Justice for Daesha

by Deanndra Hall

  By the time he got to Daesha’s, she was already home and a delicious aroma was wafting from the kitchen. He was prepared to call out her name, but she met him at the door with a huge smile. “Hi! I’m glad you’re here,” she said and waited until he gave her a sweet, satisfying kiss.

  “I’m glad I’m here too.”

  “Have a good day?” she asked as she broke away and went back to the stove.

  “Yeah. Pretty productive. Found out a case I was putting together is being brought to a grinding halt. The state’s attorney’s got evidence to indict the guy, so depending on whether he pleads guilty or innocent, it may be over without much help from us.”

  “That’s good, yeah? I’d think so anyway.”

  He nodded. “Very good.”

  “Make any progress on Dorinda’s case?” she asked, her back to him. He was glad she couldn’t see his face. Talking to her about it was on his to-do list, but he wanted to have a relaxing dinner first.

  “Oh, I dunno. I’ve been looking at it. Alex and Jesse have too. I didn’t get a chance to ask them today if they found anything.”

  “Well, at least you’re looking, and I appreciate that.” She stirred something again, then laid the spoon on a spoon rest. “Dinner will be ready in about five minutes, so if there’s anything you need to do, you’d better do it.”

  He headed to the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the fan, and sat down on the lid. The app he’d downloaded had been running in the background, and it had been recording continuously since he left it. Opening it, he turned down the phone’s volume, then moved the slider past the part he’d already heard to new conversations. What he heard chilled him.

  “Yeah … Yes, he did. And I … No! I didn’t tell him anything! You know I wouldn’t do that! Besides, I can’t tell him anything because I don’t know what … No, but he figured out mine, so get ready.”

  He stopped the recording. What did he mean, get ready? The ring’s design floated through his mind. What if the rest of the design was someone else’s logo? But whose? His five minutes were up, so he flushed the toilet, opened the door, and turned off the light and fan.

  Dinner was already on the table, and it was some kind of curry that Daesha had concocted. It was positively scrumptious, and he ate two big bowls full. She’d also had a loaf of homemade bread, and he used it to get all the curry out of the bowl. “Babe, this is delicious.”

  “Thanks! My mom taught me to make it.”

  “You know, you’ve never told me―what was her name?”

  “Alice. I miss her so much. Sometimes I can’t believe she and Dorinda both are gone.”

  “And your dad?”

  “Lawrence. He’s a great guy. I remember when he was working on donut recipes. I was tiny, and I was eating the donut holes as fast as he could fry them. ‘Daesha,’ he said, ‘you’re gonna turn into a donut hole!’ And I said, ‘Then nobody will be able to find me!’ And he laughed and laughed.” She stopped for a second, then said, “He doesn’t laugh much anymore.”

  “Is he in Anchorage?”

  “Yeah. Big house. I offered to move in with him when Dorinda died, but he said no, that I have my own life to live. He’s very selfless like that.” The first thought that flew through Amos’s mind was, Like father, like daughter.

  They had to get the kitchen cleaned up before he started talking to her about what he knew would be a very difficult conversation. “I want to meet him. Soon. Now, let’s get this cleaned up so we can relax.”

  As soon as they sat down on the sofa, he pulled her to him and gave her a big kiss. She laughed when he broke it. “What was that for?”

  He sucked in a big breath and blew it out. “Because I’ve got something very difficult to talk to you about.”

  A look of horror spread across her face, her eyes huge. “Oh? About us?”

  “God, no, babe! Not at all. No, it’s about your sister’s case.” She sat quietly, watching his face, and he knew it was time to step off the deep end. “I lied earlier about not knowing more because I wanted us to have a nice dinner. I found something. You’re not going to like it, but it’s undeniably correct.” He’d dropped his messenger bag by the sofa before he sat down for dinner, so he reached down into it and pulled out the picture and the acetate overlay. “This is the ring, right?” She nodded. “And this is the Kelso Custom Percussion logo.” Then he pointed to the darker image on the acetate which he’d placed over the ring’s image. “Because of this, I went to see Chance Kelso today. He says he has no idea what that’s about, but he does, Daesha. I’m sure of it.”

