“Then why did you come into my courtroom fifteen minutes late?”
“Your Honor, the traffic on—”
“I don’t care about the traffic. Don’t ever come into my courtroom late again. Now explain to me why you haven’t turned over the documents requested by the defense.”
Ross went into a rambling explanation that didn’t make sense.
Haley smirked. “I have this in the bag,” she whispered to Vernetta.
Don’t count on it.
The judge chewed out Ross for a good ten minutes, then turned to defense counsel.
“Which one of you is arguing this motion?”
“I am,” Haley said.
“Okay, then I want to hear from you and only you.”
Vernetta slowly sat down.
“I see you cited Pembroke,” the judge began. “What were the facts of that case?”
Haley’s face went blank. They had cited Pembroke on procedural grounds, as part of a long string of citations. It had nothing to do with the substance of the motion. Few attorneys would know the facts of a case cited for that reason. The judge knew this.
“Did you hear my question, counselor?”
Haley’s left leg started shaking. “Um . . . yes I did.”
“Well, what’s your answer? I don’t have all day.”
Haley was frantically searching through the brief, trying to figure out where they had cited Pembroke. Vernetta rose from her seat to rescue her colleague. “Your Honor, if I may address the court, Pembroke—”
“No, you may not address the court,” the judge retorted. “Ms. Prescott is arguing this motion and she’s the only person I want to hear from.”
The silence was deadly as Haley frantically flipped pages. Vernetta found the correct page and slid her copy of the brief in front of Haley. But Haley seemed to be stricken with stage fright and couldn’t move.
Vernetta scribbled some words for Haley to recite and placed the legal pad in front of her. Still no response.
“Ms. Prescott, I see from your bar number that you’ve only been practicing law for a couple of years. But that’s no excuse for your poor performance here today. If you submit a brief to this court, I expect you to know the cases you’ve cited. Each and every one of them. I figure your billing rate must be in the neighborhood of three or four hundred dollars an hour. When you leave here, call your client and offer them a refund.”
There was shaky laughter from the gallery.
“I won’t waste more time on this case,” the judge said. “The clerk has my tentative ruling. I’m making it final. Next case.”
The clerk handed them a copy of the ruling as they walked through the swinging gate leading back to the gallery. Vernetta scanned it and was relieved to see that the judge was ordering Ross to turn over the documents within five days and had also granted their request for monetary sanctions.
O’Reilly was sitting on the back row. He must have slipped in just in time to hear the judge berate Haley. He did not look happy. Haley was about to get her second grilling of the day.
They followed O’Reilly out of the courtroom, where he motioned them over to a deserted area near the escalator. “What happened in there was unacceptable!” His voice was low, but he was shouting just the same. “How did you let that happen?”
He was staring directly at Vernetta.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m holding you responsible for what just occurred in there.” He pointed his finger in Vernetta’s face. “You know what an asshole Abernathy is. Why did you let Haley argue that motion? You should have taken over.”
“I tried to!” Vernetta shot back. “But Haley wouldn’t let me. And when I tried to address the court, the judge wouldn’t let me speak. Isn’t that right, Haley?”
Haley’s lips didn’t move, then she shrugged. “I guess so.”
“You guess so? I tried to—”
“Let’s continue this discussion when we’re back at the office.”
He abruptly stormed off and Haley followed after him, leaving Vernetta standing there dumbfounded.
Chapter 39
J.C. looked up from her desk and saw Detective Jessup headed her way. Since she didn’t have time to hide, she picked up the telephone and pretended to be engaged in conversation.
“Yes, I’d like the information as soon as possible,” J.C. said to the dial tone.
Detective Jessup pulled a chair up to her desk and sat down. He was apparently willing to wait.
“Hold on a minute.” J.C. hit the hold button and hung the receiver over her shoulder. “May I help you?”
“Go ahead and finish your call. I can wait.”
J.C. frowned, then said good-bye to the dial tone.
“I’m busy,” she said, as she hung up the phone.
Detective Jessup scooted his chair closer to her desk. “Tell me something? Why do you find it so hard to be nice to me?”
“I told you, I’m busy.”
“I just dropped by to find out what you did to upset the boss.”
J.C. hadn’t told a soul about her discussion with Lieutenant Wilson and she doubted he had either. “And who said I upset the boss?”
“Just a rumor floating around. You’re usually in there shooting the breeze with him a couple times a day. I just noticed that you two seem to be avoiding each other. I’m very observant. That’s why I’m such a good detective.”
“I don’t have time for this nonsense.” She opened her desk drawer, pulled out a file and started reading it.
“You’re the lieutenant’s pet. It’s really strange that he’s keeping you out of the loop.”
“You obviously have something you want to tell me. Why don’t you just spit it out.”
He was like a kid anxious to spill the beans. “Another big-shot black guy was found dead yesterday morning, but you were nowhere near the crime scene. I was just wondering why not.”
J.C. could not hide her alarm. “There was another shooting?”
He nodded.
“Where?”
