Joslyn (Women of Privilege Book 3)

by Bridget Bundy

  “The detectives told me last night that a woman by the name of Allison James has been identified as taking Davian.”

  “Oh,” he says with shock all over his face. “I see why you’re so upset now. Their first names do match. I didn’t even think about that when Detective Richardson was telling me about Allison James. Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” I reply, wiping away my tears.

  “Talking about a coincidence. You know, he grilled me, asked if I knew her. I told him I didn’t and never heard of her. I was kind of nasty to him the whole time, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Remember, he thought you and I were having an affair. He apologized about that, though.”

  “Yeah, I guess he’s starting to believe that we didn’t have anything to do with the incident.”

  “I think he’s real close to finding Allison James and her boyfriend, to be honest with you. Did you know she had a baby just like you said? The kid is missing, too. She was supposed to meet up with the kid’s father this morning, but he reported her as missing, said that Allison James never showed up at their normal meeting spot so he could pick up the kid.”

  “I just wonder where they could be, Terrence, and why did they take Davian?”

  “Ain’t no telling.”

  “That Allison James has some kind of connection with this family. I’m convinced, but I don’t know how.”

  “Who is Allison James?”

  Terrence and I nearly jump out of our skin. Neither one of us said those last words. It was Harlan!

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Terrence and I were ushered out of the room an hour ago, and we’re still in the hallway along with Sarah, Jeremiah, and Oliver. Detective Richardson and Detective Sawyer have just arrived, both itching to get a statement from Harlan. I call my mom and ask her to bring the kids to the hospital. I’m so excited about them seeing their father.

  Dr. Bryant finally comes out, after about half an hour. She’s assaulted by all of us, everyone trying to outtalk the other, but we stop as soon as Dr. Bryant lifts her hands.

  “How is he?” I quickly ask.

  “Initial tests show that he’s very aware. He knows his name. He knows his age and birthdate. He knows where he lives. He remembers you and the entire family.”

  I collective air of relief is let go.

  “When can we speak to him?” Detective Richardson asks.

  “You can talk to him now, but only two people in the room at a time. I’ll be back in another twenty minutes. We have more tests to run.”

  “I’m going first,” I reply as I go around her. I don’t want to hear any lip from anyone. He’s my husband, and I get to be with him first.

  When I go inside, Harlan is sitting up in bed, dark ashy legs halfway hanging off, and he’s downing a cup of water.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him with a mock ‘you’re-in-trouble’ glare.

  He sets down the cup on the tray and opens his arms. My happiness soars at his invitation. That’s the Harlan I know. Bright face, handsome, the man I married. I drown in his arms, and we kiss as if we hadn’t in a lifetime. I missed him to the very core of my bones. Feels so good to have him back.

  “Sorry to scare you, baby,” he remarks.

  “You better not do that again,” I reply playfully.

  “I promise you, I won’t.”

  “So, how do you feel? Are you in any pain?”

  “I feel okay,” he says, touching his chest. “How about you? Are you alright?”

  “Now that you’re out of that coma, I am.”

  “How’s the kids?”

  “Kristina and the twins are good,” I shakily answer. “They’re on the way here. Mom is bringing them.”

  “What about Dave?”

  I stare at him, trying to stop the tears. I shake my head as an answer.

  “Talk to me, Joslyn. Where is Dave?”

  “Harlan.” I pause for a moment, trying to think of the right words. I’m coming up completely blank. Finally, I answer, “Davian was kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Confusion sets in, creating stress wrinkles on his forehead. Then his eyes widen. Harlan is beginning to remember what happened. “The flat tire. That was on Monday, right? We were taking Dave over to your mom’s house.”

  “That’s right,” Detective Richardson answers from the door. “What else do you remember, Mr. Montgomery?”

  I’m pissed. Who told him he could come in? I huff, wanting him to leave, but I won’t say a word. I step out of the way so Harlan can see whose talking.

  “Detective John Richardson,” he says while opening his jacket to show his badge. He places a folder under his arm afterwards and shakes Harlan’s hand. “Good to finally meet you, sir. I’m working the case along with Detective Athena Sawyer. She’s out in the hallway. You’ll meet her soon enough.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Harlan says. “How close are you to finding my son?”

  “Not as close as I would like to be. Kind of at a standstill. Maybe, you can point us in the right direction.”

  “Most of my memory is back. I’ll tell you whatever I can.”

  “Good,” Detective Richardson says. “Did you recognize the man that took your boy?”

  “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

  “Did you see the woman he was with?”

  “I saw her in the car, but I wasn’t paying attention to her all that much. I was too pissed off about my tire and rim.”

  “Does the name Allison James sounds familiar?” Detective Richardson pulls out a picture from the manila folder and shows it to Harlan.

  He takes a hard look, concentrating on the facial features. Finally, he shakes his head. “No, I’ve never heard of that name before, but this woman might be the one I saw in the car. She looks vaguely familiar.”

  “I have a photo array I need you to look at.” Detective Richardson brings out a sheet of paper. “See if you can identify the man she was with.”

  “I’ll look first,” I respond, taking the sheet. “How long have you had these pictures, Detective Richardson?”

