The remodeling completed late last year had expanded the agency’s existing space by fifty percent. Business was great and Jonelle wondered why her uncle still gave her the grunt work. Surveillance meant sitting still all day and sometimes night, watching people and getting a sore butt. It was as boring as watching the “next number” board at the DMV.
Jonelle dropped her purse on the client chair and wandered over to the window. In consideration of her claustrophobia, Marvin gave Jonelle the option of a smaller space with a larger window, or a larger space with a small window looking out onto the alley. She chose the small space, large window office that provided a view of the city. On a clear day like today, the Johns Hopkins Hospital complex, identifiable by the curved glass façade and the glass enclosed walkway, glittered in the sunshine. The elevated walkway loomed over Orleans Street and connected the parking garage to the hospital and sprawling medical campus.
She scowled at the sheets in her hand. The only way to find out why her only assignments were two surveillance jobs was to ask why. She took a deep breath and went to find Marvin.
He still occupied the largest corner space with the same furnishings. Rainey tried to convince him to at least agree to adding an en-suite bathroom, but he objected saying he could go down the hall just like everybody else. Since Marvin believed in open door management, Jonelle knocked on the frame.
He looked up from a printout he was reading and smiled at her. “Come on in.”
“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” she said. Before she sat down across from him, she put the papers on his desk and circled his office, inserting an index finger in each of the three potted plants that decorated his space. She heard his theatrical sigh behind her. “In order to get me to quit doing this, you should really try to stop killing your plants. All it takes is a little water.” She looked at her finger. “They feel okay, so I guess they’ll survive another day.” She pulled a tissue from the box on his desk and wiped her finger.
“You finished playing plant police?”
“For now.” Jonelle sat, picked up the papers and took a deep breath. “See, thing is I thought that when I completed my first two cases, you’d realize I could handle investigative work.”
Marvin leaned back in his chair. “Of course you can. You’re a regular member of the staff now, you know that.”
“Then why do I continue getting the surveillance jobs? I thought you’d give me more interesting assignments. Even background checks are more appealing than this.” She fluttered the papers in the air.
Silence filled the office. Marvin’s eyes bored into his nieces’. He remained quiet so long Jonelle played with her gold handcuff and pistol necklace, a gift from the man sitting on the other side of the desk.
“How long have you worked here?” he asked.
Her stomach lurched. “Um, a little over a year.”
“Right. And out of the three investigators I have, which one of you has the least seniority?”
So that’s where this was going. “I do. I also know that Omar and Ben get the most complicated cases. I just think that when it comes to the surveillance work, well, it would be nice to maybe spread it around a bit. Those guys may be here forever, so that means I’ll always be low man on the totem pole.”
Marvin raised an eyebrow. He looked at Jonelle for a few seconds, then glanced down at the printouts. “These sheets represent all the work we’re doing,” he said, tapping a finger on the papers spread over his desk. Marvin pressed his lips together. “The reason we’re doing as well as we are, is because I assign and approve work to the agent I feel could do the best job.”
“I’m not disputing that, but I just thought—”
“Let me finish,” Marvin said with a sharp edge in his voice.
Jonelle sat back in her chair, hands clasped tight in her lap.
“When surveillance jobs come in, and my most experienced agents are busy doing other work, those jobs will fall to you. If you have a problem with that, then perhaps this agency isn’t a good fit for you.”
Jonelle’s eyes widened in shock. “I love it here,” she said.
“And I love having you here. But I can’t have one of my employees questioning the work they’re given.” His voice softened. “Outside of this office, you’re more than my niece; you’re like a daughter to me. But in here, you’re a member of the staff and you’re treated as such.”
Jonelle felt like a schoolgirl chastised by the principal for cheating on a test. “I understand.” She picked up the papers and stood.
“Are we good?” Marvin asked. He winked at her.
Jonelle smiled. “Always.” She paused a moment. “Um, maybe this isn’t a good time, but remember me telling you about Luther?”
