Justice for Daesha

by Deanndra Hall

  “No. I’m KDCI Agent Amos Fletcher and I’m here to see Ainsley Kelso.”

  She shifted in her chair, a look of utter disdain on her face. “He just returned from being out of the country and doesn’t wish to see anyone.”

  Amos managed to catch her gaze and hold it. “Miss, I don’t think you understand. I’m not asking to see Mr. Kelso. I’m telling you I’m going to see Mr. Kelso. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice. But I’m an officer of the law, and I need to speak to Mr. Kelso.” He jacked one eyebrow up and ordered, “Make it happen.”

  The eye roll she gave him made him want to lean across the desk and slap her. Boy, she was a bitch. She picked up the house phone and punched a couple of buttons, then said, “A, there’s a cop out here who’s insisting on talking to you.” He waited, but she just hung up the phone and never looked at him.

  After a full minute, Amos asked, “Well?”

  “Fuck, you’re an impatient little twat, aren’t you? He’ll be here in just a minute.”

  Did she just call me a twat? Amos almost laughed. He’d been called a lot of things, but that was the first time he’d ever been called a twat. Wait until he told Mack about that! “You know, it’s a shame,” he said and winked at her. She scowled. “You’re not attractive enough to take a chance on being that disagreeable.”

  Her eyes flew open wide. “What did you say to me?”

  “You mean, what did the twat say to you? The truth. And if he’s not out here in fifteen seconds, I’m going in there.”

  “Mr. Police Person!” a voice sang out from behind him. “What may I help you with?”

  Amos spun and almost laughed. The guy standing there looked a lot like a young version of Liberace, his dark hair perfectly coiffed and with a lot more hairspray in it than most of the women Amos knew wore in theirs. He had on a cantaloupe-orange shirt and over it was a long, purple coat and purple pants that matched it. But the shoes were definitely K-Fabs. They were beautiful Italian leather, which was good, because the oddball didn’t have any socks on. There was jewelry dripping from him, all kinds of jewelry, and the next thing Amos noticed was the strong cologne he was wearing. “I take it you’re Ainsley Kelso?” Extending his hand, he added, “I’m Agent Amos Fletcher, KDCI, and I’d like to talk to you for just a minute.”

  Ainsley took his hand but barely squeezed it. “Why, yes! Certainly! And don’t mind Madrid over there,” he said, pointing to the girl. “She didn’t get laid last night and she’s sulking.”

  “Am not.”

  “Then why are you so disagreeable?”

  The young woman smirked at him. “I’m always disagreeable. That’s why you hired me!”

  “Oh, yes. That’s right. I did hire her because she was so disagreeable,” Ainsley whispered and took Amos’s arm. Amos didn’t really want the guy touching him, but he didn’t jerk his arm away, just held it out farther from his body. “So come on into my office and let’s talk.”

  Beside one of the doors was a fixture, some kind of security device, and Amos watched as Ainsley leaned into it and rested his chin on a plate at the base. Once he was in place, he laid his hand on a plate by the door. Iris recognition and fingerprint reader. What in the hell is in there? Amos wondered. And when the door swung open, he was glad he’d already been exposed to the outlandishness of Ainsley.

  The office was bizarre. An enormous Lucite platform sat in the back of the room, and the desk was on top of it. There was a sweeping staircase at either end of the platform, and underneath the whole thing was an enormous fish tank full of … Are those octopuses? Wait. Octopi? I have no idea. What the fuck? Shelves hung around the room and floated from the ceiling, suspended on cables, and on the wall the door occupied was a huge curved screen. Strange objets d’arte sat here and there, some on round pedestals with seating built around them. It was fascinating, fabulous, and bizarre. He felt like he’d dropped into a futuristic world. “So, Mr. Fletcher, have a seat. The room is absolutely full of cameras, so wherever you sit, I can see you to converse with you.”

  “Um …” Amos looked around. Where the hell should he sit? There were no normal chairs anywhere. He had a mic to plant, but nowhere to plant it. Looking around, he pointed to one of the two conversation pits in the room. “Here?”