“Ladera. An investment banker with some major bucks. Shot in the head and chest just like the others. Looks like the weapon of choice was probably a twenty-two as well.”
“I didn’t hear any news reports about the shooting on my way in to work.”
“They’re trying to keep this one hush-hush for the moment. Direct order from the mayor’s office. The election is only six months away. He’s concerned about a backlash from the black community. Your people are starting to claim that we aren’t doing enough to solve the murders. When they hear about a fourth shooting, they’ll probably call in Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson.”
J.C. sat back in her chair. She couldn’t believe there had been another shooting and the lieutenant was doing nothing about it.
“So why are you being kept out of the loop?” Detective Jessup asked.
“I’m about to find out.” J.C. was out of her seat before he could ask any more questions.
The lieutenant was talking on the telephone when J.C. appeared in his doorway. After noticing her, he swiveled his chair around, turning his back to her. She folded her arms and waited.
Two minutes later, he cussed under his breath and slammed down the phone. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.
They had both stayed clear of each other after the lieutenant rejected her theory about the murders being connected to the victims’ possible homosexual liaisons.
J.C. stepped inside, but did not close the door or take a seat. “I heard there was another shooting. I was just wondering if you’d given any additional thought to my theory.”
The lieutenant chuckled derisively. “I know for a fact that your little theory doesn’t apply this time. James Hill is my fraternity brother. And he wasn’t no fa— homosexual.”
“You can’t know that for sure. These men are good at putting up a front.”
He guffawed. “Well, he must’ve been damn good to fool me.”
J.C. put her hands o
n her hips. “I just need to know whether you’re going to act on the information I gave you?”
“I’m looking into it. But for the time being, I’m not going public with an allegation that these men were . . .” He caught himself this time. “. . . were homosexuals. I care about my career. And you should start caring about yours.”
Fuming, J.C. turned to leave.
“You know, Detective,” the lieutenant said, before she reached the doorway, “I think I finally figured it out.” He let his words linger.
J.C. started to leave, but turned back. “Figured out what, Lieutenant?”
“Why you’re so concerned about these sissies, if they actually are sissies. Frankly, I’d think you’d share my feelings in light of what happened to that friend of yours.”
J.C. said nothing.
“But then I got to thinking. You know, I’ve never once seen you with a man. And you’ve never been married. Do you even like men?”
His words left her speechless.
“Let’s see. You didn’t have a date at the Christmas party, you didn’t have one at the Department picnic, and you brought a girlfriend to Lucinda’s going away party. You’re so concerned about these fa— excuse me, ho-mo-sex-u-als, because you’re into that homo crap, too. I hear a lot of women cops are lesbians. But I never would’ve pegged you for one of ’em.”
J.C. struggled for the right response as rage consumed her. “I expected a lot more from you, Lieutenant,” she said tightly, then walked out.
Back at her desk, she grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer and hurried out of the building before she gave in to the urge to put her fist through a wall.
Chapter 40
It was after eight by the time Vernetta pulled into her driveway. She was tired, hungry, and in a PMS funk. She remained in the car, listening to Luther Vandross’ Wait for Love on the radio,which made her tear up. That was going to be Maya’s wedding song.
She was still angry with O’Reilly for going off on her at the courthouse, though he later apologized. Haley had apparently come forward with an accurate accounting of the events that preceded her disastrous first oral argument. Vernetta realized that she should actually consider herself lucky. If Haley had decided to lie, O’Reilly would have surely taken her word over Vernetta’s.
Jefferson was in the den, bent over a clipboard and a calculator. She dropped her purse on the coffee table and plopped down next to him on the couch.
“Good to see I’m not the only one working late.”
He nodded without looking up and kept punching buttons on the calculator, then scribbled some numbers on the clipboard.
“How can you concentrate with the TV up so loud?” An episode of Sex and the City was on the screen. She reached for the remote and turned down the volume.
“The noise actually helps,” Jefferson mumbled. “Makes me feel like I’m still out at the worksite.”
Vernetta yawned. “Well, I had another awful day.” She rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. “First, O’Reilly had the nerve to—”
Jefferson held up his hand. “I don’t wanna hear it.”
She sat up. “That’s certainly a crappy way to respond.”
He ignored her and kept hitting buttons on the calculator.
“I try to tell you about my day and you just cut me off? What’s up with that?”
“I’m just tired of hearing it.”
A burst of heat inched up Vernetta’s neck. “Tired of hearing what?”
“About how bad your day was and how much Haley gets on your nerves and how you have to work such long hours and how—”
Vernetta bounced off the couch. “Well, excuse me for thinking I had a husband I could talk to about my problems.”
“I don’t mind talking to you about your problems.” Jefferson put his pencil down and gave her his full attention. “I’m just tired of you constantly complaining about your job and not doing anything to change the situation.”
“Oh, I get it. This is turning into another conversation about you wanting me to leave the firm. Well, I’m not a quitter.”
