“No. We’re not exactly on speaking terms. My grandfather left me a couple messages this week but I haven’t called him back. He just said we needed to talk.”
I cut my eyes to Nakayla. She would be better at shifting the interview into the personal area we needed to explore.
“Why are your family relations strained?” Nakayla asked.
Jennifer shrugged. “It’s no secret. They don’t approve of my life style. And they don’t approve of Judith.”
Life style. My mind replayed Judith Crenshaw’s protective attitude in the gallery and the clasp of hands when Jennifer said she’d speak with us alone. Jennifer and Judith were a couple.
“Is that why you left the company?” Nakayla asked.
“Yes. I was given a choice between Judith and my job. As far as I know, my father disinherited me.”
Nakayla sighed. “And that’s his loss. I think bigotry is more destructive on the bigot than the target of his fear.”
Jennifer’s eyes moistened. “But it still hurts.”
The room was silent a moment. I looked around and for the first time noticed the pictures on the two desks. Framed photos of Jennifer and Judith hiking, smiling next to the base of the Eiffel Tower, working side by side at a soup kitchen. In short, making a life together. And the irony was that Jennifer was experiencing the bigotry that Jimmy Lang and Lucille Montgomery faced a generation earlier. A generation within her own family that still didn’t understand how love doesn’t recognize restrictions or limitations.
Nakayla’s jaw tensed. She was wrestling with how to proceed. “Jennifer, has anyone ever told you about the special relationship between Jimmy and Lucille Montgomery?”
“No. I’ve heard from my grandfather how Lucille helped care for my grandmother when she was dying of cancer. But, again, that was before I was born.”
“Jimmy and Lucille were lovers. They wanted to get married but North Carolina law prohibited it.”
“What?” Jennifer turned her stunned face to me for confirmation.
“It’s true,” I said. “And when the law forbidding interracial marriage was finally overruled by the Supreme Court in 1967, Lucille decided not to marry Jimmy. Both she and your grandfather agreed the climate was still highly charged and the company would have suffered.”
“Business over love,” Jennifer said with undisguised sarcasm.
“That may be too harsh,” Nakayla said. “Lucille was doing what she thought was best at the time for the man she loved. I know the prejudice my own family experienced.”
“Is that why Jimmy left?” Jennifer asked. “My father said there was rift between my grandfather and his brother.”
“That’s what everyone thought,” Nakayla said. “But now, well, the remains that have been discovered on the Kingdom of the Happy Land have focused attention on Jimmy’s disappearance and what might have been behind it.”
“And that’s why Marsha wants to find the photograph?”
“Yes,” Nakayla said. “What reason did she give you?”
“That she’d checked out a book for her mother called Roll, Jordan, Roll and it contained photographs by Doris Ulmann. Lucille told her Ulmann had taken her photograph years ago.”
“Marsha told us she was already familiar with the photograph,” Nakayla said.
“And that’s what she told me. But as a kid she never thought about who took the picture. When she learned of Ulmann’s stature in the art world, she realized the photograph could be valuable and asked me to check into it. She didn’t seem particularly urgent about it.”
“When did she ask you?” Nakayla said.
“I guess more than a month ago. Judith got right on it but found nothing.”
Jennifer’s answer matched what we’d learned from the Getty Museum. Evidence was stacking up that Marsha’s interest in the photograph was generated completely unrelated to the discovery of the skeleton. She only shifted emphasis to the theft when she sought to explain the missing rifle, the one she tried to bury.
“Could I have a list of galleries and museums Judith queried?” Nakayla asked.
“Yes.” Jennifer ran her tongue over her lips nervously. “Did Marsha know about her mother and my great uncle?”
“She says she remembers him, but she was only five.”
“I like Marsha. We worked together at the company. She was very upset when I was forced out.”
“I’m sure she was,” Nakayla said. “You might want to talk to her sometime.” She looked at me. “About what we’ve told you.”
