by Debra Webb
“Just left her office,” Jess admitted.
Lori made a face. “Is she tough? Weird?”
Jess dismissed the unkind remarks that came immediately to mind. Oden was doing her job. Dislike of the system should have no bearing on her conclusions about the woman. “She’s thorough and she’s blunt.”
“I suppose those are good traits in a shrink.” Lori cradled her coffee in her hands and gave a little shrug. “My appointment’s not until ten thirty.” She laughed, the sound a little weary and a lot dry. “My mom was determined to stop by and make breakfast for me. She calls me every half hour if I’m out of her sight. I told her my appointment was at eight thirty just to get away from her hovering.”
“You’ve been here for almost two hours?”
Lori toed her bag, pointing out the iPad stowed there. “Caught up on a little reading. Cruised Facebook. Sent a couple of tweets. Believe me, it was a relief to escape. I swear my poor mother is never going to treat me like a grown-up again.”
“In time,” Jess promised. Lori was the youngest detective at BPD. Quite an accomplishment, especially for a woman. But last week had taken its toll on her and her family. As normal as she sounded, there was a new guardedness in her eyes. Something that hadn’t been there a week ago.
“I’m not really so worried about Oden,” she confessed. “This isn’t my first time going through a required psych eval. I had the honor after the shoot-out Harper and I survived six months ago,” she reminded Jess. “This is a different doctor, but when you get down to the nitty-gritty, they’re all the same, I guess.” She sighed. “The real problem is, I think I need a shrink this time. It’s not like before.”
Jess understood completely. “When you took that bullet all those months ago, your actions were by choice. For all intents and purposes you were in control. When you were taken hostage, Reed stole all control from you. Both situations were deadly, but you’re right, it’s very different.” She went for a lighthearted laugh but the effort fell a little flat. “People are terrified of flying because there might be a plane crash when, statistically speaking, they’re far more likely to die in a car crash. But being on a plane takes away all the control. That helplessness fuels the fear. Makes the possibility more terrifying no matter that it’s far less likely.”
“Exactly,” Lori agreed. “While I was with that psycho, I felt utterly helpless. I hadn’t felt that way since I almost drowned as a kid. That whack job scared me. Scared the hell out of me.”
“That was his goal.”
Lori smiled, the real deal this time, and the shadows clouding her eyes faded just a little. “But he got his in the end.”
“Yes, he did.”
They tapped their cups together and toasted the victory. “Too bad the other sicko got away.”
“One of these days he’ll get his.” Every instinct Jess possessed warned that Spears would be back. She would be ready.
“You check out any more real estate listings?” Lori relaxed into her chair. “Now’s the time to buy. I’m even thinking of picking up something. A town house or condo. I love the location of my apartment, but why pay rent when interest rates and housing prices are this low?”
“I’ll get around to it.” Jess had barely gotten settled at the HoJo’s. Why was everyone in such an all-fired hurry to get her moved into something permanent? Her sister, Lily, had e-mailed her at least a dozen listings since Friday.
“I need to come back to work.”
If Jess didn’t know better she’d swear Lori set up this unplanned meeting just to broach that subject. “If your physician gives you a release—”
“Already have it.”
“And,” Jess pointed out, “if you complete your psych eval and get a release from Oden as well, I’d love to have you back.” That was an understatement.
“I’m hoping to have that about an hour from now.”
Jess leaned forward and set her coffee on the ergonomic little table. Lori’s confidence was admirable but Jess wasn’t so sure. She doubted anyone would ever know exactly what went on during all those hours that Reed held Lori prisoner. “Are you absolutely certain you’re ready to deal with work again so soon?”
“You sound like Harper.” Lori exhaled a frustrated breath. “And my mother and Chief Burnett. They all think I need a couple more weeks at home.”
Jess could relate. “You’re going crazy, huh?”
Lori nodded. “Absolutely rip-my-skin-off insane.”
