by Mike Pace
Berman interrupted him. “Your Honor, Ms. Walker has a record, including juvie, going back six years.”
Tom thought, Six years didn’t sound all that bad. He glanced at the file—she was only nineteen years old.
Berman continued. “Most are for sol pros, simple assaults. But she has one B&E, and two years ago she was charged with homicide.”
“Two years ago she was a juvenile, Your Honor, and her juvenile record can’t be used against her now that she’s an adult,” said Tom. He had no idea whether he was right, but he expressed his position with the appropriate amount of certitude.
“The original charge was murder one,” said Berman. “Her case was transferred to adult court. There was a chain of custody screw-up with the murder weapon, so the government agreed to return her to the juvenile system, where she pled to manslaughter. Served a year in juvie.”
Tom needed some more information on the murder charge, not to assist him in making the case before Judge Clay, but in making the case to himself, if killing her was his only hope to save Janie.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, but my file has no information on the manslaughter charge. Perhaps Mr. Berman could enlighten me.” Smith gestured to Berman.
“Of course, Your Honor,” said Berman. He read from his file. “At the age of seventeen, the defendant broke into the home of one Twyla Richards—”
“I ain’t break in. The lock was broke an’ I just opened it,” said LaRyn. Clay glared at her. “I’m just sayin’.” Tom put a restraining hand on her arm.
Berman continued. “Whereupon she found Ms. Richards in bed with one William Riggins, aka Acie Cat. She brutally attacked Mr. Riggins with a knife, inflicting multiple stab wounds. Mr. Riggins was transported to DC General, where he was pronounced dead.”
“I ain’t try to kill Acie, just wanted to cut off his dick ’cause he was fuckin’ Twyla same time I’m carryin’ his baby. He just wiggled around so much, ended up with a few extra slices, the cheatin’ piece of shit.”
Clay banged his gavel. “Ms. Walker, another outburst from you, and I’ll step you back. Understand?” She nodded.
“Clearly, a crime of passion,” said Tom. “Ms. Walker was a juvenile, her judgment no doubt impaired by the fact she was pregnant at the time, and obviously distressed by what she viewed as a betrayal by the child’s father. I see no record of her failing to appear. She has three children who need their mother. I ask the court not to compound the tragedy that has befallen LaToya Robinson by prejudicing three innocent children.”
Clay paused, then eye-locked with LaRyn. “If, against my better judgment, I let you out, you promise to stay off the Circle and show up whenever Mr. Booker here says he needs you?”
She nodded solemnly. “Yes, Your Honor.”
“Defendant’s released on her personal recognizance.” He banged his gavel. “Adjourned for lunch.”
As Tom gathered his papers, the matronly court clerk smiled at him.
“Good job, Mr. Booker.”
“Thanks.”
He noticed her hairpin was in the shape of a poodle. An image of the little white dog again pierced his thoughts. Arguably, he had an obligation to tell the police he saw the shadow of someone escaping from Jess’ building. Conceivably, it might help with nailing down the time the crime had occurred. But he couldn’t identify the individual, and it was possible all he witnessed were shadows playing tricks on him.
The last thing he needed now was getting bogged down as a potential witness in Jess’ case when he was busy finding someone to murder.
CHAPTER 29
Over the rest of the week, Tom was able to take Janie and Angela out to dinner twice, something unheard of when he’d been working for the firm. Feeling his daughter’s uncompromising love reinforced his resolve to do whatever was necessary to save her.
He continued handling preliminary hearings, hoping for candidates better suited than LaRyn for his purposes, his purposes being to die in a little over a week. But Judge Sylvia Hagan had taken over for Clay, and she was a real ball-buster. Wouldn’t listen to any bail reduction arguments, a problem since those clients who were already on the streets had not committed any offense that, according to the Booker Code of Criminal Ethics, warranted the death penalty. He was not going to murder a young mother of three children. He would have to find someone else.
