Murder on the Down Low

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “But in addition to the pain, there’s also a lot of hatred. Hatred that is coming from people who profess to know God, to love Him and to follow His Word. I don’t think hate is consistent with God’s message, and I don’t think it’s the answer to solving this crisis. In fact, I think this kind of hate created it.”

  Now the murmuring was back. Nobody could shoot a mean look like an irate black woman. Nichelle wondered if she would need a security guard to escort her to her car.

  “You’re a hypocrite!” someone called out. “You’re the one who sued Eugene Nelson. Why didn’t you just love and forgive him for killing your friend?”

  “You know,” Nichelle said, “at the time, I thought suing Eugene was the right thing to do. But I don’t anymore.”

  “So we’re just supposed to accept this abomination?” Rhonda asked, her tone just as threatening as her body language.

  “I don’t have all the answers,” Nichelle said. “I just know all this hate isn’t one of them.”

  Chapter 97

  Vernetta pushed a half-eaten bran muffin to the corner of her desk. As much as she tried, she could not shake the thoughts running through her head. Could Special actually have killed Eugene? She refused to even consider the possibility that her best friend had murdered the other men.

  It was time for Vernetta to start thinking like a lawyer, not a friend. She had to weigh the evidence as if Special were a paying client, not her friend.

  She reached for a legal pad, then drew a line down the middle of the page. She was about to prepare a list of the evidence for and against Special when the telephone rang.

  Vernetta checked the caller ID display. She did not recognize the number. Having an assistant who had time to screen her calls was one of the big-firm luxuries she missed most.

  The voice on the other end of the line was only vaguely familiar.

  “I’m calling from Vista Electronics,” the caller said. “We met a few weeks ago. I’m Sheryl Milton, the HR Director.”

  Vernetta quickly remembered the woman who had escorted them to the conference room. She was surprised that Milton had tracked her down at her new firm and wondered why she was calling.

  “How can I help you?”

  “We’ve extended a job offer to your colleague, Haley Prescott. I wanted to ask you a few questions about her.”

  Vernetta felt her skin prickle. Could Haley really have been arrogant enough to think Vernetta would give her a glowing recommendation? “Haley listed me as a reference?”

  “No,” Sheryl said. “But I know the two of you worked together. No one ever lists references who might say anything bad about them. I always do a little extra digging. The HR and legal groups here work hand in hand. I wanted to double check to make sure Haley’s the right personality fit for our team. So may I ask you a few questions?”

  Vernetta would have loved to screw over Haley, knowing Haley wouldn’t have passed up the same opportunity. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “I’m not sure I’m the best person for this. We didn’t work on that many cases together.”

  “Let me be frank,” Sheryl said, “I sensed some tension between the two of you during your visit here. I just want to make sure we’re bringing on a real team player.”

  Then you definitely don’t need to hire Haley. “I thought you already made Haley an offer?”

  “Yes, but it’s contingent upon passing a background check, a drug test, and a reference check.”

  Vernetta inhaled. “Haley’s really bright. Even though she’s pretty junior, she’s a real go-getter.”

  “Most people who graduate from the top of their class at Yale Law School tend to be smart. That’s not what I’m asking you. How is she in terms of working with others? We don’t need another egomaniac lawyer around here. I need you to level with me.”

  Vernetta knew that if she told the truth, Haley wouldn’t get the job. As she was weighing her options, Sheryl read between the lines.

  “I guess your silence tells me everything I need to know.”

  “Haley’s a good attorney,” Vernetta said finally, “but if you’re looking for a team player, that might be a bit of a stretch for her. She likes being the shining star. Haley’s young. So she may learn to be more of a collaborator in time, but that’s a skill she hasn’t picked up yet.”

  Sheryl asked a few more questions, then hung up. Vernetta was trying to convince herself that she had nothing to feel guilty about when the telephone rang again. This time it was O’Reilly.

  “Hey, kiddo. I just wanted to give you advance warning that you might be getting a call from someone at Vista Electronics asking about Haley. Put in a good word for her, okay?”

  Vernetta quietly sighed. “I just got off the phone with the HR Director.”

  O’Reilly let a long beat pass. “And you said glowing things about her . . . right?”

  “I told them she was very bright.”

  “And what else did you say?”

  “I told the truth, O’Reilly.”

  He grunted. “And exactly what was the truth?”

  “That Haley isn’t much of a team player.”

  “Was that really necessary?”

  “It was necessary for me to give my honest opinion.”

  She could feel O’Reilly’s fury through the telephone line.

  “You seem awfully invested in Haley getting that job,” Vernetta said boldly.

  “Having a person on the inside would mean more work for the firm.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Exactly what are you getting at?”

  Vernetta was tired of holding her tongue. “I’m sure you’ve heard all the rumors. I heard Haley was asked to leave the firm because she was involved in a personal relationship with you.”

  “Since when do you put stock in the law firm rumor mill?”

  Since I saw Haley coming out of your office with her hair mussed and her lipstick smeared and since you kept me occupied so she could sneak out of that restaurant. “Are they true?”