  “We just finished putting it together this morning. All of those guys you’re looking at have criminal records, but they are out of jail. They also live in close proximity to where Allison lives with her mother. I’m hoping her friend might be one of those guys on that sheet of paper.”

  Eight photos of African American men are in a grid pattern, much like in a yearbook format. I give each one my undivided attention, taking in the eyes, noses, and mouths. All of them have dreadlocks in different lengths and some in different colors. Unfortunately, not a single one stands out. Giving up, I hand Harlan the piece of paper. He considers each one as hard as I did. The moment he hands it back to Detective Richardson, my heart sinks. He doesn’t recognize any of them, either.

  “Sorry,” Harlan says.

  “It’s no problem.” Detective Richardson places the pictures back in the manila folder. “Alright, talk to me about the incident on Ferguson.” He takes out a notepad and pen, ready to write.

  Harlan tells him everything he can remember, and the details are horrifying. Dreadlocks pulled a gun out on him. They fought, but the guy managed to pull the trigger twice. First time was a misfire, but the second attempt got Harlan in the head. Or so he thought. But he was still standing and continued to defend himself. The fight didn’t last long afterwards. The guy hit him in the stomach, which brought Harlan to his knees, and he was hit over the head with something hard, more than likely the butt of the weapon. He blacked out at that point.

  The whole time that Harlan was telling his story, I was amazed and saddened. I didn’t even see him fighting for his life. I guess with the SUV being so big and tall, I wouldn’t have noticed. But I’m still disappointed that I didn’t notice. At this point, I’m speechless and so upset at myself. How come I never saw the fight? It’s like I was there and not there. Events were unfolding, and I was clueless, only reacting when a gun was in my face. />
  “What kind of car were they driving?” Detective Richardson asks.

  “A silver Nissan Sentra. Not certain of the year, but it was an older model.”

  “Tags?”

  “I don’t think the car had any, but I’m not really sure about that.”

  “Okay, that’s good, Mr. Montgomery.” Detective Richardson finishes writing and then looks at Harlan. “Just so you know, we found a bullet inside the truck and in the rim. They shot out your tire, to make you pull over.”

  “They set us up,” Harlan says with a shake of his head.

  “Yep, they sure did. Do you two have any questions for me?”

  “What else have you learned in this case, other than the girl’s name?” Harlan asks.

  “Nothing else really,” Detective Richardson says, putting away his notepad and pen back in his pocket. “But Detective Sawyer and I believe they saw you two as an opportunity. They might have seen you leave your neighborhood, thought they could get money out of you.”

  “Have they asked for money?”

  “They haven’t,” Detective Richardson says.

  “It’s been how long? Two to three days, and they haven’t made any demands at all?”

  “No, Mr. Montgomery, they haven’t.”

  “Don’t you think that’s kind of odd?”

  “I do, but it’s not unheard of that a ransom isn’t made.”

  “Your theory is flawed, Detective Richardson. If they thought we had money, then I think they would have demanded it.”

  “It was only my professional opinion.”

  “So, in a nutshell, you really haven’t gotten anywhere with this case. Am I right?”

  “It’s been difficult with the little bit of information we were able to get from your wife.”

  “Don’t blame her for your inability to find our son.”

  A smirk spreads across my face as Detective Richardson is quickly learning that Harlan doesn’t accept excuses. He believes in people owning their mistakes.

  “The fact of the matter is, Mr. Montgomery, she was the only eye witness to the crime. We asked her questions. The very same ones I’m asking you and more, and she couldn’t give us a good description of either assailants, the vehicle they took off in, or what they said.”

  Harlan looks at me, silently asking why I didn’t give the police more information. I can only shrug my shoulders as an answer. How can I give them what I can’t remember?

  “But it’s okay,” Detective Richardson remarks nonchalantly. “In those kinds of circumstances, events can happen fast, and it’s really hard trying to put together a whole crazy incident when your son was just taken from you and your husband is lying in the street dying. I’ve had witnesses unable to remember simple things after they were attacked. At least, Mrs. Montgomery remembered the cell phone. Now, that was a key piece of evidence, and we wouldn’t have been able to identify Allison James without it.”

  I’m surprised to the point of speechless that Detective Richardson spoke up on my behalf.

  “What cell phone are you talking about?” Harlan asks.

  “Allison James took your wife’s cell phone and tossed it before leaving the scene. She left her fingerprints.”

  “Guess she got careless. That’s good.”

  “Yes, it was. So, let’s change the subject for a bit. Let’s talk about your relationship with your wife. I don’t want you to think that I’m being insensitive, Mr. Montgomery, but these questions I’m about to ask you must be answered.”

  Harlan remarks with complete calm, “Go ahead.”

  “Are you cheating on your wife?”

  “No,” Harlan answers solidly.

  “Have you two been arguing a whole lot?”

  “We do have disagreements, but nothing outrageous,” Harlan answers.

  “Are you considering a divorce or separation?”

  “No,” Harlan and I both answer.

  “Happily married, huh?”

  “Absolutely,” I add, taking my husband’s hand.

  “Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, that’s all I have for now. I’ll be sending a sketch artist by later. Perhaps, between you three, a good picture can be drawn of this guy.”