  There was agitation in her voice when she said, “I’ll go talk to him. He needs to tell me the truth.”

  “No. You need to stay away and let me handle this. If he killed her, he could be …”

  “Killed her? Chance would never hurt Dorinda! They grew up together! They were like siblings! No, I’m sorry, I can’t believe that,” she announced and folded her arms over her chest.

  “Babe, the facts don’t lie. That’s the KPC logo right there in the middle of that ring. The question is, what are the other things there?”

  She took the picture of the ring out of his hand and stared at it. Slowly and quietly she said, “You’re right.”

  “So what could they be?”

  “Maybe they belong to the others.”

  Something in her voice startled him. “What do you mean, the others?”

  Dropping the picture onto the coffee table, she buried her face in her hands for a full minute before she lifted her head and answered. “Chance has two brothers.”

  “Brothers? Who?”

  Her eyes closed as she hung her head. “Ainsley is the oldest. He owns K-Fabuleuse, the shoe manufacturer.”

  Amos knew exactly who they were. They’d become competition for Tommy Choo and Louboutin, and they were the latest rage. They’d even started a new line, K-Fabuleux, their division for men’s shoes, and their products were constantly on backorder. “So he makes those shoes …”

  “Yeah. The ones with the scenes printed on the insoles. Very popular. And then there’s Benson.”

  “Older? Younger?”

  “Middle boy. Owns Kelso Performance.”

  That didn’t need explanation. Amos knew all about Kelso Performance. They made everything from huge touring bikes to dirt track bikes, all custom built and designed to the rider’s specifications and modified and adjusted to fit only that person. He wasn’t familiar with the K-Fabuleuse logo, but he was with the one for the motorcycle company.

  And it fit. He stared down at the ring’s design, knowing before he even looked at it that the big swoopy things in it were wings. That was the logo, a shield containing a “K” with wings attached to it. In that moment, he knew he didn’t have to look at the shoe company’s logo. It was the rest of the design, he was sure of it. Grabbing his phone, he went to his search engine and pulled up the Kelso Performance logo. “Daesha, look at this.” He held his phone down next to the ring and, from out of the design, the Kelso Performance logo appeared, blended into the one for the percussion manufacturer.

  Daesha groaned and grabbed her phone. He watched as she tapped on the screen, and in seconds, she placed it next to the picture of the ring.

  It was the K-Fabuleuse logo, and there, on her screen, was the rest of the design. Three logos, but on one ring. Why? And who didn’t want her to have it? The person who killed her thought eventually someone would come along and recognize it, so they got rid of it. Who had it? Amos didn’t know, but he wanted to find out. Something crossed his mind, but he shoved it away. No. That kind of speculation wouldn’t be helpful to anyone.

  He knew his next move―talking to Ainsley and Benson Kelso. He’d bought half a dozen of the button microphones and he’d only used one. Why did he get the feeling he was going to need every last one of them?

  “Went to Austin yesterday.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He remembered the ring. Said there was an odd guy who order
ed it. Paid cash for it, and it was hideously expensive.”

  Amos held his breath. “Was his name Kelso?”

  “Yeah! How’d you know?”

  “I figured it out.”

  “That was a little over fourteen years ago. Man came in, paid for it, gave him the design, and then came back to pick it up. Name, Ainsley Kelso.”

  Ainsley. Amos knew where he was going next. “Thanks, Cruz. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Give me another call if I can help.”

  Switzerland. That’s where the person answering the phone at K-Fabuleuse told him Ainsley Kelso was. He’d be back on Thursday. That was too long, but it would have to do. Amos was pretty sure Mack wouldn’t sign off on an expense form to go to Switzerland, at least not unless he was going too.

  But he decided to just show up at Benson Kelso’s business in Lexington and see what happened. It was every bit as impressive as Chance’s place, and he steeled himself for difficulties.

  He needn’t have. As soon as he walked in, a man at the reception desk turned and Amos was face to face with Benson Kelso. “May I help you?”

