by Kyra Davis
I wrinkled my nose. “Then how is Cheryl a help?”
“The comments she made on television. In two minutes of airtime Cheryl changed Leah’s status from villainess to victim. Leah couldn’t have gotten better results if she had retained a private publicist.”
“But you’re talking about public opinion,” I said. “That won’t help Leah in a courtroom.”
“Public opinion can always help, or hurt, as the case may be. If this Jerome fellow really wants to put out pro-Leah propaganda, then I say we give him as much ammunition as possible.” He adjusted his glasses again. “I’m going to talk to the police and see what they’ve got.”
Timothy left us with instructions to wait for him in the lobby, so Anatoly and I found a few chairs and took seats. For a long time we sat silently side by side. Anatoly seemed deep in thought. Hopefully he was thinking of a solution to this mess. Personally all my focus was on repressing a panic attack. And if I was fighting off a breakdown I could only imagine what Leah’s state of mind must be. I turned to Anatoly.
“What if Leah says or does something to turn the other inmates against her?”
“She’ll be fine. Remember, she’s going to a holding cell, not prison—not yet, anyway.”
I smacked his arm. “Not ever.”
Anatoly sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need to provide the police with other likely suspects immediately. We need proof that Taylor was sleeping with Bob.”
“What about Erika—do you think they know about her relationship with him?”
“I have no idea. Considering what happened to her it might be better if they don’t. It will just complicate things.”
“Complicate things? Are you kidding?” I let out a hysterical laugh. “How much more complicated can all this get? Bob’s dead, his gun is missing. We’ve been interviewing everyone who’s had any kind of relationship with him, and the only thing we’ve learned is that while alive Bob had the libido of a rabbit in heat. In the meantime there are minority activist groups that are on the brink of rioting, and Jack is on the brink of losing both his parents.”
“Are you familiar with the expression ‘things can only get better’?”
“Of course, I’m familiar with it. Are you saying that things are going to start looking up?”
“No, I was about to say that the expression is a blatant lie. Things can always get worse, and they can always get more complicated.”
“That’s your way of cheering me up?” I shook my head, mystified. “Tell me, Anatoly, have you ever considered writing one of those Chicken Soup books?”
“I’m just saying that the police’s case against Leah isn’t as strong as it could be, and if we just dig a little deeper we might be able to dismantle it altogether.”
“God, I hope you’re right,” I whispered.
Anatoly studied me for a beat, then put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.
“You know, Sophie, if you need to…”
“No, I don’t want to cry.”
“All right, then let’s use the time productively.” He gently stroked my hair. “I’ve been thinking about Cheryl’s apartment.”
“What about it?”
“You made a comment about how she wouldn’t be able to afford it now that she’s unemployed. My question is, how was she able to afford it in the first place?”
“Well, she was working two jobs for a while there—front desk at the Ritz and Gatsby and of course the hotel union wage rates are high.” I tapped my toe against the ground. “On the other hand she was obviously spending a lot of money on knickknacks and her place was pretty nice—it can’t be much smaller than mine.”
“And the neighborhood is just as nice as ours,” Anatoly added. “My apartment is a lot smaller and I pay twenty-five hundred a month.”
“I pay the same, but I’ve been there for almost ten years so I have rent control on my side. But Cheryl just moved into her place, so she must be paying top dollar.”
“So let’s say the rent is around three thousand, and she was only working part-time at the Gatsby, so even when she was working two jobs she couldn’t have been making more than forty-five thousand a year gross.”
I lifted my head from his shoulder. “Anatoly, maybe Bob was giving Cheryl hush money. Maybe he was paying her not to tell people about Taylor. Or maybe Taylor was paying her. That would explain why she was so shocked when she learned Taylor had confessed to the affair.”
“Maybe,” Anatoly said slowly. “But Cheryl wasn’t the only one living beyond her means.”
“You’re thinking about Bob. Yeah, he was definitely living large.”
Anatoly nodded. “Fifty thousand dollars is a lot to blow on one bracelet.”
