Beneath The Surface

by Glenn, Roy

Carmen and Black sat down on the couch, while Mrs. Winters sat in a chair across from them. “This is my producer, Dixon Steele,” Carmen said.

  “Mr. Steele,” she said graciously, and picked up the glass she was drinking from.

  Now that the pleasantries were out of the way, Carmen got right to her point. “It was you that called me and said that you were with Tangela House the night she was murdered wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. How did you find me?”

  “You were seen with Tangela House on the gallery security video.”

  “And we tried to be so careful not to be seen together.”

  “Who is the man you were with?” Carmen asked.

  “My husband, Jack,” Mrs. Winters said and got up. She walked over to her bar. “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No, thank you,” Carmen said quickly and glanced at Black.

  “You don’t mind if I have one?”

  “Not at all,” Black said and glanced at Carmen. “Is your husband here?”

  “No, he’s out of town on business.” Mrs. Winters poured herself a drink and returned to her chair.

  “Can you tell me what happened that night?” Carmen asked.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “Have the police seen the video that you saw?”

  “They have,” Carmen replied.

  “Then why are you here instead of them?” Mrs. Winters needed to know.

  “I can’t answer that,” Carmen said.

  “But sooner or later they’ll be coming, won’t they?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Winters, they will,” Black said. “So why don’t you tell us your side of the story, so we can get it out there when they do come for you. Because I can pretty much guarantee you that they are coming. They may be slow getting here, but they are thorough.”

  Mrs. Winters took a big shallow of her drink. “We, my husband Jack and I, met Tish at the gallery.”

  “Did you know her before that night?” Carmen asked.

  “Yes. As I told you, Tish was a call girl and we’d used her several times in the past. We were both comfortable with her.”

  “Go on, Mrs. Winters,” Black said getting into his role as Carmen’s producer. “Tell us what happened that night.”

  She finished her drink and put the glass down. “I guess there is no delicate way to say this, so I’ll just say it. I’m a bit of a voyeur.” Mrs. Winters paused. “I like watching my husband have sex with other women in places where we may get caught. And I masturbate while I’m watching,” she said, waiting for either Carmen or Black to say something.

  Black and Carmen just sort of glanced at one another, but were both caught off guard by that admission, because that was the last thing either of them was expecting to hear. When neither of them said anything, Mrs. Winters continued, “I had been to the gallery many times, so I knew the layout of the building; and with the event opening that night, I was certain that we wouldn’t be disturbed. I told Tish where to go, and after awhile, Jack and I followed her up there.”

  “What happened then?” Carmen asked, almost on the edge of her seat. “Did things just get out of hand; did Jack just get carried away and—”

  “No!” Mrs. Winters shouted. “You’ve got to believe me, Jack didn’t kill her. I admit that he had sex with her. But after the sex was over, we left Tish up there and we went back downstairs.” Mrs. Winters sprang to her feet and went back to the bar to get another drink. “You’ve got to believe me, Carmen; Tish was alive when we left her.”

  “Tell us what happened then?” Carmen urged.

  “We were waiting in the gallery for Tish to come out so we could leave. We were going to come back here and—but when her body was discovered, we panicked and left the gallery because we knew how it would look. But I swear to you, we didn’t kill her.”

  Carmen looked at Black. “I believe you, Mrs. Winters.”

  “What happens now?” Mrs. Winters asked.

  “Well—” Carmen started, but Black cut her off quickly.

  “Nothing. For the time being, we’re all going to forget that we ever had this conversation, and hope that the police don’t come to your door like we did. But if they do, you should consider not telling them the same story you just told us. Let them tell you what happened that night,” Black advised.

  “The police aren’t going to believe that we didn’t kill her, are they?”

  “No, they’re not. They’re gonna wanna close their case. You and Jack had opportunity to commit the murder. They can match Jack’s DNA to the sample they most likely have. They’re going to arrest you and Jack for murder.”

  “You sound like a cop,” Mrs. Winters said.

  “No ma’am. I just know a thing or two about murder,” Black said.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  After hearing Mrs. Winters’s story, Black and Carmen left her apartment and took the elevator down. This time they left through the front door. The doorman looked surprised to see them because he didn’t remember them going up.

  “Have a good night,” Carmen said as she passed.

  “You should check your back door,” Black said and laughed; but just a little.

  Once they were outside, Black hailed a cab. He opened the door for Carmen and got in behind her.

  “That was some story,” Carmen said.

  “You really believe her?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Doesn’t matter if I do or not.”

  “But I’m sure you have an opinion. Like you said, you know a thing or two about murder.”

  “She doesn’t seem like the type; but that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it, or that Jack killed her. I know some women that get off on strangulation.”

  “Do you?” Carmen smiled.

  “All I’m sayin’ is things coulda gotten out of hand during sex like that.”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never had sex like that,” Carmen said quietly and dropped her head.

  “You never had hot, wild sex, pretty lady?”

