Despite rejecting Nichelle’s request, J.C. had confiscated the camera, concerned that Nichelle might try to find another way to make the switch. Right now, it was locked in J.C.’s desk drawer.
Later that afternoon, a thought came to her. She wondered if she actually could make the switch without getting caught. She wouldn’t even have to switch the cameras, just the disks. Not that she would do it. She was just curious to see whether she could.
J.C. waited until the end of the day, ten minutes before the shift change when she knew the regular property desk guy, Nick O’Connell, would be anxious to leave.
“Hey, Nick,” she said, stepping up to the counter. “I need to take a look at the evidence log in the Nelson murder case. Here’s the case number.”
Nick did exactly what she had expected him to do. Check his watch. “I was just about to leave. Marty’ll be on duty in a few minutes.”
“C’mon, you have another ten minutes before quitting time. I won’t be long. I promise.”
He grudgingly reached under the counter and handed J.C. the log. She ran her finger down the list of items, searching for the camera. What a surprise. No one had bothered to record the serial number.
J.C. handed the logbook back to him. “Just one more thing. I need to go in the back and take a look at some of the evidence. I only need a couple of minutes.”
Nick frowned. “I told you Marty’ll—”
“C’mon, Nick. I have to get out of here, too,” J.C. begged. “Tell you what? I’ll go get it myself.”
It was against procedure for J.C. to retrieve an evidence bag herself, or to even go in the property room without an escort. But all Nick cared about was going home on time. He spread his arms out. “Go for it.”
He hit a buzzer and opened a metal gate that gave J.C. access to the area behind the counter. J.C. had to hurry before Marty showed up. He never would’ve allowed this.
What the hell am I doing? She passed shelf after shelf of items bagged in plastic and marked with red tags. I’m not going to switch the disks. I just want to see if I could.
J.C. could hear the pounding of her heart as her eyes quickly scanned the case numbers on the shelves. She found the bag she was looking for and tugged it loose. She set it on a nearby counter, pulled out the camera and removed the disk. J.C. then slipped her hand into her pocket and retrieved the disk she had taken from Nichelle’s camera and held them side by side. They were identical.
J.C. stood there for a long tense moment. As much as she wanted to do this, she couldn’t. She was about to slip the disk back into Special’s camera when someone shouted from the front.
“Hey, what are you doing back there?” Marty was marching straight toward her.
Just as she picked up the bag, a slip of paper floated away. She grabbed it from the floor and shoved it back into the bag, then jammed the disk back into the camera. She had already put the evidence bag back on the shelf when she realized she had put the wrong disk inside the camera. Or had she?
“You’re not supposed to be back here by yourself,” Marty admonished her.
“I just needed to check out some evidence.” J.C. slipped the remaining disk into her pocket. “You know how Nick is around quitting time.” She stepped around him and headed for the ladies’ room.
Locking herself in the last stall, J.C. pulled the tiny disk from her pocket. She’d been so nervous she had no idea whether it was Nichelle’s disk or Special’s she was now holding. She pressed her forehead against the stall door. How stupid!
Deep inside, she had actually wanted to switch the disks, even though doing so was against everything she professed to stand for.
J.C. knew what she had to do. She would go get Nichelle’s camera and check the disk. If it were blank, she would know that it came from Special’s camera. And if she had indeed switched them, she would just have to figure out a way to switch them back.
Chapter 101
When Vernetta learned about Special’s jailhouse visitor, she began to wonder why Belynda was suddenly curious about that photograph Special took. So, with Nichelle in tow, she decided to attend Sunday services at Ever Faithful in the hope of talking to the woman.
On the ride over, Vernetta suggested the possibility that the man Special saw kissing Eugene was someone from Ever Faithful, perhaps a member of the church leadership. Nichelle, however, refused to consider the possibility that a minister from her esteemed church was on the down low.
“Think about it,” Vernetta reasoned, “Belynda tried to show Special a picture of someone in the church bulletin. You just said the only pictures in the bulletin are of Bishop Berry and the three assistant pastors. That means she obviously thinks Eugene was seeing one of the ministers.”
Nichelle wasn’t hearing it. “I don’t care. It’s not possible.”
“I hope you’re right, but this is an angle we have to investigate.”
Even though they arrived twenty minutes before the start of the service, the church parking lot was already full. They ended up parking a block away. When they finally made it inside the church, the only available seats were near the back.
Nichelle scanned the pulpit, then opened her program. “It looks like Reverend Sims is preaching today.”
Vernetta looked around for Belynda, but didn’t see her.
“Welcome to the Ever Faithful family,” Reverend Sims said after a selection from the choir. “Our esteemed leader Bishop Berry has been in Houston all week at the National Baptist Convention. So you have to contend with the B team today.”
The congregation laughed good-naturedly.
Following the church announcements, the offering, altar prayer, and two more selections from the choir, Reverend Sims took to the pulpit.
“Today, brothers and sisters, I want to talk about forgiveness. The Bible teaches us to be kind, tenderhearted, and forgiving toward one another. Just as God has forgiven us. But that’s very hard for many people to do.” His voice rose and fell in a melodic rhythm as the animated congregation shouted, preach, Reverend and amen, Reverend.
