The Best Possible Angle

by Lloyd Johnson

  Each woman shook her head and perused the menu. Tammy was in view of the front of the restaurant. She watched the woman go back to the podium and resume her conversation.

  “She went back over there to run her mouth! Ain’t no ‘Amber’ coming over here!” Tammy said.

  “Give it five more minutes.”

  Tammy stared in agitation; her jaw stiffened and eyes became hard. She felt she had been punked, especially when the hostess turned her back after realizing she was being watched.

  “I’m gonna say something,” Tammy said, watching the hostess lean into the group and whisper something before they quickly dispersed. Still, no one came back to the table. Tammy bolted up.

  Sabathany grabbed her arm. “Sit.”

  “But she’s messing with us.”

  “What did I tell you? I said, give it five minutes.”

  “Can’t believe you’re…”

  Sabathany put a finger to her lips, hushing Tammy as Amber approached the table. Each of the young woman’s steps lacked urgency. She was blonde and blue-eyed, most likely the lone beauty queen of the small town. She probably had a boyfriend named Hank, her co-conspirator in getting out of such a retched place.

  “Are you ready to order?” she asked, gazing lazily into her order pad, and scratching the crown of her head with her pen.

  “What kind of wine do you have?” Sabathany asked.

  “Red or white.”

  “I understand that, dear. I’m asking what type of wine is it. Is it Merlot? Cabernet? Chardonnay? Pinot Grigio?”

  Amber looked as though she had been asked to do long division in her head. “We have red or white, so I dunno about any of those. To be honest, we don’t get too many people asking for that around these parts.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll have an iced tea. And the meatloaf.”

  “And I’ll have an orange soda, and meatloaf,” Tammy said.

  “Okay. Be right back with your drinks.” Amber’s walk away was suddenly bouncy.

  “This was a bad idea.” Tammy said, hoping she was saying what Sabathany was thinking.

  “You shouldn’t let her bother you. She’s like a lot of the young things in L.A. who get these sorts of jobs just to fill their time.”

  “Well, these kids better stop all that, because I know plenty of people who could use the work, and would do a better job,” Tammy said.

  Amber returned with the drinks. “Here you go, ladies.”

  Tammy took a sip from her soda. Sabathany tore open a packet of sweetener.

  “So, um, I need to know if you seriously won’t go running your mouth to anyone about what you know, because if you do I’ll have to kill you.”

  Tammy laughed, coughing from her soda. “Girl, I told you I wasn’t going to say anything.” She cleared her throat, waiting for Sabathany to join her in laughter, but Sabathany never laughed.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  After the memorial service at the funeral home, many of the attendees crowded themselves inside the Black household, trading heartwarming stories around the dining and living rooms. They enjoyed the mountains of food while toasting in honor of Paris. There were still tears, but the laughter filling the house was far more powerful. People moved about, most of them well-meaning, and some merely following the scent of good food.

  Feeling claustrophobic, Kendrick went outside. He descended the rickety steps of the porch and walked from the yard into the street where he was met with thoughts of the little girl’s body crushed beneath the wheels of the dumped Escalade. Blindsided by memories, Kendrick dropped to the curb directly from where the accident happened. Closing his eyes, a white light flashed behind his eyelids. Then, she appeared to him…

  “Hey, you look sad, Mister,” Kayla said.

  Kendrick turned around to find Kayla, looking disheveled as she always did when she came to him.

  “That’s because I am.” Kendrick said, avoiding her eyes. “And I’m ashamed.”

  Kayla ran her index finger along the tear trail on his face. “What does ‘ashamed’ mean?”

  Kendrick chuckled. “It means I feel really bad about something I did, and it’s been bothering me.”

  “What did you do?” she asked innocently.

  Kendrick sobbed, clasping his hands together, and bowed his head. “Something really bad.”

  Kayla giggled. “I already know why you’re sad.” Then she put her hands on her hips. “But, I wanna hear you say it.”