But by Friday, LaRyn remained the only candidate. At the conclusion of her bail hearing, he’d expected some form of thank you for getting her out of jail. He received nothing but dead eyes and a permanent scowl. She’d reluctantly given him her contact information, and he’d arranged to meet her at the end of the next week, hoping in the meantime he’d find a more suitable victim. LaRyn had murdered another human being and received only a slap on the wrist. Still, he didn’t think there was any way he could pull the trigger. He remembered his daughter’s embrace, feeling her arms around his neck. He couldn’t allow the choice to come down to LaRyn or Janie.
He’d seen Eva every day, but always on a professional basis. They’d arranged to go to dinner Friday night, and he was putting on his jacket when there was a knock at the door. Probably Zig. He’d told his friend about the date, and Zig had wormed his way in, arranging for the four of them to have a nice dinner at 1789 in Georgetown. Tom had offered resistance, selfishly wanting to have Eva to himself, but Zig reminded him that it would be the first time Marcie would have an opportunity to get out since Jess’ death, and Tom acceded. He answered the door.
Percy Castro stood in the hallway, and he didn’t look happy.
“Looks like you’re heading out,” said Castro. “Guess I should’ve called first.”
Competing thoughts snapped through Tom’s mind. Should he apologize, tell Castro he’s late, and schedule a later appointment? This approach would give him time to collect his thoughts. Or should he invite him in, get a sense of what he wants, then cut the meeting short because he had to leave. He chose option two.
“I have a date, Detective, but I can give you a quick minute.” He stepped aside and Castro entered. Tom purposely remained standing. He didn’t want Castro to get comfortable. “What can I do for you?”
“Just following up some loose ends, Counselor, seeing as you have a connection to three recent deaths in the city.” Tom purposely didn’t respond. “You were with Gino Battaglia minutes before he shot himself. You were with Reece Mackey before he drank himself to death. And a check of phone records shows you were called by Jessica Hawkins an hour or so before she was shot.”
Tom didn’t have to fake his chagrin. “It’s been an unreal several weeks. Any lead on Jess’ murder?”
Castro didn’t answer directly, which unnerved Tom. “I ran into Ms. Stoddard at the courthouse this morning. She asked about the Jessica Hawkins investigation and mentioned she’d met the young woman at Bat Masterson’s birthday party. Said you and Jessica had a pretty intense argument.”
“Wasn’t really an argument,” said Tom. “I had gone out with Jess several times, but it wasn’t serious, at least on my part. She was at the party as an aide to Senator Guthrie, and her housemate’s dating my best friend.”
“All one happy family,” Castro responded with a cold smile. He slowly took in Tom’s apartment like a video camera panning, recording the scene.
“So, should I gather she was jealous of your dating Ms. Stoddard?”
“That’s an exaggeration, Detective. She said she needed legal advice and was insistent. A nice girl, but a little flighty, if you know what I mean.”
“Ms. Stoddard confirmed Ms. Hawkins’ call to you later that evening. You told Ms. Stoddard that Jessica wanted you to come see her immediately, but you elected not to do so. Is that correct?”
Now what? Should he perpetuate the lie and hope it would stick or come clean? If he told the truth, Eva would learn of it and get pissed. He didn’t want to do anything to upset her, not this early in what he hoped might be a long-term relationship. That is, as long-term as one could enjoy while on
death row for murder.
“That’s correct.”
“Did she tell you what she wanted to talk about?”
“No, but she seemed scared. And she said she needed to tell me where to find something. Didn’t say what it was. She was afraid her phone might be bugged. As I said, a little flighty.”
Castro paused, seemingly deep in thought. “By the way, we found traces of cornstarch, magnesium oxide, and epichlorohydrin on the index finger of Gino Battaglia’s right hand.”
Tom’s expression showed his genuine confusion.
“Powder commonly used to keep latex gloves from sticking. Interesting thing is, we found the same trace elements on a bottle of Wild Turkey resting next to Reece Mackey’s body.”
Tom fought to control his body, particularly his facial muscles, doing his best to force them from belying his guilt.
Castro continued. “Seeing’s how you were with the two deceased shortly before they died, thought you might have an idea about the gloves.”