  “Um, I came to talk to you, but I didn’t expect you to be out here,” Amos said, shocked.

  “My receptionist is out sick today and there’s nobody to answer the phones. I was just checking messages before I go out to the shop. And you are …”

  Amos held out a hand, which Benson took and shook. “Agent Amos Fletcher. KDCI.” He could feel the man recoil as soon as he said his name. “I wanted to talk to you about Dorinda Blackmon.”

  “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a few years. Come on back to my office.” Amos followed him down a short hallway. There was a door at the end with a large window in it, and he could see technicians out there, working on bikes. Before they reached it, they took a right through a doorway and into Benson Kelso’s office.

  It was nothing like his brother’s. He had a plain metal desk, and as he looked at it, Amos realized it was one of the old steel tanker desks from back in the forties or fifties. Unlike Chance’s neat, tidy office, this one was a wreck. There were papers everywhere, but Amos had this sneaking suspicion that the man knew where everything was. “Thanks for talking to me,” Amos said as he sat down in the chair Benson indicated.

  “I’d like to catch her killer as much as you guys would. KDCI’s got this case? That’s unusual, isn’t it?”

  Amos let out a little chuckle. “Not if your girlfriend is the victim’s sister.”

  Benson’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re seeing Daesha?” At Amos’s nod, he asked, “How is she?”

  “She’s doing quite well, but she’d still like to find out who killed her sister. Which is why I’m doing this. So we had an interesting development. We found a picture of Dorinda wearing a ring, and we blew it up to look at it. And then I saw your brother’s logo and―”

  “Stop right there. I know what you’re going to say, and yes, my logo is in it. So is Chance’s and Ainsley’s. We had it made for her. It was a gift.”

  Pre-emptive strike, Amos thought. “Oh? Why would you do that?”

  Benson sat back in his chair, tipped it back, and put his feet up on the desk. That was supposed to make him look cool, calm, and collected, but it didn’t work on Amos. He could still see the tiny speck of panic in the middle Kelso’s eyes. “Dorinda and I were good friends, and she was friends with my other two brothers too. No matter what we did or wanted to do, she always cheered us on. She believed in us, and she helped us if we needed it.”

  “With money? Time?”

  “Time. Advice. Research. If I needed something, I knew Dorinda would come through.”

  “Was her husband jealous of the relationships you and your brothers had with her?”

  Benson shrugged and dropped his feet to the floor. Speaking of Max Blackmon obviously made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know and I don’t care. He was a son of a bitch, and I wish it had been him who’d died. He didn’t deserve her.” There was a tone there in Benson’s voice that was far more forceful than Amos would’ve expected from a simple friendship. He hated Max Blackmon―that much was clear. “When he left her for his girlfriend, I thought she’d come apart, but she didn’t. She just pulled herself together and made a home for her and the kids.”

  “So let me ask you―who do you think killed Daesha?”

  “I have no idea. None. Wish I did.”

  Amos was running out of questions, so he let out a cough. He followed it with one or two more. “I’m sorry. I’m … Maybe it’s the paint fumes from back there …” He continued to cough. “Could I maybe have some water, please?” More coughing, and he kept going until he got what he wanted.

  “Um, yeah, sure. I’ve got some in the break room. Just a second.”

  As soon as Benson hopped up and headed out the door, Amos pulled another wireless button mic out of his pocket and slipped it under the chair, sticking it to the frame. He coughed the whole time, and when Benson came back with a bottle of water, he took it and gulped three or four swallows. Bringing it down, he gave a couple more coughs, drank a little more, and sighed. “Thank you. Sorry about that.”

  “No problem. Would you like to look around the shop before you go?”

  I’m effectively being dismissed, Amos thought with an inner smirk. “No. That’s quite all right. I just wanted to talk to you and see if you had any idea what happened or who might’ve been to blame.”

  “Wish I could help you, but I don’t know.” Benson hadn’t taken a seat since he’d come from the break room, so Amos stood. “Please let me know if I can be of further assistance. I’d like to see her killer apprehended too.”