  “No. Please don’t make me!”

  “I’m glad you’re sad.” Kayla walked out into the middle of the street. She looked directly at him. “You should be!”

  Sitting between two parked cars, Kendrick lifted his head in time to see a black SUV hit Kayla Jones.

  “No!” he screamed.

  A hand shook Kendrick’s shoulder, rousing him from his daydream. Kendrick jerked away to see his brother, Alex, standing there.

  “Man, it’s freezing. What are you doing out here?”

  Kendrick jumped up and ran from his brother, into the street. There was no one there.

  “I must’ve been daydreaming.”

  “In this cold?”

  “Yeah, it was getting crowded in the house, and I needed my space. I guess I got lost in my thoughts. “

  A grey Buick slowed to a stop, parking in front of the two men. A plain-faced, but pretty Latina got out of the car.

  “I’m Det. Leticia Ramirez, I’ve been working the Paris Black murder investigation.” The way she flashed her badge seemed like a timed trick.

  Alex recognized her as one of the detectives that ushered him from Paris’s apartment. He puffed his chest out. “What can we do for you, detective? “

  “Can we go inside the house and talk?” Ramirez asked, clearly the in-charge type.

  Kendrick stepped forward. “With all due respect, we’ve got a house full of people. I think bad news would be too much.”

  Ramirez’s eyes smiled. “Actually, I have some good news. We received a tip that led to the arrest of a Lenox Hunter.”

  “What?” the brothers said in unison.

  “We have evidence that places him at Paris’s apartment.”

  “Well, he and my sister were…” Kendrick gulped and averted his eyes. “Were messing around, lovers, boyfriend-girlfriend…whatever you want to call it, so of course his prints would be all over everything. But anyway, I just saw him, and he looked me dead in my eyes and told me he had nothing to do with it. In fact, he thinks a woman named Sabathany Morris is responsible for it.”

  Alex spoke up, “Detective, after you kicked me out, I didn’t leave right away. When you and your partner went into the bedroom, some old lady said she heard a female laughing like the devil.”

  Ramirez’s eyebrow arched. “And how would you know she said that?”

  “Because I was standing out in the hallway with her when she said it. Both of us watched the comings and goings of officers. She said it like she’d just remembered it. But it was like she wasn’t speaking to anyone in particular. Maybe she was talking to herself. But I do know she said the laugher was diabolica, which is feminine.

  “And do you even know what that word means?”

  “I work with a lot of Spanish-speaking people at my job. I pick up a word here and there.” Alex said.

  “Really? What do you do for work?”

  “I’m the general manager at the McDonald’s out at the airport. Ninety-eight percent of my staff is Spanish-speaking—Mexican, El Salvadorian, Guatemalan, take your pick. I know some of them don’t get along and we had one of the ladies who cleans the lobby say that another woman who she didn’t get along with had worked some black magic voodoo on her or something. She used the word diabolica and it was explained to me by a translator when I had to have a sit down with the two women. That’s how I know the word means devilish,” Alex said, thinking he had passed over an important piece to the puzzle.

  “That’s very good to know. Thank you. Don’t worry guys, when it’s
all said and done, someone is going down for this.”

  Four hours of nothing passed at the police station. Lenox sat in the chair, flippantly tossing off answers as though Paris was an inconsequential fleck in the universe. He told the detective repeatedly that he did not know her. But it did not matter what came out of his mouth by that point, Det.VanDrunen knew it was a lie.

  “Look, you’re starting to piss me off,” VanDrunen said, trying to keep his anger under control. “Now, I’m not planning on sitting here with you all night, because my wife and I have been having difficulties. She called to say she wants to talk things through. And I’m really hoping we do, because I love my wife. And I’m hoping I can get laid after we’re done talking, so you’re not gonna mess that up!”

  “Sounds like a personal problem,” Lenox said, without making eye contact.