He turned off the TV even though it was already muted, then threw the remote down on the couch. “I don’t want you to quit. I want you to be happy. And going to work at O’Reilly & Finney every day doesn’t seem to make you happy. But you keep marching off to work like a good little soldier, then you come home every night and bitch to me for an hour about how miserable your job is. Well, I don’t wanna hear it tonight.”
“Fine! I had no idea that I was getting on your nerves.” Vernetta snatched her purse and stomped off to the bedroom. “I won’t bore you with my problems ever again,” she hollered back at him from the hallway.
She had changed into her pajamas by the time Jefferson entered the bedroom ten minutes later.
He looked at her and laughed.
“I don’t know what you think is so funny,” she said.
“I guess I’m not getting any tonight, huh?” He chuckled. “Whenever you wear flannel to bed, that’s usually what it means.”
“Puh-leeze.” Vernetta turned away and faced the mirror atop the dresser. “I wear flannel when I feel like wearing flannel. But you’re right. You definitely ain’t getting any tonight.”
He tried to give her a hug, but she stepped around him and stalked into the bathroom. She doused a washcloth with warm water and pressed it to her face.
Jefferson stood in the doorway, arms folded, watching her. “I’m sorry for coming at you the way I did just now. But sometimes I get frustrated because there’s nothing I can do to help you.”
“I don’t need any help,” Vernetta snapped. “I’m just fine.”
“That’s the problem. You’re not fine. You’re not fine at all.”
Vernetta dried her face and wished she could make him disappear.
“Leaving that firm wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Jefferson said gently. “And you don’t have to be superwoman twenty-four/seven.”
Vernetta chuckled sarcastically. “I’m not trying to be anybody’s superwoman.” She hung up the towel and tried to squeeze past him, but he blocked the doorway, threw his arms around her and wouldn’t let go.
“Leave me alone!” She struggled to escape, but Jefferson overpowered her. When she realized that she couldn’t escape, she finally stopped fighting. To her surprise, a gust of emotion seemed to appear from nowhere. She had absolutely nothing to cry about, so why was she crying?
“I love you,” Jefferson said. “And it hurts me to see you unhappy.”
Vernetta didn’t respond because she couldn’t. So, instead, she just cried into her husband’s strong chest and wondered what in the hell she was doing with her life.
Chapter 41
Special stared at her computer monitor and tried to concentrate on the report she’d been working on for the past hour. Every time a coherent thought entered her head, her mind wandered off and she forgot what point she was trying to make.
She knew she needed to get her act together and fast. But all she could think about was Clayton. It had been four days and he still wasn’t returning her calls or answering her emails. She couldn’t believe her stupid stunt was going to cost her the most incredible man she’d ever met.
Reaching for her coffee mug, she headed for the breakroom for her third cup of the morning. All the caffeine she’d been consuming had to be part of the reason she wasn’t getting any sleep lately. She’d start cutting back. Tomorrow. When she entered the room, Radonna, one of her coworkers, snatched the television remote and hit the mute button.
“How you doing, girl?” Radonna asked.
Special figured her coworkers were talking about her. It surprised her that Radonna was up in the mix, since Special considered her a close friend. But she didn’t have the energy to care.
Special reached for the coffee pot and filled her cup. “Why are you guys staring at me?”
Radonna smiled. �
��Nobody’s staring at you, girl.”
Special noticed that Radonna was intentionally blocking the television screen. Special stepped around her and read the crawl at the bottom of the screen. Latest on local AIDS lawsuit on News at Noon. Radonna hit the remote again, turning off the TV.
“Turn that back on,” Special ordered.
“Girl, we need to get back to work.” Radonna smiled nervously.
Special grabbed the remote from her hand and hit the power button. “They’re about to do a story about the lawsuit we filed against Eugene. The noon broadcast should be on any minute.”
Daisy, a sixtyish woman who worked the front desk, pursed her lips. “Baby, are you sure you should be watching this?”
“Yeah,” Special said. “I’m glad the case is getting some publicity. I want that man to get everything he deserves.” She sat her coffee cup on the table and pulled up a chair.
They waited in silence for the newscast to begin, watching a Gap commercial, followed by a Burger King spot, and Gary Coleman explaining how people in debt could get some quick cash. If Special had a pen handy, she would’ve written down the number for herself.
The familiar jingle for News at Noon came on and the lead anchor, a paunchy, conservative-looking white man with too-thick hair, quickly teased the top three stories. The AIDS lawsuit led the broadcast.
Special listened as the anchor did a quick intro, then tossed the story to a reporter standing outside the headquarters for the Gay and Lesbian Center.
Bill, I’m here in West Hollywood, where attorney and gay activist Barry Eagleman has announced that he will be defending attorney Eugene Nelson in one of the city’s first wrongful death lawsuits alleging an intentional transmission of the AIDS virus.
Special felt like she had taken a punch to the gut.The next scene showed a conference room with Eugene seated at a table next to Eagleman and two other men. The flashy attorney wore his hair slicked back in a long ponytail. He had small, piercing eyes and a handlebar mustache. Eagleman leaned over the microphone.
Murder on the Down Low Page 14
