”
Tamora shook her head. Her mouth and eyes remained closed.
Before she could ask another question, an ER nurse came and insisted Jonelle leave. Langford was on the phone when Jonelle met him in front of the nurse’s station. He ended the call and mirrored her weary eyes. “A fine mess this is, huh?” He tried, and failed, to smile at her.
“Got that right. I’m beat but I’ve gotta tell you before I talk to the cops what happened in York.”
He rubbed the top of his head and motioned for her to follow. “I know where the cafeteria is in this hospital. Follow me. We should be able to get a cup of coffee.”
She didn’t want coffee but matched his step out of the ER.
Instead of the strong-smelling brew, she selected a cup of tea, took a few sips, and threw the colored water in the trash. They sat at a table near the back. “I’m not good at chatting, and I can tell you’re not in the mood, either,” Jonelle said, as Langford’s butt hit the chair.
He gave her a lopsided grin. “Just the facts, ma’am, or I guess in my case, sir. Am I right?”
She nodded.
“Okay. Tell me what you’re gonna tell the cops.”
She told him everything, including the twelve-year-olds and quickly added they were only extra eyes, nothing more.
He rubbed his face and stared off in the distance for several seconds. “I wanna know something,” he said. “How’d you get from verifying my client’s alibi, to discovering drugs and an alleged mugging in a porn studio, going across state lines, harassing two lowlifes—”
“Four if you count Shawn and Reggie,” she interrupted.
“Okay. Four. Considering all you’ve told me, why put yourself in harm’s way? Most of the detectives we’ve used in the past follow my instructions to the letter. They do what I ask. Period. Full stop. Grab the money and run. You take going the extra mile to the extreme, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. I go where the evidence takes me.”
“And then some,” he agreed.
After promising to arrive on time for her appointment with the Baltimore police department, she left Langford nursing his coffee and pulling out his phone to make another call. The last twenty-four hours, while exhilarating, taxed her to the limits of her resolve.
All she wanted now was to go inside her building, and if Hamilton was rehearsing on his cello, maybe sit on the steps for a while and listen. Afterwords, she’d enter her apartment, play a bit with Gracie, listen to smooth jazz, and sip a glass of wine.
And maybe, if she wasn’t too tired, give Burt a call.
Acknowledgments
A big thank-you as always to my DreamWeaversINK critique partners, Kim Hamilton, L. R. Trovillion, Karen Neary Smithson, Missy Burke, Mike Sage and P. J. O’Dwyer for their thoughtful insights and comments.
I’m also grateful to editor Amy Harke-Moore for her expertise and truly appreciate the feedback from beta readers Shirley Pratt and Kevin Lowery. Your fresh eyes kept me on track.
About The Author
R. Lanier Clemons was born in Vermillion Parish, Louisiana and was employed as a corporate journalist for many years. She lives in Maryland with good friends Lucy the cat and Ramsey the wonder horse.
If you’ve enjoyed the book, a brief review on Amazon’s website will be greatly appreciated. And if you’d like to know more about the character Riley, check out her own Amazon short read entitled, “Who’s Riley? A JSM Short Read: Book 1.” Note: JSM stands for Jonelle Sweet Mystery. Thank you.