  “Oh, so you wanna be a wise guy, huh? Okay, Mr. Wise Guy, do you wanna explain to me why if you don’t know the victim, how come your fingerprints are all over the victim’s apartment? Can you explain pictures of the victim and threatening texts going back and forth between the two of you?”

  Lenox continued to avoid eye contact.

  “What do you think we do all day, eat donuts and play Scrabble? We always get the bad guy, and you sir are a bad guy!”

  Both the detective and Lenox’s eyes were drawn to the opening door. Det. Ramirez stood in its doorway. “Can I have a word?”

  VanDrunen studied the young woman’s face. It was void of the assuredness it once held before she went to speak to the Black family. He had faith that he just managed to piece together the perfect narrative, but the look on her face took a sledgehammer to it.

  “Spoke to two of the brothers. One of them I had to shoo away from the crime scene after he barged his way past.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “He told me the mother of the landlord, who actually discovered the body, was out in the hallway saying that she heard a female voice laughing the night Paris was killed. Apparently our perp told Kendrick Black a woman by the name of Sabathany Morris also had dealings with Paris the night before.”

  “No way a female did that kind of damage. Sorry, my money is on the asshole we’ve got sitting in the interrogation room right now. He’s playing games, yeah, but we’ll get the truth outta him.”

  “Could you live with yourself knowing you didn’t at least check this out? We need to see where it leads.”

  “No, bullshit! We are not doing this! I’ve got a second chance to make things right between me and Lacey. I’m telling you, Lenox Hunter may act like he’s too cool for school, but he’s our guy!”

  “Look, I want you and Lacey back together as much as you do, but we’ve got to cover all bases.”

  VanDrunen sighed wearily. He had a strong suspicion that he was not leaving anytime soon.

  Both detectives reentered the interrogation room. Lenox seemed less angry and more pensive.

  “You look like you want to get something off your chest,” Ramirez said.

  “I knew Paris. I was seeing her on the side.”

  VanDrunen sat back in his chair, the hind legs of it teetering. He extended his arms out, massive palms up. “See? Now was that so bad?”

  “But you gotta believe I didn’t kill her. I know everybody says that, but I’m telling you the truth.”

  “Right.”

  “When I found her, I wanted to call the police, tell Paris’s family, even, but she told me not to.”

  Ramirez perked up in her chair as VanDrunen settled back on all four legs on his. “Who’s ‘she’?” she asked.

  “Sabathany Morris.”

  “Any idea why she’d suggest such a thing?” Ramirez asked, but both detectives leaned in with anticipation of the answer.

  “Because she’s running from the law her damn self, and didn’t want to get stuck having to answer any questions. That’s who you need to be looking for!”

  “Are you running from the law?” VanDrunen asked.

  “Not exactly.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  Lenox slapped a palm to his forehead in frustration. He could feel the cold beneath it. It was too complicated a story to try and unravel. The best thing he could do was talk slowly and try to answer everything in one take. He braced himself, ready to put it all out there. He felt in control of his captive audience. Lenox could not help but smirk. Judge Judy, and something he heard her say constantly on her program came to mind…When you tell the truth, you don’t have to have a good memory.

  “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this one way or another. You might as well get comfortable, because you’re gonna be here awhile,” Ramirez said.

  Lenox took a deep breath, having nothing more to lose. “Fine. I’ll start from the beginning.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  Kendrick made it home to the penthouse. Looking around the apartment reminded him of the backstabbing squatters that had been there. He knew where Lenox was, but wondered how far away Sabathany had gotten. His mind turned a dark corner, thinking what would happen if she went bye-bye permanently. At least then he would have the peace of mind of knowing where she was, and the worry that she would share what he had done would be gone.

  A sharp pinging came from the intercom. Kendrick had only heard the obnoxious sound twice before. He darted to answer the wall device before it offended his ears again.

  “Yes, Javier?”

  “Uh, yeah, Mr. Black, I have a Ms. Vaughn here to see you.”

  An enthused smile pushed through. “Send her up,” Kendrick spoke into the intercom.