“Is that the homeless guy that helped you last year?”
“Right. He’s in trouble and needs help. I thought I could, uh, handle the case for him.”
The lines between Marvin’s brows deepened. “Since he’s not able to pay you, the agency can’t afford to take him on as a client.”
She sat back down, and folded her arms on his desk. “Hear me out on this. I’d like to ask one of our lawyer clients if they do pro bono work. If so, would you object if I asked them to look at Luther’s case and see if they can get him out of jail? I think they’re holding him because he found the body.”
“I don’t have a problem with that as long as it doesn’t affect your work for the agency.” Marvin picked up the printouts, a signal to Jonelle that the meeting was over. She ignored the gesture. As she watched him reading, an idea occurred to her. “Has the agency ever done any work, you know, gratis?”
“I cannot believe you,” Marvin said, looking up from the sheets, a slight smile on his lips. “Maybe once or twice.”
“Good. So, how do I go about assigning myself that type of case? I know I can find the time, you know, in-between my stimulating surveillance jobs.”
Marvin ignored the sarcasm and studied his niece. “This is a police matter. There’s not much the agency can do anyway.”
“I know. I want to make sure Luther isn’t railroaded into taking the rap for something he didn’t do.”
“How do you know he didn’t?”
“Because he’s not that kind of person. Burt, detective Burton that is, said he was inconsolable when they discovered him over the victim’s body.”
Marvin’s eyes narrowed. Neither said anything for several seconds. Marvin shrugged and broke the silence first. “Tell Rainey to open a special case file. She’ll know to assign a distinct number so we don’t include it on the profit and loss spreadsheets.” He pointed to the door. “Now go. Get outta here before I change my mind.”
Jonelle grabbed her papers. “You’re the best.”
“Out!” he said, pointing to the doorway.
She heard him chuckle as she left his office.
After giving Rainey the information needed to open Luther’s case, Jonelle sat at her desk and pulled up her contacts list. The first three lawyers she phoned said they’d already done their pro bono work for the year. The fourth firm she called agreed to look into the case. She gave them Thelonius Burton as the lead detective. Jonelle didn’t know if Luther was still using the last name St. Vincent or if he told the police something different. When Jonelle first met Luther he’d taken the St. Vincent surname off of posters found in the abandoned warehouse where he camped out at night.
Jonelle grabbed her cellphone and some money out of her purse. After a quick wave and “I’ll be back soon,” to Rainey, Jonelle left her office building, intent on speaking to the panhandler on the corner.
He looked up and smiled as she approached.
Jonelle smiled back. “Hi. Do you mind if I ask you a question?” She took a dollar bill out of her pocket and handed it to him.
Unfocused eyes squinted at her. “What kinda question?” He shoved the money in his pants.
“You ever hear of a guy named Luther?” Jonelle watched his reaction. She noticed a slight
flicker in his eyes as she said the name.
“Not sure,” he mumbled.
“What about Chester? Do you know a Chester?”
The man shrugged. “Lotsa people got that name.”
Jonelle grabbed a five dollar bill from her pants pocket. “From what I understand, Luther and Chester are friends. They probably work the same area together. You look like a smart guy. This is for you if your memory changes.”
He stared at the money, mouth open.
“I have to find Chester because Luther needs his help.”
“I knows where he usually is about now.” He snatched the money out of Jonelle’s hand, turned and started walking.
Jonelle followed, hoping her investment would pay off.
CHAPTER 3
After walking a few steps behind the man for several long blocks, Jonelle wondered if he was leading her on a wild goose chase. She decided to continue on until she either got tired of following him or he got tired of her shadowing him, whichever came first.
At the intersection of Wolfe and Monument he stopped. Jonelle moved up beside him. In front of them, seemingly endless construction work left part of the street torn up. At the stop light on the next corner, two white men dressed in worn jeans and red-checkered flannel shirts stood talking. As she watched, one handed a cigarette to the other, who put his cardboard sign under his arm, nodded and walked off. Both seemed oblivious to the traffic flowing around them.