“My ex-husband might have splurged on something like that, but then again, my ex-husband uses the lottery as an alternative to a 401K plan.”
“But then there’s the bracelet he bought for Erika, that was six thousand, and then the necklace he got Leah—how much was that worth?”
“It was in the fifty thousand range.”
“So he spent just under a hundred and ten thousand dollars on jewelry in the course of—what, a month? Two? Was Bob making that kind of money?”
“After he was promoted last year, Leah told me that they were making four hundred thousand a year. But they have a huge mortgage, and then there’s the car payments….”
I looked up to see Timothy approaching, and I jumped to my feet. “What took you so long? It’s been like—” I looked at my watch “—thirty-five years!”
Timothy released a heavy sigh. “Allow me to take you through this slowly.”
“Why in God’s name would I allow you to do that?” I asked.
Anatoly pushed himself up to his feet. “Sophie, let the man speak.”
“Yes, thank you.” Timothy’s smile was a bit on the tremulous side. “There is some good news. As of this moment the only crime she’s being accused of is the murder of her husband.”
My mouth dropped open as I gauged the complete lack of humor in his expression. “Oh,” I managed to say, “well, that is a relief. I was worried her last jaywalking offense had finally caught up with her.”
“I was thinking of the mysterious death of Erika Wong.” Timothy looked back over his shoulder nervously. “They found DNA evidence at Erika’s house that shows Leah was recently there, and apparently when she was last interviewed, Leah claimed she hadn’t been to the residence in over a year.”
“The fingernail,” I whispered.
“Exactly,” Tim said. “I’m sure the police would have preferred to wait to arrest Leah until they had more than circumstantial evidence linking her to Bob’s death, but now they think she might have had a hand in Erika’s death, all of which would make her a possible danger to society. And they questioned Bob’s boss, a Mr…. wait, it’s in my notes, something with an S.”
“Sawyer,” I supplied.
“Yes, that’s it. Sawyer. Mr. Sawyer told the police that Erika and Bob were unusually close and that she was, and I quote, ‘devastated by Bob’s death.’”
“So now they suspect the affair and Leah has a motive,” Anatoly surmised.
He put his arm around me again, but even that didn’t make me feel better. If I had just had the presence of mind to look for that stupid fingernail, Leah would be home with her son right now. How could I be so stupid?
I met Timothy’s eyes. “But if they think Bob was sleeping with Erika, they must realize that Bianca has a motive, too.”
“I pointed that out to them. But right now they’re doubtful that Bianca was in the know. There were no phone calls between Bianca and Erika, or even any records of Bianca calling Bob’s office. She always contacted him by means of his cell phone or e-mail. She barely knows any of Bob’s friends or colleagues, so who would have told her about Bob’s other affair? Leah, on the other hand, had ample opportunity to make the discovery. The phone records
show that Leah called Erika several times just hours before Bob’s death. And unlike Bianca, Leah knew about Erika’s health condition.”
I took in a shuddering breath. “But if Bianca did know…”
“Even if Bianca knew, the police believe it’s unlikely she would have chosen to kill Bob on the same night he was leaving Leah for her.” Timothy pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Of course, we’ll argue differently.”
I clasped my hands together in an effort to keep them from shaking. “What does this mean in terms of bail?”
“It will make it harder, but as I indicated before, the police have yet to charge Leah with killing Erika. If they don’t do so by the time of the bail hearing, it will help. And even if they do, a fingernail is not exactly a smoking gun. We can try to spin it.”
“What about the hair?” Anatoly asked. “Is it Cheryl’s?”
“Most likely. And the good news is that the hair was actually on the body. They got a warrant and compared the hair found at Erika’s to some hairs they took from a hairbrush found in Cheryl’s apartment, and there was a match. But they can’t guarantee that the hair in the brush actually belonged to Cheryl.”
“So then they should yank some hair out of her head and test that,” I pointed out. “Seems simple enough.”