  “That’s fine. Wherever. Would you like something to drink? I have a wonderful matcha that they’ll be serving in a few seconds.”

  “Who is―” Before Amos could ask, a door opened at the side of the room and three people walked in. Two were women who looked surprisingly like Madrid out front, and the other was a man, who looked surprisingly like Madrid out front, haircut and all. Holy shit, Amos thought. What a nest of weirdos. They were carrying trays, and one woman carefully handed Ainsley a steaming mug while the other handed one to Amos. Its pungent fragrance slapped him in the face. He almost put the cup to his lips when one of the women scolded, “Noooo. A always goes first.”

  “Thank you, my dear,” the eldest Kelso said, then took a sip. “Ahhhh. Perfection.” The two women turned to leave, and the man stepped in and laid a napkin across Ainsley’s lap, then did the same for Amos. He had to admit, he didn’t like that guy being that close to his junk. It creeped him out. As soon as they were all gone, Ainsley gave him a contrived smile. “Now, Mr. Fletcher, what is it that you want from me?”

  Amos wanted to remind him that the correct term was agent, but he didn’t bother. “I have this picture of Dorinda Blackmon’s hand with a ring on it. And I realized that it’s a combination of the logos of all three companies the Kelso brothers own. So, tell me, who gave her that ring?”

  Instead of answering, Ainsley asked, “Wasn’t that a thoughtful gift?”

  “Why, yes it was, seeing as how you commissioned it from Reed Evigan.”

  Ainsley was smug. “While I lived in Austin. She must’ve worn it proudly.”

  Amos took a sip of tea and almost spit it out―it was horrible. When he recovered, he said, “Until whoever murdered her took it off her finger and it disappeared.”

  “Well, now, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I wasn’t there,” Ainsley said from inside his cup as he continued to sip.

  “Somebody does. And you have no idea who that could be?’

  “It most certainly wasn’t me!” Ainsley answered, his voice raised. “Look here, you, I loved Dorinda. We’d been friends our entire lives. Hurting her is something I just couldn’t do. Do I look like the kind who’d kill somebody? Hmmm? I have my assistant kill flies if they get in here, and they rarely do. I most certainly wouldn’t kill my friend.”

  “But you have no idea who did it?”

  “If I did, wouldn’t I have told the police all that time ago? Of course I would’ve. So no. I don’t know who it was.”

  I’ve got to find a place for this mic, Amos told himself, but with cameras watching his every move, it would be difficult. An idea hit him and he rose. “This is a very unusual office you have here.”

  “Yes. I designed everything in here myself,” Ainsley said with obvious pride.

  “Quite a collection of books you have here too.”

  “Indeed. Most of them are first editions or I have the only remaining copy in existence. Did you know that was one of the things Dorinda and I shared? We loved books. As a matter of fact, I bought one for her right before she was killed. Never got to give it to her.”

  “Really? What was it?”

  “It’s right over here. Let me show you.” Amos followed Ainsley, slipping his hands in his pockets as he went. He palmed one of the mics in his left hand. “This one right here.” Ainsley moved to the middle of one of the shelves, but when he took the book from it, it began to swing.

  “Oh!” Amos reached out to steady it by grabbing the cable and when he did, he stuck the mic to the back of the cable. “Scared me a little!”

  “They won’t fall. Sometimes I go through and set them all in motion just to watch. It’s beautiful. Here it is. This is the book. It’s a co
py of Three Little Kittens by Marie Simchow Stern. You know, the Little Golden Books?”

  “Oh, yes! I remember those from when I was little.”

  “Yes, well, this was the first one published.” He stopped for a second, then looked Amos in the eyes. “The. Very. First. One. I paid twenty-eight thousand dollars for this book. It’s a piece of history.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yes. That’s right―holy shit. It was supposed to be a present for Dorinda. Now, would I buy a gift for somebody I was planning to kill?”

  Amos desperately wanted to point out that there was no proof it had been for Dorinda and that it was still worth plenty of money to Ainsley when something struck him. Yes, Ainsley Kelso had plenty of money, but that was not the kind of gift a man gave a woman who was just a friend. Even though he was dressed weird and acted weird, Amos was pretty sure he wasn’t gay. Something didn’t add up, and he couldn’t figure out what it was. He just answered, “I suppose not.”

