“Thanks for that,” I said, hanging up the phone. I went ahead and got a brand-new fridge and stove, and I also had people come in to put in all new walls, cabinets and floors. Remodeling the stupid kitchen cost me a mint, and I was pissed. Pissed at John Robinson or…the Reverend Scott? It might have been him. He could have climbed through the window and did it. I only wished that somebody had been around to see who did it. Apparently nobody did see who the culprit was.
The other thing was that I finally decided that I needed to give Axel a chance, so I tentatively sent the email about not knowing much about jazz, but being willing to learn, and I promptly got an answer in return.
See you at 7? Don’t worry about not knowing about jazz, I’ll teach you everything you need to know. I promise you, it sounds like a lot of noise at first, but, when you get to know the genre, you’ll see that it’s very poetic.
So, I arranged for Sophia to stay with the girls that Friday night, and put on a little black dress, strappy gold shoes, diamond earrings and a gold choker, and put my hair up and got out my little Michael Kors gold clutch.
I went down the stairs and saw the girls laying in front of the television, and Sophia was sitting on the couch. “Woo hoo, Aunt Harper,” Rina said with a huge smile. She was back to being her bubbly self after her inexplicable crappy mood the other morning. “You’re looking hot!” She winked. “But remember, no glove, no love.”
Abby nudged her twin. “Don’t say that, that’s rude.” She smiled at me. “You do look beautiful, though, Aunt Harper. You clean up very well.”
“Well, this isn’t really a date,” I said, even though I was dressed for a date, no doubt. “I need to pick his brain about Heather’s case. I was hoping he might give me some kind of idea on how I should approach it.”
I had assumed that the prosecutor’s twenty year offer was off the table, although I never heard if that was the case. Something told me that, if Heather did decide to take 20 years, Vince would gladly give it to me. He didn’t want to try this case any more than I did.
And Axel was a seasoned investigator. He probably had seen it all, just like I had. I would imagine that he could be an invaluable sounding board.
“Not a date,” Rina said. “If this is the way you dress for something that’s not a date, what do you wear on a date?”
“It’s a jazz club. I can’t go in there looking like a bum.” I looked in the mirror and saw that my cheeks were red, redder than normal. I realized that I was blushing.
“So why are you wearing perfume, then?” Rina said. “Is that required for a jazz club too?”
“Oh, be quiet,” I said, not wanting to answer that question. “This isn’t a date.” I turned to Sophia, who was looking at me appreciatively with a smile. “Now, Sophia, make sure the girls are in bed no later than 11. They can have a small bedtime snack – I have some cheese and fruit in small containers in the new fridge.”
“Don’t worry, I know the drill,” Sophia said. “The girls are going to watch a movie on Netflix, and then I’ll put them to bed.”
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath and looked in the mirror once more. “Okay, Harper, here goes.”
I got in my SUV and headed downtown to The Phoenix.
I GOT THERE, and there was Axel, standing in front of the club, his hands in his pockets. I had to admit, he cleaned up well too. He was dressed in black slacks and a blue silk shirt, and his salt and pepper hair was slightly shorter than the other evening. He saw me and smiled, big.
“Harper,” he said. “So good to see you.”
“Axel,” I said, nodding to him slightly. “Um, it’s good to see you too.”
He put his arm around me, and I could feel his muscles, which were surprisingly bulging. I guessed that he needed to keep in shape because he was a cop.
The two of us went into the dark and smoky club, where there was a jazz trio playing. There was a guy playing an upright bass, a guy on a saxophone and a guy on the piano.
The waitress came around and took our order. I ordered a sparkling water and Axel ordered the same. “Please,” I said to Axel. “Order a real drink. I’m going to feel self-conscious if I think that I’m keeping you from ordering what you want.”
“Are you sure?” Axel said.
“Positive.”
“Okay. Then I’d like a Moscow Mule,” he said, ordering the drink that, unfortunately, was my go-to back when I was drinking. It was made with vodka, ginger beer and lime juice. “And we’ll be ordering food as well.”
I watched the jazz trio for a little while, catching Axel’s eyes trained on me every so once in a while. “What?” I said. “You’re staring at me.”
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Has anybody ever told you that?”
I took a deep breath. Truth be told, I had been told that by more than a few guys. They always made me feel uncomfortable, though. Yet, Axel wasn’t making me feel uncomfortable. I actually noticed just how it was the opposite – I was feeling very comfortable. I had butterflies leaping around my insides, but I still felt comfortable.
“Thanks,” I said, looking down at the floor.
The waitress came around and gave us our drinks, and I told Axel I wanted the chicken fried chicken, and he ordered the steak. I suddenly realized that my mouth was watering.
“So,” Axel said, his voice loud over the live music. “What’s been going on?”
I shrugged, not really wanting to talk to him about Heather’s case just yet. For one, the music was kinda loud. For another, I didn’t necessarily think that it was good dinner conversation. “Not much.” I sipped my water. “Tell me about this trio.”
“Well, they’re kinda an old-school jazz trio, which is what I prefer. It’s more in the style of Thelonious Monk and Miles Davis than, say, Gregory Porter and Esperanza Spalding, who have innovated jazz and are doing different things. This is very old-school.”