Tom did a lousy job of feigning a thoughtful pause. “No, don’t remember seeing any gloves.”
“Do you keep latex gloves here?”
“Me?” Of course, you, idiot. Who the hell else is he talking to? “Nope, no gloves.” He made a show of checking his watch.
“I’ve kept you too long. Might I surmise that you’re seeing Ms. Stoddard?”
“Yes.”
“Even though she’s on the other side, I don’t know a cop who doesn’t respect her.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on.”
He reached out his hand. “Have an enjoyable evening, Mr. Booker.”
Tom shook his hand. Another half smile from Castro, then he turned and left.
Tom looked down at his palms, wet with nervous perspiration.
CHAPTER 30
On any other occasion, Tom would’ve been having the time of his life. Eva, though dressed more casually, looked as radiant as she had at Bat’s birthday party. Along with Zig and Marcie, they enjoyed a wonderful dinner at 1789, the iconic restaurant on the edge of Georgetown’s main campus. The goal of cheering up Marcie had taken some time to achieve, but by the end of the evening, she laughed a few times at Zig’s horrible jokes.
Maybe it had been his imagination, but Tom thought he saw Eva eyeing his third Jack. Was she counting drinks? He purposely didn’t finish the third one and ordered iced tea instead.
During the table conversation, Tom appeared to hang on every word. He laughed at Zig’s punchlines, though he had absolutely no idea what the joke was about. But all he could think about was Castro’s expression when Tom denied having latex gloves in the house.
“…so then on the third day, the little boy comes out, and says, ‘Mom, Mom!’ And the Mom says, I know, you were peeing and a bullet came out. And the boy says, no, I was jerking off and shot the dog!”
Tom was angry at himself for not telling Eva—
“Tom?” Eva’s expression showed she wasn’t happy about his inattention.
“Where were you, man?” asked Zig. “We boring you?”
“Just your stupid jokes, which are as old as Methuselah.” Tom’s retort elicited another round of laughs, but he could see Eva wasn’t completely buying his deflection. During the rest of the dinner, Tom focused on participating in the conversation. He even told a joke of his own, which he knew was lame, but his three companions laughed politely anyway.
Exiting the restaurant, Zig suggested they walk along the C&O Canal and find a place for a nightcap. He wanted to locate a restaurant that served Mastika, a Greek liqueur he enjoyed on his trip to Mykonos and Santorini. Eva made the mistake of asking about his visit to the Greek isles, and for the entirety of the walk, Zig offered a frame-by-frame travelogue of his vacation. By the time they reached a small café by the water, even Eva had had enough.
“You know, I’m kind’ve beat.”
“Makes two of us,” said Tom. “Why don’t we leave the two of you to enjoy your Mastika. Marcie, maybe you haven’t heard about Zig’s trip to Greece. I’m sure he’d love to tell you.”
They all laughed. Tom and Eva said their good-byes and turned up Wisconsin Avenue toward the parking lot.
“I could tell you were preoccupied throughout the evening,” said Eva. She hesitated a moment. “Were you thinking about Jess?”
“No, not at all. Again, I dated the girl a couple of times, that’s it. I’m really sad she’s dead, and I hope they find the killer. Maybe what you thought you saw was just my reaction to hearing Zig tell the same jokes he’s told since I met him.”
She held his gaze for a moment, and he could see she wasn’t totally convinced. “Okay,” she said. “Why don’t we go back to my place for coffee.”
As Tom followed Eva up the steps to her apartment building, he sensed a sexual tension between them. He told himself it was his imagination. To a girl like Eva, coffee meant coffee—nothing more.
But as they rode the elevator to her floor, he could not only feel, he could almost see the sexual energy filling the space between them. He touched her hand, and she squeezed it tight. In a moment, she was in his arms, her lips pressing hard against his. His arm around her shoulder, they were close to breaking into a jog as they hurried down the hallway to her apartment.
