Murder on the Down Low

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “Nice to know you’re back out there, Eugene.”

  “What I do is my business. I know you guys think I’m responsible for Maya’s death, but—”

  “Think you’re responsible? Think? We don’t think you’re responsible, we know you’re responsible and you know it, too. Despite that crap your attorneys said in court yesterday.”

  Eugene closed his eyes. Yes, he knew he had caused Maya’s death and he knew his lawyer’s arguments were nothing but legal maneuvering. If Maya’s family won the lawsuit, his attorneys said the verdict could be in the millions. He wasn’t about to lose every dime he had ever worked for. He had to do what he had to do.

  “I know you don’t believe that I loved Maya, but I did. If I could give my life for hers, I would. But I can’t and I will not sit back and let your psycho friend continue to harass me.”

  Eugene slammed down the phone just as he heard a knock at the door. Two cops, an African-American and a Latino, stood on his front porch. He opened the door and invited them in. He could tell from their expressions that they recognized him.

  The black cop pulled out a small notepad. “You called about the car outside, right?”

  Right away, Eugene knew that he would not get the help he needed. The look on both men’s faces conveyed that they believed he had gotten exactly what he deserved. Their indifference infuriated him. He was a goddamn taxpayer and he deserved protection.

  “I know who did this,” he said.

  “We’re listening,” the Hispanic cop replied. He was barely five-seven and looked like he’d been stuffed into his black uniform.

  “Her name is Special Moore and—”

  Though he had taken out his notepad, the black cop had yet to write anything down. “Did you see her do it?” he asked

  “No. But she’s been harassing me.”

  The Hispanic cop was busy checking out the plush surroundings. The living room walls were painted a soft brick color and were bordered with stark white baseboards and crown molding. An L-shaped couch with African-print fabric took up one corner of the room. The officer gawked unabashedly at the baby grand in the corner.

  “She lives in Fox Hills on Buckingham Drive.” He picked up a note from the coffee table that he had written before their arrival. “Here’s her address and telephone number.”

  “And what makes you think she’s behind this?” the black cop asked.

  “Like I just said, she’s been harassing me.”

  “I think I heard about your case. You’re the guy whose fiancée died of AIDS and you’re suing her for ten mil, right?” He chuckled sarcastically. “I suspect there are a lot of people who could’ve done this.”

  Eugene felt a tightening in his chest. They couldn’t care less about his car and home being vandalized.

  “Unless you have some hard evidence, we can’t just go around arresting people.” The black cop finally scribbled something on his notepad. “We’ll take some pictures and collect some evidence, but vandalism’s not an easy crime to solve.”

  The Hispanic cop was still inspecting the living room. He took a few steps and peered into the kitchen. “You’ve got two refrigerators?”

  “One’s a deep freezer,” Eugene said irritably.

  He nodded. “Anyway, like my partner said, vandals aren’t easy to catch. Hopefully, you’ve got insurance.”

  When they stepped outside, an L.A. Times photographer and a news truck from the local Fox station were snapping pictures of the damaged car and the spray-painted epithets. Two other news crews were pulling up. In seconds Eugene had microphones and cameras in his face.

  “This is without a doubt a hate crime,” Eugene proclaimed. “And I’m asking anyone who may have witnessed this attack to please come forward.”

  After interviewing Eugene, a reporter stuck a microphone in the black cop’s face and his demeanor completely changed. He gave a short sound bite that made it sound like this was the crime of the century and he was determined to solve it.

  Two hours later, when all the commotion had died down, Eugene sat on his living room couch and tried to decompress. He felt such a sense of hopelessness that he didn’t trust himself to be alone. He picked up his keys and opened the front door, then realized that he didn’t have a car to drive.

  Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed Belynda’s number. Her voice instantly soothed him.

  “It’s Eugene,” he said, his voice cracking. He didn’t know where to begin, so he said what he felt. “I need you.”

  Chapter 49

  It had taken a while, but Belynda had finally convinced Eugene to seek counseling at the church. He pulled Belynda’s Honda Civic into the parking lot of Ever Faithful and turned off the engine.

  At nearly every stoplight, Eugene considered making a U-turn and heading home. But he knew he needed help. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was nearing the breaking point.

  Despite Belynda’s assurances, Eugene had no idea how sympathetic Bishop Berry would be. He’d never heard the bishop deliver one of those fire and brimstone sermons condemning homosexuality, but with most ministers he knew, Christianity and homosexuality didn’t mix.

  Eugene steeled himself and made his way into the church. The empty vestibule had a serene feeling that welcomed him. He had never been inside Ever Faithful when the church wasn’t packed with people. He looked around, not sure which hallway led to the bishop’s office.

  An older woman greeted him. “Good afternoon and welcome to Ever Faithful. I’m Bettie.”

  “Hello,” Eugene said. “I’m looking for Bishop Berry.”

  Bettie pursed her lips. “Did you have an appointment?”

  “No, but I was hoping to speak with him. I was told he held office hours today.”

  “Normally he does,” she said apologetically. “But one of our members had a death in the family, so he’s out dealing with that. Reverend Sims is available, though. He’s one of the assistant pastors. Just follow me.”