  “Of course not. How ridiculous would that be?” He seemed smug about his answer, like he’d just won some kind of game show.

  Amos didn’t care anymore. He wanted to get out of there. The place was like some kind of deviated, convoluted fairytale land, and it made his skin crawl. “So business is going well?”

  “We’ll be at all the shows of all the big houses this year. It’s going very well. Pretty soon, all those others will be passé and we’ll be the high fashion leader. That’s my goal anyway. So, Mr. Fletcher, I―”

  “Agent Fletcher.”

  “Ummm, yes, Agent Fletcher, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Yes. Were you jealous of your brothers’ relationship with Dorinda?”

  “Which one?”

  “That’s brothers, plural.”

  “Well, no! We were all just friends.” Ainsley made a big production out of looking at his watch. “Oh, my, look at the time! I’ve been out of the country, so I’ve really got to get everything caught up. I’ll have Barcelona see you out.”

  The man from earlier stepped through the doorway just as Amos said, “Barcelona?”

  “Yes. I love Spain, so I name all my employees after the cities there. Very chic, no? It was nice meeting you, Mr., um, Agent Fletcher. Hope to see you again sometime.” He whisked his hands in a sweeping motion and Barcelona, or whatever his real name was, took Amos’s upper arm. Amos, of course, shook it off immediately.

  “I can see myself out.”

  “Then you won’t mind Barcelona making sure you reach your car safely,” Ainsley called as they stepped out of the office. When the door closed, it sounded like a huge steel thing rather than a simple door, and Amos couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Sounds effects for a door? Good lord. The guy had more money than sense.

  They reached the reception area and Amos turned around to walk backwards. “Goodbye, Madrid. I’d give you a call sometime, but twats don’t have fingers.” She never looked up, just flipped him off, and when he reached the door, he smiled at Barcelona. “Your services are not needed past this point, my good man. Have a lovely afternoon.” The white-haired man never spoke, and Amos slid into the Jeep and drove away.

  The brewery was only one street down with a field between it and Ainsley’s office. Amos pulled in and parked, then grabbed his phone and opened the app. As soon as it linked with the mic, the conversation poured into the Jeep, and Amos realized something very important.

  All that foppish talk? The crazy clothes and strange office? It was all just an act, a persona that Ainsley Kelso had donned to look like an eccentric fashionista. The voice coming through the mic was definitely Ainsley’s, but it was just about as Kentucky as they came. “He just showed up here! I mean, what the hell? How did the two of you let this get so out of hand? He’s going about asking all kinds of questions, and if one of us answers one of them wrong, we’re all going to be in trouble. I know, but … Look, if we tell him, he’s going to get crazy, but if we don’t tell him, he’s going to get crazy on us. I’d rather he did that with somebody else, wouldn’t you? I mean … Yes. I hate him too, but that doesn’t take away the risks involved, so we … Well, somebody has to call him, and I really don’t want to.” It was quiet for a little while until he said, “Look, if the two of you are going to fight, you don’t need me here to listen to it. But know that if we don’t take care of this on the front end, our back ends are going to be in a sling. Got that? I just got back from out of the country and I’ve got to deal with this? Bitch, please, I … Okay, you do that. Goodbye.” Amos was pretty sure the next sound he heard was a phone being thrown.

  He could only record one mic feed at a time, so he skipped over to Chance’s and listened. Nothing. Then he skipped to Benson’s, and things got interesting very quickly. There was an argument going on between Benson and another man, and it wasn’t on the phone.

  “Look, you’ve got to do something,” Benson barked.

  “What do you want me to do? I’ve had no part in any of this.”

  “Right. Like I believe that.”

  “For the last time, I did NOT kill Dorinda! I wouldn’t do that! I know all three of you think I did, but I didn’t.”

  “You were the one with a motive.”

  He heard a deep sigh before the voice said, “Do you really think I’m a murderer?”

  “I think you might’ve hired somebody. After all, the secret had to be kept, didn’t it?”