“Are either one of those men Chester?” she asked, raising her voice in order to be heard over all the noise.
“Naw. But I seen him talkin’ to that one sometimes.” He nodded to the man who remained on the corner. “He prob’ly could tell you where Chester is. I can’t get too close. He gets funny if he thinks you want his spot.” He looked at Jonelle. “You on your own here lady.” With that last comment, he turned and ambled off back the way they came.
For a moment Jonelle considered calling out to the man’s retreating back and asking his name, then realized it didn’t matter. She knew anonymity was the norm in his world. She took a deep breath and approached the guy on the corner, now looking in her direction. On a piece of cardboard propped against a beat up cooler, a hand printed sign read, “Homeless vet. Please help.” Next to it was a coffee can half full of bills.
Before she could say anything, he pointed at her. “You a cop?”
Jonelle groaned inwardly. For all her efforts made in the past to join the police force, it seemed the one thing she already had going for her was “the look.”
“No, I’m not a cop. I’m a private investigator trying to help a man named Luther. He’s been arrested as a person of interest in a crime. Maybe you heard about it. Woman found behind a Dumpster with her throat cut?”
He continued staring at her. A car stopped at the light caught his attention. The driver held his hand out the window, waving a paper bill in his hand. He hurried over. “Thanks, man” he said, grabbing the money.
Up until now, Jonelle hadn’t felt threatened by the people who lived on the street. This guy was different. He radiated danger. The body beneath his clothes looked hard and fit, almost healthy considering his lifestyle. Tattoos covered both arms. It was as if he’d just gotten out of prison where the only thing he did was exercise all day, every day.
“What you lookin’ at lady? You standin’ there ‘cause you think I’m hot and you want some ‘a this?” He grabbed his privates and sneered at her.
Jonelle’s face burned. “I’m waiting for you to answer my questions. Do you know Luther? Chester? Do you know anything about the woman killed not far from here?” She held his gaze when what she really wanted to do was run away from this Neanderthal. “Luther helped me with a case last year, so I want to do what I can to help him.”
Cold, hard eyes stared back. “Yeah. Heard about ole Luther savin’ some queer’s life. You was involved in that huh?”
Jonelle bristled at the slur. “You know what? I don’t need your help. You’re an ass and you give the homeless people a bad name. Forget it. I’ll find Chester another way.” She turned around and started walking.
“Hey, you,” he called out.
Jonelle stopped and turned around, straightening her spine against the insult she knew he was about to hurl in her direction.
“Check Pratt Street. Near the harbor.” He laughed and gave her a mock salute.
“Jerk,” she mumbled. She felt the money in her pocket and decided to hop a bus to the inner harbor rather than going back to the office and getting her Jeep. Trying to find a place to park near the harbor was a nightmare.
A low rumble behind her sounded as a bus came into view. She jogged the few feet to the bus stop and hopped aboard. Ten minutes later she disembarked in front of an office complex that backed onto the inner harbor. She walked along the sidewalk and down the few concrete steps. A small street band played to delighted tourists who tried to ignore the dirty, smelly people standing all around the perimeter.
Although most of the down and out were men, Jonelle was always dismayed to see women in their midst. She noticed a white woman with dark, shoulder length hair sitting on a bench a little ways from the crowd. Her arms and legs were crossed so tight it appeared as if she was trying to fold into herself. Her pinched face had deep frown lines around the eyes and mouth. The gentle rocking of her body reminded Jonelle of Luther in his jail cell.
“Mind if I sit here?” she asked in a quiet voice.
The woman scooted over to the edge of the bench.
“Thank you,” Jonelle said, sitting near the other edge. Although she’d lost weight this past year, Jonelle didn’t want her size to intimidate this fragile woman.
Conscious of people walking all around her, Jonelle tried to focus on how to ask the woman about Luther and Chester. Best to come out with it. “I’m looking to help an acquaintance of mine. His name’s Luther. He’s got a friend called Chester and I was wondering if—”
The woman made a squeaking sound, jumped up and ran off.