  “Why did you ask about our marriage?” Harlan asks. His expression is tense but serious.

  “You really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  “I had a hunch that Mrs. Montgomery was trying to have you and your son killed so she could get the insurance money. You have a policy worth a million dollars, and your son has a twenty-five grand policy. That would have been a nice payout, and she’d have a lot less children to look after.”

  “Are you damn crazy?” Harlan is upset and is looking at the detective like he’s lost his mind.

  I’m so glad my husband is hearing what Detective Richardson thinks about this case. I fold my arms and smirk. I won’t say a word. I have the utmost confidence that my man is going to handle him.

  “Wives kill their husbands all the time for the insurance money,” Detective Richardson comments. “Some will go as far as killing their children. It’s always the person you least expect it. I tell ya, I’ve been on the police force for a long time, and I’ve seen the worse in human beings. You wouldn’t believe how much hate a woman can hold.”

  “Well, Joslyn would never do that to our family, and if you still have that opinion of her, you might as well lose it.”

  My baby makes me want to hug him and kiss his entire face.

  “After we identified Allison James, I came around…somewhat. Alright, I’m done here. Don’t forget the sketch artist will be here soon.”

  Harlan asks, “Detective Richardson, what if I didn’t pick out the guy on that paper, and he turns out to be one of them?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We will find him regardless if you pointed him out or not.”

  “You’re that confident?”

  “You damn right I am.”

  Harlan nods and says, “Thank you, Detective Richardson.”

  “No problem.” He shakes Harlan’s hand and then mine. “I’ll be in touch. Glad you made it back, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mrs. Montgomery,” he says with a polite nod.

  “Mm-hmm,” I respond in my mom’s tone of voice. I wonder where all that politeness was on Monday and Tuesday when he accused me of attempted murder and kidnapping?

  Detective Richardson walks to the door, giving us one last glace before leaving. What was that about? Soon after that, Sarah comes right in, leaving the rest of the anxious family behind in the hallway. The reunion is about to begin.

  Chapter Thirty

  The children arrive like a freight train. I can hear them the moment they get off the elevator. I make sure they’re calm before letting them enter the room. I figure since Dr. Bryant isn’t around to enforce her orders of only two at a time, they can go in. They’ve been away from their father going on a full three days, and I’m not about to argue with them and cause a bigger scene. The moment I step aside, the kids rush into the room, but they don’t touch their father when they first see him. They become quiet as they wait for him to speak. They are holding their breaths as if one word will knock him out again.

  “Man, did ya’ll grow ten feet while I was asleep?” Harlan jokes.

  They all laugh. Terrence and Oliver, who’s in the room, watch as the kids hug their father all at once. Kristina begins showering his cheek with kisses. Janae has her arms around his neck, and Kale has climbed up behind him, giving him a hug, too. Harlan is absolutely loving their show of affection. It’s so good to see the family back together again.

  I ask Terrence and Oliver to give the immediate family privacy, and they do without fuss. But Oliver sneaks me the evil eye. I keep my smile pasted. He’s not going to ruin this moment. I won’t let him.

  The reunion continues. All of the kids are facing him fully now and talking at the same time. Harlan is nodding and trying to listen t
o every single word. Eventually, they all quiet down, realizing we’re still not complete. Davian’s absence overshadows the joy of having their father back. My heart breaks as I watch the smiles and the laughter disappear into despair.

  This is all too much for me to bear all of a sudden. I head for the window, hoping the sun would dry up my tears and hide my hurt. But my children are smart, completely in tuned to how I feel. They know me as well as I know them.

  “Mom,” Kristina says as she comes to my side. “It’s okay.”

  I almost crumble to the ground. But Kristina, my sweet daughter, grabs on to me. Janae comes over to us, and she joins our hug. Then she pulls us over to Harlan and Kale. We all take in this moment with a unified hug and hope that Davian will return home, safe and sound.

  Our reunion is interrupted with a soft knock at the door. I don’t want it to end, but when the sketch artist peeks his head in and holds up a badge and a large pad, I know that we must. It’s time to put a face on paper and hopefully, take another step towards finding Davian. I lead the children away from their dad. They’re in an uproar, but I tell them that we need to speak with the officer in private. My mom and Sarah take over the parental herding at the door.

  The sketch artist sits in a chair and flips open a giant pad. He holds the pencil in an odd way, but he appears to be comfortable and ready. He asks questions and draws facial features according to Harlan’s descriptions. The process takes a while. The finished results are nowhere near what I remember of the guy, but then again I don’t remember what color his clothes were. I can only recall the dreadlocks. And to be really perfectly honest, the drawing looks like any other African American male. Nothing stands out about it. I can probably find two men within a mile who looks exactly like the sketch.

  After the officer leaves, Harlan and I are alone once again. I sit on the edge of the bed with him. I’m so glad to have him back. I touch his smooth face and look into his eyes. The same sadness that I’ve been dealing with for so long, I see it now in his expression. I have to turn away before I break down once again.

  He takes hold of my chin, gently making me face him, and he says, “It’s going to be alright, Joslyn.”