I nodded my head. I kinda knew the difference, but I had to admit, I had a lot to learn. “This all sounds like a lot of noise.”
Axel smiled. “It does at first, doesn’t it? Discordant notes are kinda a hallmark of this genre, but, once you listen, you see it as a conversation. Like one person trying to talk over another, and everyone kinda doing their own thing, except in harmony. You’re probably used to music that is much more…harmonious. Even rock music has a tempo and a structure that is something you can follow. Old-school jazz, not so much.”
I nodded my head and tapped my foot to the music. I remembered my father playing me some old Dizzy Gillespie records, and thought about how I never understood jazz then. I still didn’t really understand it, but I hoped that Axel would help me with that. I could see the potential in coming to enjoy the jazz genre. “I like it,” I said. “I can feel it. That’s how I process music – I don’t know so much about stanzas or notes or keys or any of that, but I go by how it makes me feel. This is very upbeat, and I really enjoy it.”
Our food came, and I dug in, realizing I was starving. I tried not to eat rapidly, but I sometimes had issues with my blood sugar, and I realized that I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so I was feeling woozy. “Oh, this is delicious,” I said, putting a small piece of chicken on his plate. He did the same with his steak, and I tried that, too. “Yum.”
“Yeah, this place has some excellent food and drink. I love this place.”
I looked around, seeing that everyone looked fairly mature and classic, and that this place was really a very cool place. I suddenly knew that I would grow to love this place, too, just like the jazz music was gradually starting to grow on me as well.
LATER ON, we went for a walk around The Plaza, getting ice cream from Cold Stone along the way. We sat down by the fountain in the middle of The Plaza, with the four horses that represented the four great rivers of the world. There was the horse that represented the Mississippi, and that horse was fending off an alligator; the Volga, which was fighting off a bear; and the Seine and the Rhine.
Axel put his ar
m around me. “So,” he said. “We can talk a bit better now. Tell me about the case you’re working on. The case with the religious person who was killed by her own daughter.”
“Well…Are you sure you really want to hear about this?”
“Of course. It’s fascinating to me. I see things from a different perspective, of course, but I can probably help you see things through fresh eyes.”
“I do need fresh eyes,” I said. “This case suddenly became more high-stakes than before. See, before, I didn’t have an offer, so I was going to try it, come hell or high water. Now I have an offer for 20 years, and I don’t really know what to do. It’s a self-defense case, and my client insists that her mother was coming at her with a butcher knife, yet none was found at the scene. It’s made me question whether she’s telling me the truth. And if I can’t figure that one out, there’s no way I can win this case.”
Axel blinked his eyes and looked into the distance. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s a tough one.” He nodded his head and snapped his fingers. “Lean on Heather’s mother’s lover, whoever that might be.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Why do you suspect that?”
“Okay, here’s what I think. I can get into the minds of killers or potential killers, and the people who love them. The people who love them are often as warped as they are. But let’s just say that you are in love with somebody who was a killer. You didn’t necessarily know that person is a killer, though. But you suspect that something is a bit off about the person.”
I closed my eyes, trying to imagine that. “Okay, go on.”
“You walk into the house of your lover, you haven’t heard from him for awhile, and you’re concerned. You walk in, and you see him dead on the floor, with a butcher knife nearby. You don’t want to believe that he did anything to cause his death. It’s obvious, though, that, because he had a butcher knife in his hand at the time he was killed, he probably struck first. You don’t want to see him dragged through the mud at trial, because you know that self-defense is probably going to be the defense of your lover’s killer. You know that, in order to prove self-defense, your lover’s background and proclivities and everything else is going to come out, because the defense attorney has to show that your lover was violent in some way. You don’t want that. So, what do you do? You remove the one item that would show that your lover possibly struck first. You might do that without thinking.”
I nodded my head slowly, seeing that Axel had a point. “I see. Is the lover the only person who would risk tampering with the crime scene, in your view?”
“I think so. Who else would stick their neck out and do something like that?
“You have a point.” I sighed. “Now, how do I prove it? I have a strong suspicion that Connie Morrison was carrying on an affair with Louisa Garrison, who works at the crazy church that you’re looking into. By the way, have you gotten anymore leads on those gay kids dying? Do you still think that there’s a serial killer at work?”
“No,” he said. “I’m actually investigating an attack on a gay kid that came from the church. He’s in foster care right now. I wanted to talk to you about this earlier, because I do think that’s important.”
“What happened?”
“I went and talked to the kid. He told me that his mother forced him to go to therapy, conversion therapy, and when he refused, she tried to kill him. She attempted to strangle him, and he was able to get a pair of scissors and he stabbed her in the leg. He immediately ran out of the house and went to the police. The case is being investigated right now. The mother is a part of that church.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think that you might be right. There might not be a serial killer in that church. The parents might be brainwashed to kill their kids, just like you said.”
I ate my ice cream as I thought about what he was saying. It was all clear, but how would I prove it? I knew that I couldn’t possibly call this kid in to testify, because it would be difficult to show the relevance to my case. I could see the thread, but would the prosecutor? Would the judge? It was so difficult to get evidence in unless it is directly related to the case, and this kid’s story wasn’t necessarily directly related.
