“So what do we think happened here?” J.C. asked.
“Wasn’t robbery. That’s for sure,” Detective Jessup replied. “The guy had more than three hundred bucks and several credit cards on him, and they’re still there. Looks like a hit to me.”
The crime scene tech walked up carrying a heavy metal box. J.C. liked Chester Dowd because he never made her feel like she didn’t belong. Short and round with sandy blond hair, he was undisputedly the Department’s best.
J.C. watched as he conducted a cursory examination of the body.
“Anything important you can tell us at this point?”
Dowd scratched his temple. “Maybe. Remember that shooting two days ago, about six miles from here?”
Shootings weren’t exactly uncommon in L.A. J.C. tried to recall which one he was talking about.
“That engineer killed outside the Ramada Inn on Bristol Parkway,” Dowd said. “Another well-dressed black guy. Shot in the head and chest three times. Small caliber gun. Probably a twenty-two.”
J.C. took a step closer. “Yeah?”
“This one—and this is just my initial take—looks a whole lot like that one.”
“So, what’re you saying? You think the murders are connected?”
“Maybe,” Dowd said, “but that’s not my job. That’s something you gotta figure out.”
Chapter 6
After leaving Maya’s repast, Vernetta found herself plodding down the twelfth floor hallway at the offices of O’Reilly & Finney. There wasn’t the usual hubbub of activity typical of a weekday, but a fair number of attorneys were still chained to their desks at seven o’clock on a Saturday night.
Easing into the chair behind her desk, Vernetta frowned at the bright red message light on the telephone. She turned on her computer, then picked up the phone and punched in her voicemail password.
You have sixteen new messages.
With a loud sigh, she dropped the telephone back into the cradle. What was she even doing here? She had hoped to get a head start on next week’s workload, but no matter how much she got done tonight, there would still be more to do Monday morning. That was the worst part of her job. You could never catch up. There was always another lawsuit waiting in the wings.
Vernetta had recently been passed up for partnership and her passion for practicing law was slowly ebbing away. Just getting dressed in the morning and coming into the office was becoming more and more of a chore.
During the past few weeks, she had given serious thought to leaving the firm. Perhaps it was Maya’s ordeal and the realization that life was too short to waste time doing something you didn’t absolutely love. But she wasn’t a quitter. She was bound to make it on the next go-round. She would evaluate her career options after she made partner.
“Oh, good. You’re here.” Jim O’Reilly, the firm’s managing partner, who used to be her staunchest supporter, stood in the doorway of her office. Used to being theoperative phrase.
After a sexual harassment case spiraled way out of her control, their relationship had become strained. And there didn’t seem to be anything Vernetta could do to fix it.
“Did you get my voicemail message?” he asked.
“Uh . . . no, I didn’t.” Vernetta sat forward in her chair. “I’ve been out most of the week. I was just about to listen to my voicemail now.”
O’Reilly grimaced. “I left that message two days ago. I also sent you an email. Didn’t you have your BlackBerry with you?”
She didn’t respond. It wasn’t like O’Reilly to berate her. “I had a death in the family,” she said, not feeling at all like she was telling a lie since Maya felt as close as family.
“Sorry to hear that.”
The old O’Reilly, the one who’d been her mentor and friend, would have inquired further.
“I had an out-of-office message on both my voicemail and email.”
“I guess I wasn’t paying attention. You should always check your messages. Even when you’re on vacation.”
Vernetta disagreed, but wisely held her tongue.
“Anyway,” he went on, as if he had better things to do, “Honeywell has an employee who’s been abusing family leave. I gave them a quick answer, but promised that you’d get them a memo with some additional steps they should take. They need it by Monday afternoon.”
It annoyed her that he’d made that promise without checking her schedule first. This assignment was something a second or third year associate could easily do.
“Doesn’t Haley do work for Honeywell?” Vernetta asked. “Can’t she handle it?”