“Well, damn,” Jonelle said to herself.
“You lookin’ for Chester, you ain’t gonna find him that way,” said a voice behind her.
Jonelle turned around on the bench.
“I overheard you talkin’ to Maxine.”
A stocky man in a navy blue work shirt and pants looked down at her. His sandy hair sported a buzz cut and his hazel eyes observed her with amusement. The name “Phil” was stitched in white above his shirt pocket.
“Well, Phil, I’m open for suggestions. You got any?”
In answer, Phil came around and sat next to her. He offered her his hand. “Since you know my name, what’s yours?”
She shook his hand. “My name’s Jonelle. I’m trying to help a friend of mine. He told me to contact someone named Chester, and frankly I had hoped to find him somewhere out here. I think I know where he goes at night, but I have other, uh, responsibilities at that time. And before you ask, no I’m not a cop.”
He nodded. “I believe you. To tell you the truth, I was wondering about Chester myself. See, I always have lunch around here, and I try to help these guys when I can. Maxine over there”—he nodded to the woman now swaying on another bench—“doesn’t like anyone near her. It’s taken me a while just to get her to let me hand her a few dollars.” He sighed. “As for Chester. He’s normally around here about this time, but I haven’t seen him in a few days. Ever since they found that woman.”
“What does Chester look like?”
Phil opened the brown paper sack he carried and took out a zip lock bag. “Want half my sandwich? It’s meatloaf. Wife makes the best meatloaf around.”
Jonelle grinned and shook her head. “No thanks.”
Phil took a big bite of sandwich. After swallowing, he drank from his water bottle. “You know, I never really thought about it before, but it’s hard to describe these people. I don’t mean that I’m one of those folk who don’t really look at them, ‘cause I do. But still …” He squinted in concentr
ation. “Guess Chester is a little taller than me. I’m five ten, so he’d be a little under six feet. Long, straggly gray hair hangs almost to his shoulders. Pale eyes. Tell you the truth, don’t know if they’re blue or gray.” Phil took another bite of sandwich.
“White guy, right?” Jonelle asked.
Phil nodded.
Jonelle stared up at the sky. No doubt about it. She needed to go back to the warehouse.
CHAPTER 4
The unseasonable warmth of the day had vanished, replaced by a cool, but not too cold night. Crickets chirped and clicked all around. Jonelle loved this time of year when summer struggled to hang on while fall tried to take its place. She frowned at the surveillance sheet lying on the passenger seat of her Jeep. The client, a nurse named Polly Cole, wanted the agency in place no later than ten forty-five and last until three a.m., two hours before she returned home. Ms. Cole, a single mom, requested someone watch and make sure her teenage daughter didn’t leave the house after she left and most importantly, didn’t let anyone in. The client had given Shorter Investigative Services permission to call the cops if the investigator, in this case Jonelle, ran into any problems.
“So, this is what my life’s come to,” Jonelle grumbled to herself, “babysitting teenagers.”
The time on her cellphone read eight thirty. She had a little over two hours to drive to the deserted warehouse, check inside for Chester and make it back to the client’s house by the agreed upon start time. Along the way, she made a mental inventory of what she packed for the night. Her backpack held a flashlight, night vision goggles, camera and her Beretta .38. A thermos of coffee, large bottle of water, chips, peanut butter crackers and a chocolate bar took up the rest of the space. Good thing there was a convenience store around the corner from the Cole place in case her bladder complained.
The neighborhood around the old warehouse district hadn’t changed since her first visit last year. If anything, it was even more gloomy at night. A few harsh sodium lights barely illuminated the area. The scene epitomized the hopelessness and despair of those unlucky enough to live there. Looking around at all the rubble, rusted out cars, trash and boarded up buildings depressed her. Jonelle pondered what she’d say to Chester when she found him. That is, if she found him.
The Trickster (A Jonelle Sweet Mystery Book 3) Page 2