Perhaps I could get the entire scenario into the court, show the judge the pattern of gay kids dying, gay kids whose parents are a part of the church, and show that Heather’s mom was a part of the church, therefore, Heather’s mom probably was violent and wanted to kill her.
“What are you thinking about?” Axel asked me.
“I’m just trying to game out how to use what you just told me. What I think is now clear.” I dug into my ice cream. “And how I can show that Heather was a victim of this, when there’s no damned knife.”
“What do you mean? It sounds pretty cut and dried to me. Your client’s mother is a part of this church, gay kids keep dying in the church, and now there’s a gay kid who told me that his mother attacked him. It’s a clear through-line. It shows that your client’s mother probably was brainwashed just as these other parents were.”
“Ah, if only it were that easy to get evidence in. Unfortunately, it’s not. I can only show prior acts that Heather’s mom did that showed that she was violent. Brainwashing goes to her character, so I can possibly show that the church brainwashed her into doing this. But I can’t show somebody else being attacked by his mother to show that my client’s mother did the same thing.”
“That doesn’t seem right.”
“Law never is.” I sighed. Everything was clear, but how would I show it to the jury? How would I convince the judge to let this evidence in? It wasn’t even clear that I could use the evidence of the church’s brainwashing to show that Connie Morrison was violent, and I certainly couldn’t use the evidence of the other dead gay kids and this gay boy whose mother attacked him.
I had to tie everything I knew all together to show that Connie was a violent person. There must be something else, something that I still wasn’t seeing.
I slowly ate my ice cream, suddenly lost in thought. There was the issue with the pillow, when my client found her mother standing over her, the pillow in hand. That was something I could use, if the jury would believe my client about it.
I could certainly get the Reverend on the stand, but no way would he admit to what he was doing. Encouraging mothers and fathers to kill their kids…brainwashing them into doing that…he would certainly be found an accessory to murder, and there was no way that he would ever admit to doing what he was clearly doing.
Even if I could possibly pick off a parent or two who can testify that this was what the Reverend was doing, that wouldn’t be admissible in court. I would have to show that Connie, in particular, was instructed to kill Heather. Other parents who heard the Reverend preaching his hate and his instructions to parents to kill their kids wouldn’t be admissible. The law was very clear – only evidence that would show that the victim in a self-defense case was violent could be used.
“Hey,” he said. He had my chin in his hand. “Let’s think about this later.”
I closed my eyes and felt his lips on mine. A slow burn, that became a conflagration, coursed throughout my body. I never knew that a kiss could be quite like this, for I felt it in every cell of my body.
“Oh my God,” I said quietly.
“Yeah,” he said. “We definitely need to do this more.”
“Uh huh,” I said, as we kissed again.
For one second, for one hot second, Heather’s case was forgotten. All that mattered was the fact that Axel was kissing me.
And the feeling he gave me was one that I never before had felt.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Okay,” I said to Heather. I went to visit her the Monday after mine and Axel’s date. “I have a hearing today on whether or not you can stay with me. So far, Alexis seems to be on board with it, surprisingly enough. I think that she feels so guilty about the way that she treated me before that she’s not going to question my judgment again on this.”
I got the hearing date that morning. It was happening soon, because I put in my motion to the court that Heather was in a bad place, considering that she was trans and in a man’s halfway house. I wished that Judge Wilson was our judge, because he seemed sympathetic to Heather’s plight. Judge Reiner, on the other hand, didn’t exactly seem to have quite the sympathy that Judge Wilson did. But that was okay – he didn’t have to have sympathy for Heather. He only needed to decide that I was an appropriate person to watch Heather while she awaited trial. Yeah, this was something that was irregular, but not completely unheard of.
Heather smirked. “I’m not holding my breath.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll let you know later on today what the judge says.”
“You believe me now? Again?”
“I do. I believe you 100%, Heather. I’ve found out that the church that your mother was going to has a crazy Reverend who apparently is encouraging the parents of gay kids in that church to kill these kids. That’s all fitting together. It’s all circumstantial evidence, but it’s enough that I know that this is what’s going on. But that still doesn’t mean that your case is a slam-dunk, unfortunately.”
“Why not?”
I sighed. “It’s just difficult getting evidence in. I can’t bring in evidence that this is happening at the church, and I can’t even get in evidence about this one gay kid who was attacked by his mother, who went to that church. I need to find the butcher knife. And I’m going to have to figure out a back-door way of getting all this stuff in front of a jury.”
Heather smirked. “You said back-door.” She then started doing a Beavis and Butthead laugh.
“Ha ha. I have to really think about all this, Heather. This is going to be a complicated one.”
“What’s so complicated? That church has a cray Rev, cray parents, and a bunch of dead gay boys and girls. It seems like a pretty cut and dried thing to me.”
“It might be,” I said, suddenly regretting that I was so hostile to Louisa. She might be the only person who might save the case. “I think that I need to make amends to somebody. And I think that I need to do it today.”
Harper Ross Legal Thrillers vol. 1-3 Page 21