Haley was the only associate at the firm she truly loathed. Not long ago, the brainy, blond bombshell seemed to be on her last leg, her arrogance and backstabbing ways having alienated every senior associate in the Department and a few partners, too. But somehow, she had managed to clean up her act and transform herself back into Ms. Superstar Associate.
“Haley’s swamped. So, can you get it done?”
It bothered Vernetta that O’Reilly was asking her to do junior associate work. She still hadn’t figured out how Haley, who had just finished her second year of practice, had wormed her way into O’Reilly’s good graces. Now, it appeared that O’Reilly had Haley’s back. Not hers.
“Sure,” she said.
The phone rang as O’Reilly walked out.
“I was hoping you didn’t pick up,” Jefferson said. “I figured you’d be on your way home by now.”
Vernetta transferred the receiver from one ear to the other. “You know how it is. Once I turn on the computer, my butt gets stuck to the chair.”
Jefferson chuckled. “I wish I could find just one employee with your work ethic.” He owned a small electrical contracting company, and lately, he had more work than his small crew could handle. “You doin’ okay?”
“Yep,” Vernetta said, though she wasn’t.
“Sorry I couldn’t stay longer at the repast, but we’re way behind on this project.” Jefferson’s company was under the gun to finish work on a new condo complex in Torrance.
“That’s okay. I had my girls with me.”
“So when are you coming home?”
Vernetta thought about the Honeywell assignment, then looked at the computer screen and saw a long list of unopened email messages. Even if she read all of them now, there would soon be more to replace them. It had been a mistake to think she could get any work done tonight. She didn’t have an ounce of energy left. She would come in extra early on Monday and bang out the memo.
“Now,” she said, turning off the computer. “I’m coming home right now.”
Chapter 7
Eugene shuddered with apprehension as he approached the double glass doors leading into the vestibule of Ever Faithful Missionary Baptist Church. It had been a while since he’d attended church. But when life got too heavy, it was the only place Eugene knew to go for help.
An instrumental version of his grandmother’s favorite hymn wafted from the speakers. The memory brought a smile to his lips. An attractive woman walking his way assumed Eugene’s smile was intended for her. When she smiled back, he looked away.
About two dozen people, mostly women, were scattered about the vestibule. No matter what direction he turned, he met enticing female eyes that told him any one of the stylishly dressed women could be his for the asking. The women in L.A. are so damn desperate.
Eugene’s thoughts went to Maya. He loved her and had wanted to give her the world. But instead, he had destroyed Maya’s world.
Except for Lamont Wiley, a paralegal at his law firm, his hookups with men had been brief, insignificant excursions. Each one followed by a vow that there would not be another. He had usually been careful to wear a condom, but he obviously had not been careful enough.
For several months after asking Maya to marry him, Eugene had committed himself totally to her. She was the first and only woman he truly believed he could spend the rest of his life with. But seeing Lamont at work day after day made it
next to impossible to break things off with him.
A tall, good-looking man, Lamont could charm the pants off his white coworkers one second, then quickly slide into hip-hop mode with the effortless ease of a stoplight turning from red to green. The attraction between the two men had been instantaneous, though both had been slow to act upon it. Unlike Eugene, Lamont had never dealt with women and had made it clear that he was looking for a serious relationship.
Standing in the church vestibule now, Eugene felt burdened with guilt. Why had the new AIDS drugs left him feeling strong and healthy, but allowed Maya to whither away? Even Lamont remained healthy and HIV negative. God obviously wanted him to live the rest of his days with the guilt of Maya’s death.
Eugene entered the sanctuary and took an aisle seat near the back of the church. As the pews slowly filled, he decided to make a run to the men’s room before the service began.
The north wing of the church had been renovated since Eugene’s last visit. As he made his way inside, he took a second to admire the restroom’s new marble floor and silvery-black granite countertops. Just as he was finishing up at the urinal, a handsome black man with short wavy hair entered the restroom. He had to be in his mid-forties, but Eugene could tell even through his conservative blue suit that he was in excellent physical shape. The man greeted Eugene with a friendly smile.