  Carmen punched him in the arm. “You know I have. It’s just—I don’t know—sometimes when I hear about things like that—maybe I’m just a bit of a prude.”

  “Prude. Now there’s a word you don’t hear often, or one that I would have associated with you.”

  “It’s called a vocabulary,” Carmen mused. “But after my sister, Desireé died, and Marcus and I were trying to find out who killed her, I read her diary.” Carmen shook her head. “Desireé was into some pretty kinky sex—kinky from my point of view, anyway.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, Dez was bisexual and her husband, Roland used to like watching her have sex with other people. Both men and women; but Roland preferred men having sex with her.”

  “Just watched? He never joined in?”

  “Roland was impotent.”

  “What; he never heard of Viagra?”

  “Roland used Viagra until the doctor told him it was bad for his heart; so he had to stop taking it. After that, Desireé started seeing other men. Since Dez was always seeing somebody anyway, she’d bring them home so Roland could watch.”

  “Sounds like a nice arrangement for him.”

  “Yeah, except when it’s your little sister putting on the show.” Carmen paused. “Then I talked to one of her female lovers.” Carmen shook her head.

  “Let me guess: she hit on you, right?”

  “Not that that was all that big a deal; women have been hitting on me as long as I can remember. It got worse when I began modeling. But this chick, she had one more time to tell me how hard I was making her clit, before I slapped the black off her.”

  “Now I’m gonna ask: What were you doing to make her clit so hard?”

  “We were talking about Dez being bisexual, and then she asked me if I’d ever made love to a woman before and starts inching closer to me, and puts her hand on my thigh.”

  “Aggressive.”

  “I told her, no, I haven’t; and I’
d appreciate it if she took her hand off my thigh. Well, she said she was sorry, but she comes right out and says that she could make me feel things that a man can’t.”

  “Very aggressive.”

  “But not original. That’s what they all say. Anyway, she says she knows what a woman wants, what she needs, and she’s very good.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I told her that I was sure that she was, but that there is something to be said for penetration. And she said she could give me that too.” Carmen leaned close to Black. “So I told her that I was sure she could, but there’s something I like about having real dick.”

  “Doesn’t sound very prudish to me, Carmen,” Black said with a waving finger.

  “I thought it would get her off me.”

  “Did it?”

  “No,” Carmen said. “That’s when she said told me to stop because I was making her clit hard.”

  “You may think you started that, Carmen, but everybody gets off their own way,” Black said.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You ever watch anybody having sex?”

  “I wouldn’t say I was watching, but I’ve had sex in the same room while other people were having sex.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Carmen. Me and Bobby were pretty wild back in the day. And I’ve been to an orgy or two in my time.”

  Carmen didn’t say a word.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “All that time you spent in Europe. I heard they don’t have American hang-ups about sex. I would’ve thought that you would have been to your share of orgies.”

  “True. The Europeans have what they consider a more enlightened attitude toward sex. Yes, the orgy would start at the drop of a dime, but I always seemed to leave before it got started,” Carmen said as her cell rang. “This is Carmen.”

  “Ms. Taylor, Margaret.”

  “Margaret?”

  “From Finch studios. You remember; we met the other day.”

  “Oh, yes, Margaret. What can I do for you?”

  “I got something I need to tell you about Crème.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “No. Not on the phone.”

  “Okay. I could meet you somewhere.”

  “Would you mind coming out to Staten Island?”

  “No, we wouldn’t mind coming out to Staten Island,” Carmen said and looked over at Black.

  Carmen agreed to meet Margaret in a bar on Staten Island. She told the driver where to go and he smiled, because he knew he’d have a big fare from Manhattan.

  When they got to the bar, they got a table in the back and ordered drinks. An hour later, Margaret arrived, and Carmen waved her over.

  “Thank you for meeting me here. I woulda came to the city, but I ain’t got no car,” Margaret said.

  “It’s okay. What did you want to tell me?”

  “Finch closed the studio the day after you guys were there.”

  “Why?” Black asked.

  “I don’t know. He just paid everybody off and said he was closin’.”

  “That’s too bad,” Carmen said, hoping that wasn’t what they rode all the way out to Staten Island for.

  “Anyway, Finch was lying when he said that he didn’t know Crème. She didn’t make any movies, but she hung around and did other things on the set.”

  “What kind of things did she do?” Black asked, even though he had a good idea.

  “She would—you know,” Margaret said, “give the men blowjobs. You know—if they couldn’t get it up for the scene, they’d call Crème over and she’d blow them until they got hard.”

  “Oh,” was Carmen’s one word response.

  “When was the last time you saw her,” Black asked.

  “Been about two months,” Margaret said.

  “That would be about the same time she stopped coming to the club,” Black said. “You know if anything happened that would make her stop coming around?”

  “All I know is that late one night, Finch was having a bad day, cursin’ everybody out for no-good reason and shit. I just wanted to get outta there. I was on my way out the door when Crème came in. I remembered Finch saying that he was glad to see her, and took her in the back. I left after that. That was the last time I saw her after that.”