  Eugene hesitated.

  “I guarantee you’ll like Reverend Sims.” Bettie patted him on the back. “I’ll show you to his office.”

  Without waiting for Eugene to make up his mind, she escorted him down a corridor toward the south side of the church. She tapped lightly on the door and waited for permission before entering.

  Reverend Sims stood.

  “I have a gentleman here who wanted to meet with Bishop Berry for counseling, but he’s out,” Bettie explained. “I told him he could talk to you.”

  “Of course.” The reverend extended his hand, then offered Eugene a seat.

  Eugene had expected to see someone in a white collar. Reverend Sims was casually dressed in slacks and a turtleneck. He was a handsome, bearded man who looked to be in his early forties.

  “Give me just a second to finish up here,” Reverend Sims said, returning to his desk. “I was working on a sermon.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “It’s no interruption at all.” He stacked the papers and set them off to the side. “How can I help you?”

  Eugene sat back in the chair. He didn’t know how to begin. He wasn’t one to talk much about his problems, particularly to strangers. “I’m not sure where to start,” he finally admitted.

  “Let me start then,” the reverend said. “I can’t say that I don’t recognize your face. You’ve been all over the news lately. I can only imagine how tough it’s been for you. But you’re on the right path because you’ve turned to God.”

  Eugene stared down at his hands as tears blurred his vision.

  “I can’t imagine that there are many people who have a kind word for you these days,” Reverend Sims continued. “But none of us are perfect, though many of us profess to be. We’ve all made mistakes, but the good Lord is all about forgiveness. Just put everything in His hands, and I guarantee you, your burdens will be lifted.”

  Eugene nodded through his tears. They talked for a long time and Eugene found it easy to share his thoughts a
nd feelings.

  “You’ll be amazed at what prayer can do, brother,” Reverend Sims said. “Why don’t we pray right now.” He walked around his desk and stood over Eugene, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s going to be fine, brother. You’re going to get through this.”

  Eugene stood and the reverend embraced him.

  “I want you to immerse yourself in the Word. I’m going to recommend some verses I’d like you to read.”

  Eugene felt such a sense of well-being in the man’s presence, he almost didn’t notice the arousal creep up on him. He winced. He did not want to have these feelings.

  Reverend Sims offered to escort him out. “So what do you do for fun?” the reverend asked, as they made their way to the church parking lot.

  “I can’t remember the last time I even had any fun. I used to enjoy playing racquetball. But it’s been a while.”

  “That’s my game, too,” Reverend Sims said. “I don’t get many invitations to play, though. People don’t think ministers do normal things like play sports. Maybe we can play some time?”

  Tell him no. In light of everything Eugene had been struggling with, he knew he couldn’t handle being around a man to whom he felt even remotely attracted. But who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to turn out a minister of all people. This was the safest male relationship he could have.

  Eugene stopped and faced the reverend. “A game of racquetball might be just the thing I need.”

  Chapter 50

  It was after six and Vernetta and Haley had been cooped up in a conference room for nearly two hours. Hundreds of computerized payroll records from Vista Electronics covered the table.

  When her cell phone rang and displayed Special’s number, Vernetta had a bad feeling even before she picked up.

  “The police are here,” Special cried into the telephone. “I think they’re going to arrest me!”

  Vernetta stood. “Arrest you? For what?”

  Haley’s head sprang upward. Her baby blues were wide with curiosity.

  Vernetta silently berated herself. She should’ve had the foresight to leave the conference room the minute Special’s number popped up. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

  Special still hadn’t answered her question. “Arrest you for what, Special?”

  Vernetta hurried past a long row of secretaries’ cubicles and didn’t stop until she reached the bank of elevators in the twelfth floor lobby.

  “They wanna talk to me about Eugene.” Special spoke in shallow breaths, as if she had just run up a flight of stairs. “Somebody vandalized his car this morning.”

  Vernetta hung her head and closed her eyes. She was almost afraid to ask Special if she’d had a hand in the crime. “So did you do it?”

  “I can’t believe you even asked me that. Do you know how many women in this city hate Eugene for what he did to Maya? There’s a girl at my job who despises him almost as much as I do.”

  Vernetta recalled a conversation she’d heard at the beauty shop. Eugene definitely had a growing list of haters.

  “They’re waiting downstairs.” The panic in Special’s voice escalated with each syllable. “They want me to buzz them inside.” Vernetta could practically see her friend pacing back and forth across her living room, one hand on the phone, the other glued to her tiny waist. “I told ’em I knew my rights and needed to call my lawyer first.”

  “Good,” Vernetta said. “Just tell them—”

  “No,” Special whined. “I want you to talk to them. Please, come over.”

  Vernetta thought about all the payroll records waiting to be reviewed. Technically, she needed the firm’s permission before running off to act as Special’s attorney. But she didn’t want to go to O’Reilly or any other partner to explain. Anyway, it was highly unlikely that anyone at the firm would find out. Special was her best friend. She had to take the risk.

  “I’m on my way,” she said, exasperated. “Call Nichelle and ask her to meet me at your place. Tell the police your lawyers are on the way. And whatever you do, don’t let them upstairs. Make them wait in the lobby.”