With one lingering look, Eugene knew. He quickly zipped up and hurried over to the sink to wash his hands.
“I haven’t seen you here before,” the man said. His body faced the urinal, but his eyes were on Eugene.
“Haven’t been in a while.” Eugene hoped that his clipped response conveyed that he did not welcome prolonged conversation.
“Well, welcome back, brother. I’m Derek. Derek Stevens.”
“Eugene Nelson.”
“Hold up a minute.” Derek stepped away from the urinal, his pants still unzipped, briefly exposing himself.
Eugene needed to leave. Now. He grabbed a couple of paper towels from the metal box on the wall and quickly dried his hands.
“Bishop Berry really puts down the word,” Derek said, as he washed his hands. Their eyes met a second time and Derek smiled that smile again. “And there’s a pretty cool men’s group here you should consider joining. If you’d like to hear more about it, give me a call.” Derek reached inside his breast pocket and pulled out a business card.
Eugene looked down at the card, glad to have someplace else to rest his eyes.
“And if you’re interested in investing, I can help you out with that, too. I’m a broker with Morgan Stanley.” Derek was putting it all on the table. Before Maya, Eugene would have jumped at the opportunity.
Eugene headed for the door.
Derek followed him into the hallway, where an attractive woman dressed in a designer suit stood waiting. “This is my fiancée, Latrice. We’re getting married in November.”
Latrice beamed and swooned at the same time.
Now Eugene knew without a doubt that God was speaking to him. Maya had worn that same look of adoring pride every time Eugene nervously introduced her to men from his past. But there would be no more lies. And no more life on the DL. As Eugene made his way back to his seat, he tossed Derek’s card into a metal trashcan.
Bishop Berry’s sermon turned out to be exactly what Eugene needed. Not preachy or condemning, but thought-provoking and compassionate. His message—God Is Talking, Are You Listening?—seemed tailor-made for Eugene. By the time the ushers passed the offering, Eugene was ready to toss his entire wallet into the plate.
When Bishop Berry extended an invitation to join the church, something lifted Eugene from his seat and before he knew it, he was floating down the center aisle to enthusiastic handclapping, hearty nods, and a few pats on the back.
“Welcome, brother.” Bishop Berry gave him a hug. “Welcome to the Ever Faithful family.”
Eugene stood facing the congregation as tears poured from his eyes. After more applause and amens, an usher showed Eugene and two other new members into a small room to the right of the pulpit.
A woman stood waiting for them. “I’m Belynda Davis, head of the New Members Ministry. I love this church and you will, too.”
Belynda went on to tell them about the classes they would be required to attend before their membership became official. Eugene didn’t hear a word she was saying. The woman wasn’t just beautiful, she had a radiance about her. The same glow that had attracted him to Maya. She even had Maya’s smile.
Eugene took a long, deep breath. Not only had God given him the strength to resist Derek, He put another beautiful woman in his life to help him stay focused. When Belynda concluded her presentation, Eugene walked up to her.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to hear a little more about those church groups you were telling us about.” Eugene treated her to a smile that had wooed almost as many men as women. “If you don’t have plans after church, I was wondering if you might be willing to join me for brunch.”
Chapter 8
Vernetta, Nichelle, and Special, gathered around Maya’s small kitchen table as Maya’s mother busied herself at the stove, preparing her famous Kitchen Sink Omelet.
Nichelle had come up with the name because Maya’s mother used anything she could find to toss into it. The omelet’s real kick was the combination of jack, mozzarella, and cheddar cheeses. Whenever Pearl Washington came to town, they looked forward to breakfast more than any other meal she prepared for them.
Mrs. Washington dished omelets onto three plates, then leaned back against the kitchen counter watching them devour her cooking. There was an awkward silence in the room as everyone tried to pretend not to notice Maya’s absence.