  “I’m not going to waste my time confirming or denying ridiculous law firm gossip.”

  “Well, I’m sure if Haley doesn’t get the job, she’ll still land on her feet. You’ll probably see to that.”

  “Actually,” O’Reilly said, “you can bet on it.”

  Chapter 98

  The next day, Nichelle invited Vernetta and J.C. to lunch at T.G.I. Friday’s.

  “It feels strange not having Special here,” J.C. said. “Maybe we should order a Long Island iced tea and set it on her side of the table.” They all smiled.

  Vernetta told them about her conversation with O’Reilly.

  “Sounds to me like he was definitely screwing her,” Nichelle said.

  “There’s no way the firm would have asked her to leave if he hadn’t been,” Vernetta replied.

  J.C. opened her menu. “Powerful men feel they can do whatever they please. And basically they can.”

  A waitress brought their drinks and took their orders.

  “Well, I might as well get started,” Nichelle said. “I had a specific reason for asking you guys to join me for lunch.” She looked over her shoulder to confirm that the booth behind them was empty. “I’m worried about Special’s case. Particularly that camera. I’m scared to death that they’re going to be able to restore that picture Special took at Eugene’s place.”

  “You should be,” J.C. said, “but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “Do you know whether the camera has already gone out for testing?” Nichelle asked.

  “Not yet. Contrary to what you see on CSI, it could take weeks or months to get something like that done.”

  “That’s what I figured. If it hasn’t been done yet, I think there’s something we can do to help Special. But it’s going to fall on you, J.C.”

  Vernetta eyed Nichelle. Whatever she was about to suggest, she had neglected to share with her. “Nichelle, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m t
alking about doing everything in our power to make sure Special doesn’t end up in jail for the rest of her life.”

  Vernetta grew nervous. “Everything like what?”

  Nichelle glanced over her shoulder again. “Like switching the camera the police have with another one just like it,” she whispered.

  “Nichelle!” both Vernetta and J.C. sputtered at the same time.

  Vernetta turned sideways to face her. “I can’t believe what you just said. You of all people.”

  “Don’t give me that,” Nichelle shot back. “I get tired of people always acting like I’m Miss Goody Two Shoes. We all know the system isn’t fair. There’s no way Special should be facing a murder charge, but she is. And it’s up to us to do whatever we have to do to make sure she isn’t convicted of murder when all she’s really guilty of is harassment.”

  “Do you understand what you’re asking J.C. to do?” Vernetta said. “You’re not just asking her to put her job on the line, you’re asking her to commit a crime and risk going to jail herself. We shouldn’t even be discussing this. So let’s just change the subject.”

  “It won’t be a crime if she doesn’t get caught. And she won’t.”

  “How can you say that?” J.C. demanded. “Even if I could make a switch, where in the hell would I get another camera like that.”

  Nichelle looked at both of them, then opened her purse, and pulled out a small rectangular object wrapped in a brown paper bag. She pushed it over to J.C.’s side of the table.

  “The camera inside that bag is the same model as Special’s. I bought both of them on the same day. I gave one to Special last year for her birthday, and kept the other one for myself. They’re exactly alike.”

  J.C. glanced at the bag, then at Nichelle. “There’s no way I or anybody else could get away with something like that. First, I’ve been taken off the case. And second, they would know the cameras had been switched because they don’t have the same serial numbers. They usually record them when they log evidence into the property room.”

  “Usually is right. Half the time the guys who run the property rooms are so lazy, they don’t even bother to take down the serial numbers. I’ve had cases where they couldn’t even find the evidence once they had logged it in.”

  Vernetta couldn’t believe that Nichelle was actually serious.

  “You know why criminals get caught?” J.C. said. “Because they don’t cover every angle. Have you thought about the fact that Special’s prints won’t be on your camera?”

  “Her prints are on my camera,” Nichelle said. “So are yours and Vernetta’s and Maya’s, because you all took pictures with it at one time or another. Special borrowed it whenever she couldn’t find hers. I would bet more of her prints are on it than mine. And there are pictures of all of us stored on this camera. So no one would question that it’s Special’s.”

  Nichelle groaned. “Stop looking at me like that. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “You’re a former prosecutor,” Vernetta said. “I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.”

  “That’s exactly why I am suggesting it. I saw far too many poor people being convicted while people with money walked. Everybody thinks I left the City Attorney’s office because I got tired of prosecuting cases. What I got tired of was all the unfair treatment of black and brown people. We’d have to send some black crack addict to jail for being caught with three rocks, while the white guy on the west side who got picked up with three times as much powder cocaine, never did a day behind bars. It’s not fair. And you know it isn’t, J.C. You see so-called justice from a different angle than we do.”

  Neither woman could dispute what Nichelle had just said.

  “What I’m asking you to do may be illegal, but it’s not wrong.”

  J.C. slowly swung her head from side to side. “The reason Special is in trouble is because she took the law into her own hands and started harassing Eugene rather than waiting for the legal system to deal with him. Now you’re proposing that we—no, that I—do the same thing. You’re the one always talking about putting things in God’s hands. Where’s your faith?”