“Let me know what Oden recommends.” Jess caved. “If for some reason she believes you need more time off, there’s nothing I can do about that, but there’s no rule that says we can’t get together and talk shop after hours. Your insights are always valuable.”
“Deal.” Lori smiled, and this time it reached all the way to her eyes.
“I guess Harper told you about our close call in Druid Hills last night.” Jess felt confident he had. “We were extremely lucky.”
Lori looked confused. “He didn’t mention any close call. What happened?”
Uh-oh. Seemed she and Burnett weren’t the only ones keeping secrets from each other.
Jess gave her the condensed version. “I’m sure he just didn’t want you to worry.”
“Wow.” Lori was rattled. “I’m glad you two are okay.”
“Last night was a warning for us to back off.”
“Harper’s doing follow-up today?”
She was worried. The uncertainty in her expression belied the nonchalance of her question. Understandable. “He’s getting what he can from Captain Allen in GTF. Checking on interviews with DeShawn’s family and friends. We’ve got some major catching up to do. This kid is a popular guy.”
Jess’s cell clanged that old-fashioned ringtone. “Sorry.” She rummaged in her bag. “I need to… get this.” She studied the screen of her cell. No name, just a local number she didn’t recognize. With a dubious look in Lori’s direction she accepted the call. “Jess Harris.”
“Chief Harris, this is Dr. Harlan Schrader. We need to have a conversation. Face-to-face. There are things about the Chandler case you need to know… Can you meet me this evening?”
As much as she wanted to hear anything the ME had on the Chandler case, Burnett had gotten his point across. She had to at least make an effort at following the rules. “It might be better if you called Deputy Chief Black about this. The Chandler case belongs to him.”
Jess held her breath. Told herself she’d done the right thing and still she wanted to bite off her tongue.
“I’m calling you, Chief Harris. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
She’d tried. Really she had. She even had a witness. Lori was sitting right in front of her and heard her plainly tell her caller that he should talk to Black.
Her day was already booked with legwork that needed to be accomplished on the Simmons case. “Name the time, as long as it’s after six, and the place,” Jess agreed. “I’ll be there.”
• • •
Finley Boulevard, Captain D’s, 10:50 a.m.
“Mr. Davis, I appreciate your assistance in this matter.” Jess surveyed the prep personnel from her seat next to the manager’s desk at the back of the kitchen area. Harper was out front interviewing the servers who knew DeShawn. The store opened in just ten minutes but no one had complained about taking the time to answer questions. The smell of fish and hush puppies frying had already filled the air.
“Whatever I can do,” Mr. Davis assured her. “DeShawn is an outstanding young man. He is sorely missed here, I can tell you.” He glanced back at the crew working to prepare for opening. “I can’t believe the police haven’t spoken to Jerome Frazier already or that he hasn’t come forward to assist in whatever way he can. He and DeShawn are the best of friends. Have been since elementary school.”
Mrs. Simmons had mentioned Jerome Frazier as well. But Harper hadn’t been able to catch him at home or here, at work, until now. “Mr. Davis, I really would like to speak with Je
rome but I’ll need some privacy. Can you spare him for a few minutes? We’ll be right outside.”
“Of course. I’ll have someone take care of his station. You do what needs to be done, Chief Harris. We all want DeShawn found safe and sound.”
The manager would have risen from his chair but Jess waylaid him with a question. “What can you tell me about DeShawn’s other friend, Nina? The young woman you gave a job?”
Not once had Davis mentioned her. Even now he turned away from Jess’s gaze. This was a subject he did not want to discuss.
“In thirty years of food service,” he began, his tone defeated, “I have never broken the rules. But, for DeShawn, I did. He was desperate to help this young girl and I went along with it. I paid her cash for cleaning up after hours. Sometimes my night crew doesn’t get everything done. I didn’t ask any questions. I just did as DeShawn asked. I didn’t want to let him down.”
There wasn’t anything they could do about that now. “This morning one of our sketch artists drew a picture of this Nina based on the description DeShawn’s grandparents gave. Would you mind having a look to see if you can add anything?”