“It would be simple,” Timothy agreed. “But unfortunately, Cheryl’s disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” I repeated.
“Yes, her car’s gone and there’s no sign of her purse, so it looks like she left voluntarily.”
Anatoly gave my shoulder a little squeeze. “That’s a good thing. It makes her look guilty.”
“Yes, it does,” Timothy agreed. “But now the police are toying with the theory that Cheryl and Leah were actually working together.”
For a minute my distress was replaced by complete bewilderment. “Come again?”
“They think that they might have had a falling-out or something after Bob’s murder, which would explain Cheryl’s disparaging remarks about her. They also are considering the idea that Cheryl’s comments to the press were a smoke screen so people wouldn’t suspect that she and Leah were capable of working together.” He smiled at my blatant confusion. “I know it sounds highly implausible, but right now they’re just looking at all the possibilities.”
“Have you run any of this by Leah?” Anatoly asked.
“I tried to.” Timothy shifted his briefcase from one hand to the other. “Your sister’s not well.”
“She’s sick?” My heart pounded against my chest. How much worse could this get?
“Not in the typical sense.” Timothy cleared his throat. “She’s just a tad on the hysterical side. I tried to talk to her, I really did, but she just kept going on about how the jumpsuit she would be forced to wear doesn’t come in earth tones.”
It wasn’t the first time that I had sat on the opposite side of a Plexiglas window to talk to a prisoner, but it was the first time that I had done so with a prisoner I cared for. Looking at Leah’s messed-up hair and eyes that were brimming with tears filled me with the urge to take a sledgehammer to the transparent material that separated us. Instead I put my hand against the glass and tried to keep my voice calm as I talked to her over the phone.
“Leah, Timothy thinks that he’ll be able to get you out on bail. It would be different if they had enough evidence to charge you with two homicides, but right now the events that led to Erika’s death are still unclear. So getting a judge to set a bail shouldn’t be too much of an ordeal.” At least, I hoped it wouldn’t be.
“All I wanted was to be a wife and mother,” Leah said, her voice listless and meek. Apparently her hysterics had passed. “I did everything right. I had a fairy-tale wedding. I helped Bob find the perfect house for us to live in, and I decorated it with all the latest styles from Pottery Barn. I dressed Jack in Baby Ralph Lauren. I read every issue of O Magazine and Martha Stewart Living. How could all of that have led me to this?” She eyed the room around her and shook her head in disgust.
“It’s just one night, Leah. Tomorrow we’ll get you out of here.”
“They took me away from my child.”
I felt a lump materialize in my throat. “Leah…”
“They took me away from my child and they put me in a cell with a bunch of dealers and prostitutes. And, Sophie—” Leah’s voice began to tremble “—one of the prostitutes has burgundy highlights, too!”
“Oh, honey, it’s going to be okay, really. And I’m sure that your highlights are much better than the hooker’s.”
Leah was crying so hard now that I had to strain to understand her. “She said…she said she got them done at Vidal Sassoon!”
I paused for a moment. “She gets them done at Vidal? God, she must be doing well…. You know what, never mind all that. Just be gracious and try not to draw attention to yourself. Remember, if Martha can survive incarceration, so can you. Hey, maybe I’ll call my agent and see if I can get you a book deal. Would you like that?”
“I don’t want a stupid book deal,” she sobbed. “I want to get out of here!”
I sucked in a sharp breath, tried to keep my own emotions in check. “Okay, let’s think this through. Now I told you that in addition to Cheryl’s hair they found your broken fingernail at Erika’s. What I haven’t told you is that the police are toying with the possibility that you and Cheryl have been working together.”
Leah instantly stopped crying. Her mouth dropped open and she leaned forward so that her forehead was just inches away from the Plexiglas. “What did you just say?”
“They think the two of you might have killed Bob together and then afterward had some kind of falling-out because, well, you know, sometimes murderers get mad at each other.”