  “It’s still there. But sometimes you have to rely on a little more than faith.”

  Vernetta thought about Special’s gun. She had initially told Jefferson she needed time to think about his proposal, but ultimately decided to put it back where she found it. Since the police had already searched Special’s place, it was unlikely that they would discover it. She had not mentioned the gun to Nichelle and now she was glad she hadn’t. Nichelle would have urged her to let Jefferson get rid of it.

  “Nichelle, this is wrong,” Vernetta said. “You can’t ask J.C. to put her career on the line like this.”

  “At least think about it,” Nichelle replied calmly. “If you don’t think you can get away with it, fine.” She ignored the stunned expressions on their faces. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that if Maya were sitting at this table and one of us were in the same trouble Special is in, she’d agree with me one hundred percent.”

  Nichelle circled the rim of her glass with her index finger. “So, if you can’t do this for Special,” she said, staring at J.C. with a defiance Vernetta had never seen before, “then do it for Maya.”

  Chapter 99

  Vernetta sat in the client meeting room of the county jail, waiting for Special to be brought in.

  Jefferson had warned her not to tell Special about the discovery of the gun, but after Nichelle’s outrageous proposal earlier that day, she had decided that it was best to confront her.

  Special sat down across from Vernetta and waited for the guard to close the door before speaking. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look worse than me, and I’m the one about to go down for a murder I didn’t commit.”

  Vernetta tried to laugh. It was so unnerving to see her friend all chained up in the faded orange jumpsuit.

  “You’re scaring me. Please don’t say you’re here to tell me I’m going to be convicted!”

  “I have something important I need to ask you.”

  “Okay,” she said uneasily. “Go ahead.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you owned a gun?”

  Special opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. “I . . . I didn’t want you to know.”

  “Where’d you get it?” Vernetta asked, then raised her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  “I got it from my cousin,” she said. “And I know what you’re thinking, but I swear I didn’t kill Eugene.”

  Vernetta stared solemnly across the table, uncertain of what to believe. “Did you throw those nails in his driveway?”

  Special looked down at the table. “Yeah.”

  “And what about bashing in his car and vandalizing his house?”

  She looked up. “Nope . . . but I had it done.”

  “How?”

  “How?” Special laughed softly. “Girl, puh-leeze. Do you know how many crazy, ghetto-ass people I have in my family? It didn’t cost me but fifty bucks.”

  When Vernetta didn’t laugh, Special turned serious.

  “But that stuff and the email was all I did. I did not shoot Eugene. Or anybody else.”

  “When did you buy the gun?”

  “A few days before Maya died. The day the doctor told us she probably wouldn’t survive another week.” She looked down at the table again. “I’ll admit that when I bought the gun killing Eugene was exactly what I wanted to do. But I couldn’t. So I decided to start harassing him instead.”

  “Eugene was killed with a small-caliber gun. Probably a twenty-two. So were all those other men. Your gun is a twenty-two.”

  “That’s just a coincidence.”

  “So if I hand that gun over to the police and they conduct ballistics testing on it, it won’t match?”

  “It absolutely won’t match. Not unless somebody stole it from my apartment then put it back.”

  “Are you saying that’s what happened?�
�

  “No. I’m saying that as far as I know, that gun didn’t kill Eugene or anybody else. I’ll swear to that on a stack of Bibles.”

  Vernetta desperately wanted to believe her friend. “Jefferson asked me to let him get rid of it.”

  Special chuckled again. “What did you say?”

  “I told him I needed time to think about it.”

  “Well, at least there’s one good thing that’s come out of all this.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “At least I know you really got my back.” Special started to tear up. “I’m shocked that you, Ms. Law and Order, would even consider doing something illegal like getting rid of a gun.” Her chains rattled when she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s nothin’ but love.”

  This time Vernetta smiled.

  Special looked over her shoulder to make sure the guard wasn’t watching, then reached across the table and squeezed Vernetta’s hand. She remained silent until Vernetta’s eyes met hers.

  “I swear on Maya’s grave,” Special said, “I did not shoot Eugene. So, please, don’t let them convict me.”

  Chapter 100

  J.C. tossed and turned for most of the night. She finally climbed out of bed at four, showered and arrived at the station an hour before the start of her shift.

  Nichelle’s request continued to weigh on her even though she knew switching the cameras was something she could never do. So why was she still wrestling with the thought?

  It was her job to enforce the law, not break it. Being an upstanding, by-the-book cop wasn’t easy when others chose to abandon right and wrong anytime it suited them. Lieutenant Wilson’s refusal to notify the public that a serial killer was gunning down gay black men was a prime example of that. But two wrongs did not make a right.

  Other than Special, no serious suspects had surfaced. They were still waiting for the analysis of Lamont’s mail to confirm whether his prints matched the ones found on the wineglass and kitchen window at Eugene’s house. Though Detective Jessup was convinced that Lamont could be their guy, J.C. thought his partner, Ken, might have more of a motive. The police were keeping both men under surveillance.