I nodded, agreeing with what Nakayla wasn’t saying more than what she was saying. We weren’t going to reveal the kinship shared by Jennifer and Marsha. It wasn’t our place.
Nakayla stood. “If Judith isn’t busy, maybe we could get that list now. Otherwise, my email address is on my card.”
Jennifer rose. “Certainly.” She started around her desk, and then paused. “Do you think my grandfather was calling to tell me about Lucille and his brother?”
“Probably,” Nakayla said. “He’s trying to help her.”
I thought of a more pressing reason. “He may have been warning you that the police might ask you for a DNA sample. He wouldn’t want to leave that in a message.”
“DNA?”
“Yes. They’re trying to make a positive identification that the skeletal remains belong to your great uncle.”
“But my grandfather’s his twin. That’s the best match they can get.”
“Your grandfather’s not cooperating,” Nakayla said. “He believes Lucille is innocent and he’s determined not to help build a case against her.”
Jennifer looked confused. “You think he’d want to know if his brother had been killed.”
“Not at the expense of creating circumstantial evidence for the prosecution.”
“That’s a shock. I never realized he and Lucille were that close.”
“Yeah,” Nakayla said. “And the police aren’t happy about it.”
The door from the gallery opened. Judith Crenshaw stuck her head in, her eyes wide with concern. “Excuse me. Jennifer, there’s a deputy sheriff here to see you.”
Nakayla mouthed one word to me. “Overcash.”
If we were surprised, Deputy Overcash was apoplectic. When we followed Jennifer into the gallery, he blurted out, “What the hell are you two doing here?”
Nakayla and I kept walking. I gave him a big smile as we passed. “Why, the same thing you are. Shopping for fine art. You’ll find some wonderful pieces for your mantel. That is if Herb didn’t buy them all.”
Before he could reply, we were out on the sidewalk.
Chapter Eighteen
“Where’s Nakayla?” Shirley looked at the open door behind me and saw only the empty hall.
“She had to run an errand,” I said. “I’m meeting with Hewitt alone.”
Shirley’s black lipsticked lips turned down in a frown. With her heavy white makeup, she looked like a mime whose invisible dog had just been run over. “I had lunch brought in for you two. Sandwiches from the City Bakery Café.” The corners of her mouth rose. “Oh, well, I guess I’ll have to eat Nakayla’s. Unless you want to give it to the cute guy in your office.”
I stepped closer to her desk. “I thought I was the cute guy in the office.”
“Yeah, right. I mean the man who was on the phone at Nakayla’s desk when I stuck my head in to see what you wanted me to order. But neither of you were there.” Shirley tucked her fingers under her chin and coyly batted her black-lined eyes. “So, what’s his name?”
“Jason. And he’s too young for you.”
“Really? And is he too young for Nakayla?”
“On second thought, you’re perfect for each other. Enthusiasm meets experience.”
“He didn’t look experienced.”
The interc
om buzzed. “Shirley,” Hewitt said. “Which one of these sandwiches is mine?”
“The one labeled crow. Enjoy. And Sam’s here. He’s enthusiastic about experiencing your great wisdom. Don’t disappoint him.”
“Send him back.”
“A brilliant decision, sir. I never would have thought of it.” She looked at me. “You heard his lordship. And the sandwiches are all turkey.”
I headed for the conference room.
“Wait.” Shirley bent under her desk and retrieved a brown bag. “I also bought oatmeal raisin cookies. I knew if I left them with Hewitt, you’d never see them.”
“Thanks. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“I know. Not an easy task when you’re perfect. Now run along before I start to like you.”
Over the sandwiches and chips, I briefed Hewitt on the encounter with Mick Emory and the conversation with Jennifer Lang.
“How much of Emory is hot air?” Hewitt asked.
“Hard to say. He likes to think of himself as a badass. He’s also got a real mean streak. I think that rage could erupt on the witness stand if you pushed the right buttons.”