“You’re not eating?” Nichelle asked.
“I haven’t had much of an appetite lately,” Mrs. Washington said. “I’ll have something later.”
Vernetta pulled out a chair for her. “Why don’t you join us at the table?”
As Mrs. Washington took a seat, Nichelle swallowed a big forkful of her omelet, then cleared her throat. Even though they had rehearsed what she was about to say, Vernetta could tell she was on edge. “Mrs. Washington, there’s something important we’d like to talk to you about.”
Mrs. Washington raised her right hand. “Girls, I don’t think I’m up to talking about Maya’s personal affairs just yet. She already told me that she named you as her trustee, Nichelle. I’m fine with that.”
Nichelle tried to smile. “No, it’s not about Maya’s affairs,” she said gently. “But it’s important that we discuss this before you head back to Detroit.”
Mrs. Washington wrung her hands. “Okay.”
Nichelle reached for her orange juice and took a sip. “I know Maya told you she had no idea Eugene was sleeping with men,” she began. “And while he didn’t know that he was HIV positive, he—”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Special interrupted. “He lied about being gay. He probably lied about that, too.”
Vernetta placed a hand on Special’s arm and gave her a look that told her to cool it.
Nichelle took another sip of orange juice. “As I was saying, even if he didn’t know he was HIV positive as he claims, he still put Maya’s life at risk by sleeping with men and not telling her that he was bisexual.”
Special cut in again. “There’s no such thing as bisexual. You’re either straight or you’re gay, and we know what Eugene is.”
“May I please finish without you interrupting me? This is hard enough as it is.” Nichelle didn’t get upset often. But when she did, people usually backed off. Even Special.
Nichelle turned back to Mrs. Washington. “What I’m trying to say is, we don’t think Eugene should be allowed to get away with this.”
Mrs. Washington frowned. “He already did. My baby’s dead.”
Nichelle stabbed at her omelet with her fork. “Mrs. Washington, we want to file a lawsuit against Eugene, but we can’t because we’re not related to Maya. We want you
r permission to sue Eugene on your behalf.”
Mrs. Washington glanced around the table. “A lawsuit? A lawsuit for what?”
“For wrongful death.”
“I can sue him for that?”
“Yes, you can,” Special said eagerly.
Mrs. Washington pressed her hand flat against her chest. “I don’t know if I have the strength to go through something like this. And getting money from Eugene isn’t going to bring Maya back.”
Special touched her aunt’s forearm. “It’s not just about the money, Auntie Pearl. This lawsuit will attract a lot of publicity. It’s going to send a message to other men on the down low that they can’t do what Eugene did.”
Mrs. Washington retied the belt of her robe. “I don’t have any money to pay a lawyer.”
“Nichelle’s law firm will be handling the case on a contingency basis,” Vernetta explained. “If they win, her firm will collect a third of the award.” Vernetta wished she could handle the case. But her specialty was employment law and O’Reilly & Finney took very few cases on contingency. With partnership on the line, she needed clients who could pay by the hour.
Mrs. Washington massaged her forehead. “I don’t know about this, girls. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do.”
“Auntie Pearl,” Special said gently, “it wasn’t right that Eugene took Maya from all of us. The law says you can sue people who wrongfully cause someone’s death and we want you to sue Eugene.”
Mrs. Washington’s sister entered the room. Mavis sported a colorful scarf around her head, knotted in the front. She was ten years older than Pearl, but it barely showed. Vernetta could see a definite resemblance between Special’s father and his two sisters.
“I’ve heard everything these girls have been saying,” Mavis said. “They’re right. That boy should pay. In my book, what he did amounts to murder any which way you look at it.”
Mrs. Washington rose and gripped the back of the chair for support. “I don’t know, girls. It’s God’s job to punish Eugene, not ours.”
Murder on the Down Low Page 3