“If you’ve been reading the newspapers or watching the news these past few weeks, then you know that there’s a lot of wickedness going on out here in this crazy world we live in. People don’t even think twice about taking a life. We even lost one of our own flock, Eugene Nelson. Before his death, Mr. Nelson was the subject of a pretty nasty lawsuit. And I’ve heard some hateful things said about Mr. Nelson.” He stopped to wipe his face with a handkerchief. “Well, let me tell you that the God I worship loves all of his children.”
There were no calls of amen or preach, Reverend in response to this comment. Vernetta saw disapproval on the faces of many people in the audience. Young and old.
“The ugly things I’ve been hearing about our gay brothers and sisters as of late truly trouble me because I don’t think it’s God’s way.”
Reverend Sims continued on the topic of tolerance and forgiveness for the next fifteen minutes. As he reached the end of his sermon, emotion seemed to overwhelm him.
“I, myself, am a man of God who is in no way perfect,” he said, his voice quivering. “I pray every day for God’s guidance because sometimes I fall short. But one thing I know for sure is that the good Lord will always be there to pick me back up and dust me off.” His face was wracked with pain. “And I tell you today, church, that I’m a living testimony. No matter what you’re going through, there’s nothing that God’s grace can’t fix.”
As the pianist played, he wiped his face again and nearly collapsed into a throne-like chair behind the podium.
Nichelle nudged Vernetta with her elbow and pointed across the aisle. Belynda was heading out of a side door.
“Let’s try to talk to her,” Nichelle whispered.
By the time they made it out to the vestibule, Belynda was nowhere in sight. They searched the hallways, but no luck.
Nichelle peered into an open doorway. “Maybe she went to the restroom.”
They stepped ins
ide the ladies’ room and found Belynda standing at the mirror combing her hair.
“Hello,” Vernetta began, hoping Belynda didn’t recognize her from any of the news reports.
Her scornful look told Vernetta that was wishful thinking.
“I don’t have anything to say to either of you,” Belynda spat, before Vernetta could even get her spiel out.
Vernetta positioned herself near the door, hoping to block the exit in case Belynda tried to leave. “I’m sure you don’t want to see the wrong person convicted. Special told us about your visit to the jail. I’d like to know why you think Eugene was seeing someone from this church.”
“I never said that.”
“But you tried to show her a picture of someone in the church bulletin. The only pictures in there are of the ministers at this church. You must think Eugene was involved with one of them.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Belynda tried to push past her, but Vernetta stepped in front of the door. “I don’t have to talk to you. Now please move.”
“Don’t you want to see the real killer caught?”
“The real killer’s already been caught.”
“Who are you protecting?” Nichelle interjected.
“I’m not protecting anyone. Now get out of my way.” Belynda was stronger than she looked. She bowled past Vernetta and jerked the door open. It would have slammed into Vernetta’s back if she hadn’t jumped out of the way in time.
The two lawyers left before the service ended and headed to brunch at Dulan’s on Crenshaw.
“What do you know about the ministers at Ever Faithful?” Vernetta rolled to a stop at a traffic light at Stocker.
“Not that much,” Nichelle replied. “There’s Bishop Berry, Reverend Sims, and two part-time ministers, Reverend Charles and Reverend Hooks. All of them are married. Bishop Berry is an institution in L.A. He’s been at Ever Faithful for nearly thirty years. Reverend Sims is the newest minister. They ran a profile on him in the church bulletin a few months ago. Before his appointment six months ago, he was an assistant pastor at a church in Carson. His wife is a nurse and I think he has two children. I don’t know much about the other two.”
“Why in the world would Belynda want to protect a minister she thought might be gay?” Vernetta wondered aloud.
“Don’t ask me. I still can’t understand why she started seeing Eugene.”
“Well, she obviously doesn’t know for sure if one of the ministers was the man Special saw with Eugene. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have needed Special to identify him.”
Nichelle gazed out of the passenger window. “If somebody in that pulpit does turn out to be gay, I just hope it’s one of the assistant pastors.” There was an unmistakable note of dread in her voice. “Because if sixty-one-year-old Bishop Berry is on the down low, I’m too through.”
Chapter 102
J.C.’s cell phone rang and she pulled it from her pocket. She answered it despite the anxiety she felt at seeing Nichelle’s number in the display panel.
“I don’t want to make a habit of asking you to do illegal stuff,” Nichelle said, “but you’re our last hope.”
J.C. grimaced. What in the world did Nichelle want her to do now? Nichelle had not mentioned switching the camera again and J.C. hoped she wasn’t about to bring it up now. Her stomach had been tied up in knots since confirming that she had indeed switched the disks. The next day, she had dropped by the property room, planning to switch them back, but this time Nick insisted on playing it by the book. He escorted her into the back and watched as she examined the evidence bag. There was no way she could make the switch under those conditions.
“I’m listening,” J.C. said into the telephone.