Hewitt swept the remnants of his sandwich aside and jotted notes on his legal pad. “John Lang,” he murmured.
“What?”
“John Lang. I’ll get him on the stand to tell about the confrontation between Jimmy and Earl Lee Emory after those garbage bid presentations in 1967. If I also have Mick Emory as a witness, then he might be really pissed after John testifies.”
“What about Lucille telling the story? Surely she’d have an emotional impact on the jury.”
Hewitt shook his head. “That would be hearsay. She learned about it from John. He was the eyewitness. And if I put Lucille on the stand, then Chesterson can cross-examine. I don’t dare subject Lucille to that.”
“So, she won’t testify in her own defense?”
“Not if I can help it.” He leaned back in his chair. “And the winds are shifting to make that a real possibility.”
“How?”
Hewitt smiled. “The appearance of Deputy Overcash at Jennifer Lang’s gallery. What role could she possibly play? She wasn’t born when Jimmy disappeared. She’s estranged from her father and grandfather. She knew Marsha and Lucille but isn’t particularly close to them. So, what’s her connection to the case?”
“Her DNA.”
“Precisely. Which means what?”
I understood what boosted Hewitt’s optimism. “William Lang is no longer a cooperating prosecution witness.”
“Yes. Daddy must still have controlling interest in the company. And if William’s backed out of his DNA sample, he may have backed out on his testimony.”
“Couldn’t Chesterson just be looking for backup confirmation?”
“Why? No one’s denying Jennifer’s relationship to her father and he’s a generation closer to Jimmy. No, I think Chesterson’s case is a wedge of Swiss cheese. The more he examines it, the more holes he finds.”
“I mentioned the DNA possibility to Jennifer and that she was under no obligation to provide a sample.”
“Good. We’ll know her response soon enough.”
The intercom buzzed on the phone in the middle of the table. “D.A. Chesterson’s on line one,” Shirley announced. “You want me to tell him you’re enjoying a cookie and can’t be disturbed?”
Hewitt’s bushy gray eyebrows arched. “Well, well, speak of the devil. No, I’ll take it. Thanks.”
“I live to serve you.”
Hewitt pulled the phone closer and put his index finger to his lips, signaling me to be quiet. Then with the same finger he punched the flashing line and activated the speakerphone.
“Mr. Chesterson. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“The cause of justice, Mr. Donaldson.” Chesterson’s voice tried to strike a confident, yet friendly tone.
“Wonderful. I take it you’re dropping all charges against my client.”
Chesterson forced a laugh. “Hardly. I mean we have the murder weapon and the motive. But no one’s interested in putting an eighty-five-year-old woman through the rigors of a trial.”
“Especially since we don’t even know whom she allegedly killed.”
Silence. Hewitt wiggled his fingers at the phone, taunting the disembodied voice of Chesterson to speak.
After a few seconds, the district attorney obliged. “Oh, we will. The DNA sample we acquired this morning should be back within a week. And I’ll have the preliminary report on the victim’s DNA this weekend.”
A flicker of surprise flashed across Hewitt’s face. Then his expression turned hard. “You want to tell me the DNA source or make me wait for discovery?”
“Depends. Do you want to talk about a deal, or wait for the results and take the chance the deal or any deal will still be on the table?”
“If you’re offering something, you know I have to take it to Miss Montgomery.”
“Then here’s what I can do. First, she confirms the identity of the victim and tells us what happened. If those circumstances are extenuating and match the physical evidence, then I’ll go for leniency on the appropriate charge.”
“Meaning if she claims self-defense, she walks?”
“Nice try, but no. The body in the hollow log rules that out. Either she stuffed him in there or he was desperately trying to hide, which indicates she was coming after him.”
Hewitt looked at me and shook his head. Then he stared at the phone. “Sounds like the best you can do is voluntary manslaughter. That’s a class D felony with active prison time.”