“Certainly.”
Jess showed him the image she had received via e-mail scarcely twenty minutes ago.
Davis nodded. “That’s her.” He looked away again. “She has a tattoo on her left shoulder. I saw it one night when she was wearing just a”—he motioned across the upper area of his chest with both hands—“tube-like top.”
There were numerous tattoos associated with MS-13 and other gangs. New, unique symbols popped up all the time. “Can you describe it to me?”
“It was the number thirteen inside butterfly wings. I might not have noticed except that one of the other employees mentioned it to me. She was worried that Nina might be associated with the MS-13. DeShawn insisted that wasn’t the case, but I asked Nina about it myself. As much as I wanted to help them, I’m responsible for the safety of the folks who work here.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose beneath the glasses he wore. “She told me she was born into that life but her mother stole her away when she was just an infant. When she was thirteen, her mother had the tattoo put on her shoulder as a symbol of her freedom.”
“Did she give you any idea of where she’d come from? Did she grow up here? Is her mother still alive?” Jess needed to identify this young woman as quickly as possible.
Davis moved his head side to side. “She was very secretive. I was surprised she gave me that much information.”
Jess had a feeling she knew why. “When did you confront her about the tattoo?”
“Last Tuesday. One week ago today.” As if he’d just realized the same thing Jess was thinking, he frowned. “She never came back to work after that.”
Because she disappeared. Then less than seventy-two hours later DeShawn vanished as well.
Jess thanked Mr. Davis and prepared to question Jerome Frazier.
Frazier wasn’t too crazy about the idea of talking to Jess and Harper in the small storage building in the rear parking lot. Other than sitting in Harper’s SUV, that was the only privacy they could hope for.
Standing amid the stacks of paper products required to run the seafood restaurant and still wearing his apron, Jerome folded his arms over his chest and remained silent.
“Do you understand the rights Detective Harper has just explained to you?” Jess asked. The Miranda rights weren’t really necessary just now but she wanted him worried.
“I got nothing to say.”
“Yes or no, Jerome?” Jess said more firmly.
The silent treatment continued.
“It might be best if we took him downtown, ma’am,” Harper suggested.
Jess exhaled an impatient sigh. “I guess we have no choice.”
Jerome visibly stiffened. “No way. I didn’t do anything wrong and I don’t know anything that can help DeShawn.”
“Do you have any idea what happened to him?” Jess demanded.
“That ho he was messing with is part of that crazy-ass posse always chopping heads off and shit. I don’t care what DeShawn thought—she was just using him.”
“By ho, do you mean Nina?”
He gave Jess an incredulous look. “Who else? DeShawn’s on a path. He’s gonna be somebody. Until he met that Nina bitch, he didn’t let no girl alter his focus. That girl messed with his head. He’s gonna get himself dead trying to help her—if he’s not dead already.”
“How was DeShawn trying to help Nina?”
“She said she loved him. They could have a life together. All they had to do was get away.”
“You think there’s a possibility they’ve left Birmingham?” BPD uniforms had gotten a good deal of legwork done yesterday. If the couple had left the city, they hadn’t done so in a taxi, on a bus, train, or plane. “What sort of transportation do they have?” DeShawn Simmons’s eleven-year-old Buick was still at his grandparents’ house.
Jerome shrugged. “Maybe Nina knows people. None of DeShawn’s friends would help him make this kind of mistake. No way.”
“I don’t suppose he’s tried to contact you?”
Nineteen-year-old Jerome shook his head but he made one mistake. He lied. Until then Jess had sensed he was telling the truth, but the way he averted his gaze and that little tick that started in his jaw gave him away.
“Thank you, Jerome. If you hear anything,” Jess said, handing him a card, “call me immediately. Your friend’s life depends on our finding him fast.”
“Wait.”
Jess turned back to Frazier.
“This says you’re a fed.” His gaze narrowed with suspicion.