  Vernetta practically sprinted back to the conference room and snatched the jacket of her pantsuit from the back of her chair. “I have a family emergency.” She wiggled into her coat. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” She could tell that Haley was dying to know more.

  “So who was that?”

  “My cousin.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  Yeah, keep your big mouth shut. But Vernetta knew that in a matter of minutes, Haley would start blabbing that Vernetta had run off to save some family member from being dragged to jail.

  “Just finish reviewing those last two stacks of records from the Norwalk plant. We can finish the rest tomorrow.”

  Vernetta pulled up in front of Special’s apartment just as Nichelle was getting out of her car.

  “Special claims she didn’t have anything to do with it,” Nichelle said. “But I’m not sure I believe her. She still hasn’t admitted sending that vile email to Eugene’s law firm or throwing nails in his driveway.”

  “Let’s just hope she’s telling the truth this time.”

  Vernetta had a key to Special’s apartment and used it to open the double glass doors that led into the lobby. She looked around, expecting to see the two officers, but the lobby was empty. “The elevator in this building takes forever. Let’s take the stairs.”

  When they reached the third floor landing, they heard a commotion coming from the vicinity of Special’s apartment.

  “What in the world is going on in there?” Nichelle said, verbalizing the same uneasiness that Vernetta felt.

  She had a vision of Special pinned to the floor, wrestling with the two officers as they struggled to slap handcuffs on her wrists. They rushed to the door and just as Vernetta was about to knock, her hand froze in mid-air. The sound emanating from inside sounded like laughter. Vernetta tossed Nichelle a confused look. Nichelle tossed the same look right back at her.

  She gave the door three quick raps. When nothing happened, she knocked again, harder this time. It still took a while before they heard the approach of footsteps.

  Special opened the door with a devious grin stretched across her pretty face. She was wearing cutoff jeans with a tank top tied into a knot just above her belly button. The straps of her three-inch, high-heel sandals were wrapped around her long, muscular legs, almost to the knee. Her hair was fanned out across her shoulders, with her bangs swept seductively across her right eye.

  When   they   stepped   inside,   they   saw   two   cops—one   black,   one Hispanic—relaxing on Special’s sofa, eating from two small saucers. The officers looked up, but never stopped stuffing their faces.

  Special introduced Vernetta and Nichelle as if they were uninvited guests, then gave the two cops a much perkier introduction. “This is Officer Fred Donovan.” Special extended her arm and pointed her index finger in the direction of the black cop. “And this is Officer Manny Gomez.” She actually giggled. “And don’t worry, I followed your instructions. I haven’t answered any questions. But I decided to feed my two new buddies while we waited for you guys to get here.”

  The black cop reached for the glass of milk sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “This sweet potato cheesecake is incredible,” he said, guzzling down his milk. “I had no idea they even made this kind of cheesecake. You don’t find too many women in your age bracket who can throw down in the kitchen like this.” When he smiled up at Special, his eyes zeroed in on her cleavage.

  Vernetta looked from the cops to her scantily clad friend. The dessert they were chowing down on came from Harriett’s Cheesecakes Unlimited. Not Special’s kitchen.

  Officer Gomez wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and set his empty saucer on the coffee table. “It’s time for us to get down to business.” His black uniform had a snug fit, especially around
the biceps, which Vernetta estimated to be a good twenty inches in diameter. He pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket and flipped it open.

  “First—”

  Vernetta cut him off. “Instead of starting with your questions, Officer,” she said with an appropriate level of deference, “I have a few questions of my own.”

  Special waved her off. “Girl, that ain’t even necessary.” She perched herself on the arm of the couch next to a smiling Officer Donovan, then smiled up at the other cop. “Go ahead, Manny. Ask away.”

  Vernetta was ready to wring Special’s neck. “You called us over here to represent you,” she said testily. “I think you should let us do that.”

  “That was before I had a chance to get to know Fred and Manny.” She winked at Gomez.

  “Special, I don’t think you should—”

  Officer Gomez followed Special’s lead and ignored Vernetta’s protests. “This shouldn’t take too long.” He scanned his notepad. “An individual by the name of Eugene Nelson claims that you spray-painted graffiti on his house and vandalized his car sometime before five a.m. this morning. Did you?”

  “Of course not,” Special said.

  “Okay, good.” Gomez scanned his notepad again. “He also claims that you tossed nails in his driveway a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Not guilty.” Special held up her hand like she was taking an oath, which made her tank top rise up, revealing more of her flat stomach.

  “Okay. And did you hack into his law firm’s computer system and send a defamatory email to everybody in the firm two days before that?”

  “C’mon, Manny,” Special purred. “Do I look like a computer hacker to you?”

  Officer Donovan devoured a huge forkful of cheesecake. “Not to me.”

  “Okay, then.” Officer Gomez shoved his notepad back into his front pocket. “Case closed. Can I have some more sweet potato cheesecake now?”

  The two cops broke into hearty laughter. Special picked up Manny’s saucer and scampered away to fetch his second serving.

  Before Vernetta could say anything, Nichelle took the lead. “So . . . uh, you’re done with your questioning?” she asked, amazed.