  The time it took Brenda to reach the penthouse seemed like eons. Kendrick stood by the elevator door to receive her. He could not think of a better surprise, or wait to kiss her before she uttered a hello.

  “Get in here,” he said, giving her that kiss.

  “I, uh, thought you could use my, uh, help quieting publicity,” Brenda said, breathless and flustered. It felt good to feel wanted, especially after the way things were left.

  Kendrick took her luggage, setting them by the kitchen island. He gave her a full tour of the apartment. She was taken with how the sterile décor contrasted with the warmer, tranquil furnishings of his L.A. dwelling.

  Later, Kendrick ordered in Chinese food for the two of them. After lunch, they spent much of the day in bed. Both welcomed the closeness.

  “How’s the rest of the family holding up?” Brenda asked, her braids tousled all over the pillow.

  “My mom is taking it pretty hard. I couldn’t tell you what’s going on in my dad’s head. And my brother Alex is acting like I came back with the sole purpose of grand standing at my sister’s funeral.”

  “Emotions, no matter how misdirected, are still honest.”

  “I guess.”

  “We also need to get this press conference scheduled. I made some phone calls to the local media before flying out. How’s the day after tomorrow?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “All right. I’ll handle everything.”

  “You’re gonna love my mommy and daddy,” Kayla said, her words coated with a childlike exuberance. It was the night before the press conference. Kayla’s timing was perfect. She must have sensed Kendrick’s apprehension and need for reassurance that he was doing the right thing.

  “I will? Why?” he asked.

  Kayla sat at the edge of his bed, nodding. Her attention bounced from one corner of the room to another. Kayla looked alive and vibrant. Her jogging suit was cotton candy pink—before the blood ruined it.

  “Because,” Kayla said with the usual giggle. She played with the draw strings dangling from her top. To her the reasons were evident.

  “Why will I love your mommy and daddy?” Kendrick asked, intrigued.

  “Because they’ll forgive you if you turn yourself in.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Kayla stopped twirling the draw strings. Her face had a maturity in it. It was the first time she came to him
without disintegrating before his eyes. “Wrong answer.”

  “I’m being honest.”

  Kayla shrugged. “Okay. Just remember that I tried to warn you.”

  Before he could answer, Kayla faded into the dark. What if he did what Kayla wanted— freed himself of a secret that ruined so many lives? Would there be forgiveness waiting from her parents? Could he finally forgive himself?

  The day of the press conference, journalists were hastily gathered, armed with phones and tablets, ready to record everything said. When the actor came out, he was accompanied by publicist, Brenda Vaughn and Kayla’s parents, Antwon and Yvette Jones.

  Antwon’s face was somber, having just returned from a traumatizing third deployment in the Middle East. He had not expected to come home to the personal loss of losing a child, or the public’s whispering and pointing of fingers. Nothing prepared him to spend an inordinate amount of time defending his wife’s insanity following the death of their daughter.

  Yvette was the army wife, collapsing under the pressure of having to do it all mostly alone. For a long time, focusing on her children helped combat the recurring impulses of depression she knew as a teenager. Now that depression loomed over her like a bad habit she wished she could break. Coupled with guilt, she ate little. Instead, she was goaded by the powerful temptation to climb into a hot bath and slit her wrist.

  Stepping to the podium, Kendrick tapped the head of the microphone. He read from a prepared statement: “Tragedy is tragedy, and while I cannot say that I understand the grief that has befallen the Jones family from losing a child, I do understand the hurt that’s felt from losing a loved one. It’s my fervent prayer they will find who did this—to begin the healing. I know the family has had a difficult time, so I wanted to extend a financial hand. And now, I believe Kayla’s mother, Yvette Jones would like to say something.” He stepped aside to make room for Yvette to come to the podium.

  She walked shakily, as though she had been recently awakened, discombobulated, from a nightmare. The look in her eyes was unfocused and faraway, and her hair lay swept into her sunken face. She took a deep breath before speaking.