“Wait a minute—they think that I had possession of a gun while I was in the presence of Cheryl and then I turned around and shot Bob?” Leah’s voice was getting louder by the second. “Why would I do that? Why would any self-respecting murderess pass up the chance to kill that pretentious little groupie?”
“Oh, come on, Leah, it’s not like everyone wants to kill Cheryl.”
“I’m not talking about the people who haven’t met her!” Leah pounded her fist on the table in front of her. “You know what, I’ve had it. It would be one thing if the police really had a strong case against me, but the fact that they would even entertain the idea that I would be in cahoots with Cheryl just proves they’re grasping at straws. Tell my lawyer I expect him to clear me of all charges by the end of the week, and when he’s done with that, I want to file a suit against the city.”
“For false arrest?”
“For slander! For stupidity—for insulting my sensibilities! My God, there should be a law against even having that woman’s name mentioned in the same sentence as mine!”
I smiled and leaned back in my chair. “You know what, Leah? I think you’re going to be just fine.”
CHAPTER 17
“I respect a woman who’s able to intimidate her enemies, but when the mere sight of her causes people to run from the room screaming—that’s a problem.”
—Words To Die By
Anatoly and I parted ways when we got back to our neighborhood. Anatoly had called Jerome while I was visiting with Leah, and Jerome had given him the contact information for one of his police sources, so Anatoly was going to try to talk to him. I, on the other hand, needed to deal with my family.
When I walked into my apartment I found Mama in the kitchen and Jerome in the living room reading to Jack. He must have left and come back, because next to him was a pile of kids’ books I had never seen before. The one he was reading at the moment was a board book titled Soul Food. Jack was curled up in Jerome’s lap, completely engrossed. Rich, wonderful scents came out of the kitchen, completing the scene. The sight gave me an unexpected feeling of peace. Bob had spent so little time with Jack, and he had been so disdainful of Leah’s ethnicity, and here was Jerome cuddled up with him reading a book that clearly w
as meant to celebrate his black heritage.
Jerome looked up as I walked in, and Mama turned away from her cooking and eyed me anxiously.
I took a deep breath and smiled at Jack. “Where’d all the books come from?”
“I brought ’em from home,” Jerome explained. “I have lots of little nieces and nephews who like their Uncle Jerome to read to them.”
“So, enough with the suspense already.” Mama banged a spatula on the partition. “When are they letting my Leah out?”
“The bail hearing’s set for tomorrow,” I said, then walked into the kitchen and peeked at what was on the stove. “Fried chicken. And Jerome’s reading Soul Food. I’m sensing a theme here.”
Mama nodded at an open cookbook on the counter. “I got the recipe from that cookbook I gave you that you never use.”
I checked the title on the cover. “The Complete American Jewish Cookbook? So this is…”
“Jewish fried chicken.”
“Huh, I didn’t know there was such a thing.” I looked at the pan again. “If you’re using the chicken that I had in the freezer, I should warn you I didn’t buy it at a kosher deli.”
“I’m not using dairy, so as far as I’m concerned it’s kosher.” She flipped the chicken over before covering the pan.
“Well, it smells incredible.”
“How is your sister? Are they feeding her in that place?”
“It’s not a POW camp—they do feed them.”
“My poor mumala.” A tear trickled into the folds of skin around her eyes. “How could such a thing happen?”
“I’m going to fix all this, Mama.” I pulled her into a hug. “I won’t let Leah go to prison.”
The four of us sat down that night to a dinner of Jewish Soul Food, and afterward I sent both Mama and Jerome home. Jack was as challenging as always, but I found that my sympathy for his situation gave me more patience. I even took him into my bed that night rather than put him in the crib in the guest room where he’d been staying with his mom. He slept a little better than he had the night before, and surprisingly his presence gave me some comfort. When he slept, his little hands went up to his face and I put my hand on his back so I could feel it rise and fall with each breath. Maybe I did have a few maternal instincts. But there was no doubt in my mind that this child didn’t belong with me. He belonged with Leah, and if I had to beg, borrow or steal in order to make that happen, I would.