“I know you’re off the case, but I was hoping you might be able to interview Belynda Davis. We tried to talk to her yesterday at church, but didn’t have any luck. The man Special caught on camera with Eugene may have been one of the ministers at Ever Faithful. We think Belynda may know which one.”
“Are you kidding?”
Nichelle told her about Belynda’s visit to the jail.
“Please tell me Special didn’t talk to that woman.”
“Thank God, no. She even refused to look at the picture Belynda tried to show her. So we don’t know which minister Belynda suspects was with Eugene.”
J.C. was curious about Belynda’s visit. The odds of the lieutenant finding out about her interview would be slim. “For whatever it’s worth, I’ll give it a try.”
Later that afternoon, J.C. knocked on Belynda’s front door and flashed her badge. “Good afternoon. I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m a detective with the LAPD. I was one of the investigators looking into Eugene Nelson’s murder.”
“I remember you.” Belynda gave her a warm smile. “You were at the courthouse the day that psychotic woman attacked Eugene. Thank God you were there to take her away. Come on in.”
Belynda’s home was a shrine to her faith. Religious symbols lined the hallway and were positioned all around the living room. There were crosses on the walls next to portraits of Jesus and his disciples. Two huge leather-bound Bibles sat on matching coffee tables. J.C. also counted at least a dozen framed photographs of an older woman who resembled Belynda.
“Your mother?” J.C. asked.
“Yes,” Belynda said with a longing in her voice. “She died three years ago. I still miss her so much.”
J.C. continued taking in the room. The view through an oval picture window extended for miles. The house had to be a good three thousand square feet. “You have a very nice place.”
J.C. wondered how Belynda could afford a house like this on a meager church salary.
Belynda seemed to read her mind. “This was my mother’s home,” she explained. “Why don’t you join me in the kitchen?” Belynda led the way.
“I was in the middle of cooking for a meeting at the church tonight,” she said proudly. “You mind if we talk while I cook?”
“No, go right ahead.” J.C. took a seat at the breakfast nook. She watched as Belynda combined milk and eggs in a large bowl.
“You told reporters and the police that Special Moore tried to show you a picture of Eugene Nelson kissing another man.”
Belynda nodded. “That is one troubled woman. I pray for her every night.”
“I know you’ve talked to the police already, but I need you to go over it one more time with me.”
Belynda dipped a chicken breast into the egg-and-milk mixture, coated it with flour, then dropped it into a deep fryer filled with hot cooking oil. J.C. waited as Belynda filled the deep fryer with chicken. She rinsed her hands in the sink and joined J.C. at the table.
“I was walking my dog and she came out of nowhere. The woman scared me to death. This wasn’t the first time she had ambushed me like that. Several weeks ago she showed up on my doorstep ranting and raving, telling me I had no business seeing Eugene. Like I said, she is a very disturbed woman.”
Belynda went on to describe in greater detail both of Special’s visits.
“So you never actually saw the picture Ms. Moore claimed to have of Eugene and another man.”
“No. When she tried to show it to me, I refused to look.”
“I understand that you visited Ms. Moore at the jail a couple of days ago.”
Belynda seemed surprised that J.C. was aware of her visit. “Well, yes. I began to wonder about who was in that picture with Eugene. If she even had a picture, that is.”
“Why?”
She hunched her shoulders. “I don’t know. I know that woman is ill. It was a waste of my time to even go down there.”
“I understand that you tried to show Ms. Moore a picture of someone in one of Ever Faithful’s church bulletins. Did you think one of the church’s ministers was seeing Eugene?”
“That’s absurd.” She looked away. “I’m not about to damage anyone’s reputation unnecessarily. I have a responsibility to the church. I mean—” she abruptly stopped.
R
esponsibility to the church? “It’s very possible that the man in that picture may have been the last person to see Eugene alive.”
“That psycho Special Moore was the last person to see Eugene alive. When she killed him.”
“That hasn’t been proven in a court of law yet.”
“Don’t worry,” she said smugly. “I’ve prayed about it. So it will be.”
Chapter 103
J.C. left Belynda’s house and raced to the station to begin delving into the background of the four ministers at Ever Faithful. Based on Belynda’s slip of the tongue about having a responsibility to the church, J.C. was certain that the woman was protecting one of her beloved pastors.
Whatever J.C. found, she knew she would have to pass on to Detective Jessup. That meant he would get credit for solving the case. That didn’t please her, but if it meant Special’s freedom, she could live with it.
She had just printed out three articles about Bishop Berry from the Internet when Detective Jessup sat down on the corner of her desk. “Lieutenant Wilson wants to see you,” he said. “And he’s pretty irate.”
So what else is new? “What’s wrong now?”
“I don’t know and frankly, I don’t want to know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this hot before.”
Apprehensively, J.C. made her way to the lieutenant’s office.
She slowed as she reached the door, then ventured inside. “You wanted to see me?”
“Close the door,” he said sternly.
She did, then sat down without waiting for an invitation to do so.
“I consider myself pretty much a law-and-order, by-the-book kind of guy, wouldn’t you agree, Detective?”
“I would.” Except where gay men are concerned.
Murder on the Down Low Page 34