  “What about Vallie? Was she there that night?” Carmen asked.

  “I don’t remember seeing her that night. But I didn’t see her no more neither, after that night.”

  “You wouldn’t know where I can find Finch, would you?” Black wanted to know. He had a score to settle with Finch.

  “No idea. Sorry.”

  Carmen thanked Margaret for talking to her; and when she asked for a little money for her information, Black flipped her a hundred and they left the bar.

  On the cab ride back to the city, Carmen was quiet. “What you thinkin’, Carmen?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. But I think it’s pretty obvious that Finch killed those women. That’s why he tried to kill us; for asking about them.”

  “You think,” Black said sarcastically. “Question is: What are you going to do about it?”

  “I think I need to go to the police; talk to Detective Mitchell.”

  “And tell her what?”

  “Tell her what Margaret told us.”

  “What about what Mrs. Winters told us?”

  Carmen paused and thought for a minute. “No. I’m going to take your advice and forget we ever had that conversation; at least for the time being.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  As they drove across the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island back to Brooklyn, Carmen took out her cell phone and called Detective Mitchell. She wanted to make sure she was at the precinct before they went there, and that the detective had time to see her. Carmen had no intention of spending another hour sitting in the lobby waiting. When they arrived, Black walked Carmen to the door.

  “You don’t mind if I sit this one out. I don’t like being around all those law enforcement types,” Black said.

  “Not to mention what it might do to my credibility—associating with a known criminal.”

  “Who, me? Carmen, I’m a businessman.”

  “A businessman, huh?”

  “Yes, a businessman. Who’ll be waiting right over there,” Black said and walked away. Carmen smiled and went inside.

  Detective Mitchell was there waiting for her. “Evening, Carmen,” she said.

  “Hello detective. And thank you for seeing me so late in the evening.”

  “Not a problem, Carmen; seems like I never go home anyway. What can I do for you?”

  “You know I’ve been talking to people about Tangela House to get background for my story. I went to the club she used to dance at.”

  “Lace.”

  “Right.”

  “What did you find out? None of the women would tell me much. That cop thing, I guess,” Detective Mitchell said.

  “I didn’t find out anything I didn’t already know; but they did tell me about two other women who haven’t been seen in two months.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Carmen?”

  Carmen went on to tell the detective what the dancers at Lace told her; about her visit to Finch Studios, and what Margaret had just told her. Then she gave the detective as good a description of the two women as she could. Mitchell listened, asked a question or two; then she took a deep breath. “Sounds like what you want to do is file a missing person’s report, Carmen.”

  “I wanted to see if you could check and see if there are any bodies matching their description,” Carmen replied.

  “Other than the fact that—Crème is it—hasn’t been seen since she went with this Finch character, and him lying to you about it, do you have any reason to think that they are dead?”

  “Yes, I do,” Carmen said definitely.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “I rather not
go into details, but Finch didn’t take my asking questions about Crème and Vallie very well.”

  “First of all, do you know their real names?” Mitchell asked.

  “Crème’s name is Cecelia Cunningham, and Vallie, her real name is Valerie. I haven’t found anybody that could tell me her last name.”

  “You’re not making this easy for me, Carmen.”

  “I know. But will you help me anyway?”

  “Yes, Carmen, I’ll help you,” Mitchell said and got up. “I’ll get back to you in a day or two.”

  “Thank you, detective,” Carmen said as Mitchell walked away.

  “It’s Diane.” Mitchell said.

  “What?”

  “My name; it’s Diane.”

  “Diane it is,” Carmen said, and left the precinct and walked over to where Black was waiting. “That didn’t take too long, did it?”

  “Not at all,” Black said. And they caught a cab to Carmen’s apartment.

  While he was waiting for Carmen to come out, Black had a chance to think about what he was doing with Carmen; a chance to think about where things were going. He thought about Michelle, and the promise he had made to himself not to involve women in her life; unless they were going to be around for a while. He thought CeCe was that woman; and with her and Michelle getting along so well, it all just seemed so natural. If it wasn’t for CeCe I’d be dead now, Black thought. He did have feelings for CeCe; but Carmen Taylor, and the feelings he had for her, had complicated all that.

  When they got there, Black got out with Carmen and told the driver to wait, and he walked Carmen to her door.

  “You coming up?”

  “No. I got some things I need to do,” Black said to her.

  “Okay.” Carmen looked at him. “Something bothering you?”

  “Just wondering what I’m doin’ here; where this is going.”

  “Is that why you haven’t kissed me?”

  “I got a woman; you got a man,” Black said, thinking that there was a time when neither of those factors would have made a bit of difference to him. It didn’t matter when he did, whatever he did, with Jackie and Vonda that morning after he left Carmen. And it hadn’t stopped him from fucking Maria just about every day. Those rules only applied to Carmen. Black understood the reason for this duality. There was a time when he loved Carmen and he hurt her. Fuck the fact that, it was for her own good. The fact was that he’d hurt Carmen once and he had no intention of doing it again.