She giggled as she fumbled in her purse, searching for the key. In frustration she upended her purse, spilling its contents onto the corridor rug. As she quickly retrieved the key, Tom scooped the rest of the contents back into her purse. She inserted the key with one hand while wrapping her other around Tom’s neck. The moment the door clicked open, they bulled through the door.
Once past the threshold, she kicked the door closed without breaking her embrace. They stumbled toward her living room while hungrily locking their mouths, refusing to let go. Her tongue explored his mouth while his hands caressed every curve of her body. Not willing to waste a second, they peeled off only the most essential garments. He easily lifted her off the ground with one arm, then gently lowered her to the plush carpet, covering her body with his.
His body temporarily assumed complete control and, for a time, mercifully forced from his mind all thought of anything other than the pleasure of making love to a beautiful woman.
CHAPTER 31
He spent the night and, as is always the case, after the first coupling the sex got slower and better. The next morning they arose and walked along the waterfront to the Odyssey Café for breakfast. Unfortunately, the light of day returned the clarity of his situation.
A thousand times he considered admitting that he’d—what was the word?—fibbed, not been as candid as he should have, slightly dissembled, misspoke? Okay, lied his ass off—about driving to Jess’ place the night of her murder. But he reluctantly kept his lie to himself and hoped against hope that the fat lady with the annoying white dog couldn’t identify him.
After breakfast, Tom walked Eva home, and after a warm kiss, they said their good-byes. He had to pick up Janie and Angela for a promised trip to the zoo, and Eva needed to go into the office to deal with administrative stuff that hadn’t reached the top of the pile during the work week.
At the zoo, Janie and Angie, each munching a hot dog, watched enthralled as Tian Tian and Mei Xiang jostled over a long bamboo stalk. The giant pandas remained the most popular animals at the zoo. Before even visiting the exhibit, Tom had bought each of them a stuffed panda at the zoo store.
A roly-poly park guide, who resembled Smokey Bear in his khaki uniform, described the lives and habitats of the black-and-white bears to the two girls and a small group of other onlookers. Tom couldn’t take his eyes off the girls. So young, so innocent.
One of the dark side effects of his nightmare had been the loss of his ability to enjoy the people and things he loved. But for a few hours with Eva, where carnality trumped everything, the monster at the edge of his thoughts was always there, banging the door to enter. The first few minutes when he and Janie greeted each other were always glorious, since her unreserv
ed love was strong enough to keep the beast at bay. But, invariably, as their time together wore on, the monster would break through and his mind would return to black thoughts of death—how was he going to terminate another human life?
Tom planned on arriving at the office early Monday morning so he could look through files of defendants coming up for arraignments and preliminary hearings. Hopefully, he’d be able to find a more deserving target than LaRyn Walker.
Angie had finished all but the last bite of bun on her hot dog and tossed it through the fence toward the two pandas. Immediately, the guide reproached her.
“Young lady, do you eat bear food?”
Angie knew she’d done something wrong. “No, sorry—”
“You don’t eat bear food because it would make you sick. People food is poison to bears. Do you want to poison our pandas?”
Angela was almost in tears.
“Look,” said Tom. “She understands. Won’t happen again. But putting the thought in a little girl’s head that a bite of hot dog bun is going to poison the pandas is a stretch, don’t you think?”
Before the guide could respond, Tom took each girl’s hand and they moved on to the elephant exhibit.
But the guide’s words had given him an idea.
That evening, Tom entered the Internet Café on Prince George Street in Annapolis, Maryland, to research poisons. He knew he couldn’t use his own computer, and he’d driven forty-five minutes to the Maryland state capital where chances of anyone knowing him were slight. On the way, he’d stopped and bought a worn, black Orioles warm-up jacket at the Goodwill store on West Street.
While he hadn’t spotted any security cameras either inside or outside the café, Tom took no chances and wore his sunglasses and Orioles gear into the establishment. He paid in cash, and when the young girl behind the counter asked for a credit card to hold, just in case he went over his allotted time, he professed to have forgotten his card and gave her a $100 bill instead. Before she could respond, he found a computer in the back corner, away from the handful of other patrons who appeared to view the venue more as a social gathering place than a research site.