“Sorry about that. I just started this job and I haven’t had time to get new business cards made. Just ignore the fed part.”
Jerome still wasn’t convinced, but that was irrelevant as far as Jess was concerned. When she and Harper reached his SUV, she hesitated before getting inside. “We need Officer Cook today. Now. I want someone tailing Frazier. He either knows where DeShawn Simmons is or he’s heard from him since his disappearance.”
The parking lot had begun to fill with the early lunch crowd. The morning was gone and the afternoon would fly just as fast. Jess had a list of DeShawn’s friends as long as her arm that she wanted to interview. Sheriff Griggs along with the deputy chiefs of both Patrol and Support had met first thing this morning to form additional search teams. The media attention DeShawn’s case was getting had lit a fire under the BPD.
DeShawn Simmons was now the poster boy for a better awareness of social and economic equality. The mayor and all the others in charge of this city had better listen up. Jess had a feeling this was not going away.
“I’ll put in a call to Deputy Chief Hogan in Patrol and see if we can make that happen ASAP,” Harper said as he reached for his cell. “Frazier’ll be on shift here until two thirty. We should be able to have Cook in place by then.”
Before Jess could thank him or open the passenger-side door of his SUV, a van whipped into the parking lot and stalled behind them, blocking any possibility of backing out of the parking slot.
Channel 6.
After a nod from Jess, Harper walked away from the vehicle to complete his call. She turned to face the nuisance.
Gina Coleman.
Birmingham’s most beloved reporter.
This made the moment truly perfect. Beautiful, talented, former lover of the chief of police, Gina strode determinedly toward Jess, her cameraman hot on her heels.
Jess was several inches shorter than both Gina and Annette. She walked with the purpose of a man and she had wrestled numerous criminals. She’d even shot a few. No matter the designer label she wore or the time she took to apply makeup or style her hair, there was no way she would ever look like these women. Both far outclassed her in the beauty and style departments.
Just one more reason she didn’t fit in Dan Burnett’s world.
Her stomach knotted in protest.
“Chief Harris, is it
true you were removed from the Darcy Chandler murder investigation?”
Apparently Jess’s shrink wasn’t the only one who could toss out trick questions.
“Any questions you have about the Chandler case,” Jess said calmly, “you’ll need to take up with Deputy Chief Black.”
Jess reached for the door handle.
“So you were removed from the case?”
Jess produced a smile. “Since my full attention is required on the Simmons case, I am not involved with the Chandler case. That’s true.” To say she had been removed carried a negative connotation. Coleman wasn’t getting that sound bite from her.
This time she actually got the door open before the next question was hurled at her.
“Were you assigned the Simmons case because of your past connection to his neighborhood? Have you spoken to your aunt since returning to Birmingham? Did you know she still lives in the same house?”
Fury whiplashed Jess. She slammed the door and got in Coleman’s face. “Do you understand what you’ve just done?” The woman had just mentioned that Jess had family in the neighborhood where some of the worst gang activity in the city played out.
Coleman held up a perfectly manicured hand and her cameraman backed off. “I’ll edit out that last part.”
Jess wanted to like this woman. She really did. She doubted the feeling was mutual since she’d left Coleman holding the bag on a so-called exclusive story last week. But this was going too far.
“What do you want, Coleman?” Besides a pound of flesh.
“I want to know if Darcy Chandler was murdered.”
“Like I said, you’ll have to ask Chief Black.”
“I’m asking you.”
What was up with these people? First the ME and now Coleman? The ME could cite his age. Coleman was as old as Jess for sure. She’d just opted for Botox so it didn’t show. In her line of work she could likely use it as a tax deduction.
“You owe me, Harris,” Coleman reminded.
“Off the record,” Jess made clear, “there are inconsistencies, but nothing substantial. Talk to Black. Ask him about Chandler’s shoes.”
Coleman nodded. “I will. Thanks. Do you have an update on DeShawn Simmons?”