“And maybe she serves a year. No parole board’s going to go hard on her.”
“When you’re eighty-five, a year can be the rest of your life.”
“Spare me,” Chesterson snapped. “She’s outlived Jimmy Lang by over forty-five years.”
“If it is Jimmy Lang.”
Chesterson laughed again. “Don’t kid yourself, pal. You and I both know what that DNA match will show. You’ve got till five o’clock tomorrow afternoon before the offer expires.”
“And who provided the sample?”
“Jennifer Lang. Tell your hotshot detective he just wasn’t persuasive enough. And if he pressures her again, I’ll charge him with intimidation and harassment.”
A click, and the line went dead.
Hewitt sighed. “Well, now he’s pissed me off.”
“What do we do next?”
He eyed the paper bag on the table beside me. “Shirley said something about cookies.”
I slid the whole bag to him. Chesterson cost me my appetite.
Hewitt pulled out a cookie as big as his fist. He studied it for a second. “Jennifer Lang. Maybe she agreed just to spite her family.” He took a bite and talked as he chewed. “And why the big rush on the plea bargain, especially now that he has the DNA in play?”
“He gets a conviction. A win is a win, even if it’s pled down to jaywalking. Why take a chance with an old lady and a jury?”
“I wonder.”
The turning wheels of Hewitt’s brain were almost audible. Whatever he was thinking, he wasn’t ready to share it.
“Nakayla and I are supposed to go to the John C. Campbell Folk School tomorrow about the missing Ulmann photograph. You still want us to pursue it?”
“Yes. More than ever.”
He took another bite and his eyes lost focus. Wherever his thoughts were leading, I couldn’t follow. I got up and left.
Nakayla arrived at the office about thirty minutes later. She told me that after dropping Jason at Armitage Security Services for his interview, she’d gone to the veterans’ hospital to see how early Jason could be discharged the next morning.
“I explained he was moving into your apartment.” Nakayla sat in her customary spot on the sofa, bare fe
et tucked under her.
“Was that a problem?” I was in the closest armchair. Holmes and Watson.
“No. They love you there. God knows why. I said you had an appointment out of town and needed to pick Jason up by eight. They promised to complete the paperwork this afternoon and have Dr. Anderson sign off on Jason’s release first thing in the morning.”
“Good. Thanks. Who’s getting word to Jason?”
“I saw your friend Sheila Reilly in Physical Therapy. She took it as her personal mission.”
“Then it will be done. Sheila cuts through bureaucracy like an icebreaker through the Arctic.”
“We should have ample time to get Jason settled. David Brose had invited us for lunch at the school, but I slid our appointment to one o’clock. We’ll need to be on the road by eleven. We’re still going, right?”
“Definitely.” I gave her a summary of my meeting with Hewitt and the call from D.A. Chesterson.
Nakayla sat quietly for a few minutes while she processed the new developments. Finally she said, “I agree with Hewitt. Chesterson’s urgency for a deal doesn’t make sense if he’s still got Jennifer Lang’s DNA to analyze. It’s like he thinks it will go against him.”
The quick deadline had been bugging me since I left Hewitt’s office. I thought back over Chesterson’s offer and one phrase jumped out.
“First, she confirms the identity of the victim.”
“What?” Nakayla asked.
“It’s what Chesterson said. Lucille has to identify the victim. Why bother if he’s got forensic DNA?”
“They’d want to have independent confirmation, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes. But it was the way he said it. Not confirm that Jimmy Lang was the victim. Just confirm the victim’s identity.”
“When’s he getting the report on the remains?”
“He said over the weekend.”
Nakayla’s half-smile brought dimples to her cheeks. “Right after the expiration of the plea bargain offer.”
“Yeah. I think Hewitt suspects that Chesterson knows something about that DNA report. Something he doesn’t like.”
“I wonder if Jennifer Lang even gave a DNA sample.” Nakayla stood.
A Murder In Passing Page 17