  Amos extended a hand again and Benson shook it once more. “I will do that, and thank you so much for your time.”

  “You’re quite welcome. Thank you for all your hard work. Have a good afternoon.”

  Once he was back in the Jeep, he drove two parking lots down and parked, then brought up the app, chose the particular mic, and listened. The sound of papers being shuffled around rang through the speaker for several minutes. Then Benson’s voice sounded out.

  “Hey, that KDCI guy? He was just here. He asked me all those same questions … No. I didn’t. But I admitted that we had the ring made for her, so now Chance looks like an idiot. I need to talk to him and … There was no point in denying it. He saw it. It’s plain as the noses on our faces. I expect he’s going to … Well, that’s a good thing too. When do you get back?”

  Ainsley, Amos told himself. Benson had called his older brother.

  “Well, I don’t know! But unlike Chance, I asked the right questions. Know where this is coming from? He’s dating Daesha! I … No, no. She wouldn’t have told him we’d hurt Dorinda. To her knowledge, we were all just friends. She didn’t know any better, and I know for a fact Dorinda hadn’t told her about us or she would’ve been asking questions. I think for now we’re okay, but … Yeah, I know. I probably should. I just hate dealing with him, you know? And I still believe it was him … Yeah, okay. Talk to you soon. Bye.” The call ended and the shuffling paper sounds resumed.

  And I still believe it was him. So Chance had said practically the same thing. Were they blaming each other? That didn’t make sense. They were all friends, or at least some kind of friends that Daesha didn’t know about. That same thought he’d had before drifted through his mind, but he shut it down. Amos, you’re a fucking pervert, he told himself.

  And what was that other comment about? I just hate dealing with him. Who? Hit man? Employee of some kind? Whoever it was, it was the same person they thought had killed Dorinda. None of it was making sense, but there was one thing for sure.

  Chance Kelso had lied. That made him a weak link, and if anyone thought Amos Fletcher was going to let that fact slip his mind, they were crazy.

  Chapter 8

  On Wednesday, Amos got another case assigned to him. Why did he always get the cases with the dirty politicians? Mack had told him one time that it w
as because he had such an air of decorum about himself, such calm deportment and classiness. To Amos, that translated to “nobody else wants to do it,” so it fell on him. He worked on it all day and was thankful he had her to go home to because he really needed her smile and her touch.

  He hadn’t told Daesha about his visit to Benson, and he wasn’t going to tell her that he was going to visit Ainsley. Nothing was going to be said until he’d seen the last Kelso brother.

  K-Fabuleuse’s headquarters and factory were in Georgetown. It had become a mecca for manufacturing ever since a major car manufacturer had moved there, and the once tiny town was growing by leaps and bounds. Sure enough, K-Fabuleuse, or K-Fab as people liked to call it, was situated near the automobile plant and a new brewery. Helluva combination, as far as Amos was concerned.

  Chance’s building had been lush inside and out. Benson’s was showy on the inside, but utilitarian on the outside. He’d wondered what he’d find at Ainsley’s place.

  “Dear god,” he whispered as he turned in the drive on Thursday morning. He’d never seen such a crazy-looking building in his life. The upper floors were larger than the lower ones, giving the building a weird, wedge-shaped appearance. Shades of blue and purple graced the huge mirrored windows, and the plantings around the building were mostly weeping willows or weeping cherries. There were a few flowering plants, but not many, and a lot of ornamental grasses. A huge statue of a shoe, stylized, stood in front of the door in a circular walk. One of the things he noticed was the small parking lot. Apparently Ainsley neither expected nor encouraged visitors.

  After linking another button mic, he grabbed his messenger bag and made his way to the front door. Behind the big polished granite reception desk was a young woman, her asymmetrical, snow white hair hanging straight down in its sophisticated cut. As soon as he stepped up to the desk, she looked up from under fake lashes that had to be an inch long, and the long, cat’s-eye liner she had painted on made them look even longer. Her tone was chilly as she said, “Welcome to K-Fabuleuse. Do you have an appointment?”