  “Look, I don’t know what happened to Dorinda, and I never had a problem with what was going on. Yes, it made me uncomfortable, but it was none of my business. And no, I don’t think it was reflection on anybody but all of you, and I don’t think anyone else would see it that way either. What makes the most sense is that one of you got jealous and killed her. Why doesn’t the one who did it confess and spare the other two?”

  The voice he knew was Benson’s shouted, “I can’t believe you just said that. Don’t you care anything about us? I mean, we’re your SONS, for god’s sake!”

  Holy hell. It’s their dad. For some reason, he hadn’t found a connection to their parents, and he wondered if that was deliberate. He also hadn’t asked Daesha about them, but maybe he should’ve. But then the man he now knew was father to the three brothers said something that chilled him to the bone.

  “Somebody killed her. If the three of you didn’t, was there a fourth?”

  “Dear god, no! Why would you ask me that?” Benson asked.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about all this, but I suppose I’ll have to do something or you’ll tell everyone I killed her.”

  “But you did!”

  “For the last time, Ben, I did not. It had to be one of you because of that ring.”

  “It was you, trying to cover it all up so nobody would think less of you. You didn’t want to lose your job.”

  Amos turned the volume down and started pecking around on the tablet he took with him everywhere. Kelso, Kelso … Why did that name bother him? Then he heard that same voice say Daesha’s name. When he turned the volume back up, it was Benson’s voice he heard.

  “Do whatever you want. We don’t want you to kill us to cover this up.” In a second, there was the sound of a door slamming, but there was no more talking.

  Why had they talked about Daesha? That worried Amos. What had the man asked? Was there a fourth? Did that mean what he’d suspected for a good while?

  Amos wasn’t sure, but he wanted to find out.

  “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Sure you don’t want to come spend the night?”

  Amos chuckled. “Actually, I do. But we really need to do this.” He wanted to ask―god, he wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to start something and not be able to finish it. “Hey, I meant to ask you, what does the Kelso brothers’ dad do?”

  “Mr. Kelso? He’s a politician.”

  No. It couldn’t be. “Marshall Kelso?”

  “Yeah. The U.S. congressman. He’s been a senator for as long as
I can remember.”

  Everything started to click into place and it all made sense. Amos couldn’t believe he hadn’t connected the dots, but it certainly looked like someone had gone to great lengths to hide the ties between the brothers and their father. Why was that? Daesha had never mentioned them having a rough childhood, and she said her parents were friends with theirs. If there’d been something wrong, her close friends would’ve confided in her. There could only be one reason, and he had to get to the senator if he was ever going to figure it out.

  “Do you think you could get me an opportunity to talk to him?” Instead of answering him, she closed her eyes. “Daesha, this is important. They’re all implicating their father. I need to talk to him if I’m going to rule him out.”

  The sigh she let out seemed to release her frustration. “I don’t think he had anything to do with it, but I’ll try.” Snapping her fingers, she smiled. “I’ll go talk to him! He’ll talk to me.”

  “No. I don’t want you to …”

  “Oh, come on, Amos! I can do this. Want me to wear a wire?” She gave him a cagey smile, but he was in no mood. This was no game.

  “Oh, you can bet if I let you do that, you’ll be wearing a wire. No way would I send you to talk to him without one, not now that I believe he might’ve killed Dorinda.”

  Her little snort was followed by a scowl. “He couldn’t have done it.”

  “So you think one of the boys did?”

  Her eyes went wide. “No! I’m not saying that!”

  “Daesha, look, that ring has something to do with why she’s dead, and it’s connected to the Kelsos. I don’t know how, but we’ve got to figure that out and, until I do, they’re all suspects as far as I’m concerned.”

  “I just can’t believe it. I just can’t. Not Ainsley, Benson, or Chance. And I can’t believe it would be their dad either. Mr. Kelso has never been anything but sweet and helpful to me. To Dorinda too.” Grief lined her face, and Amos felt horrible. She’d lost her sister, then her mother. Now three men and their father, people she’d known and loved her whole lifetime, were obviously somehow involved in her sister’s murder. But there was one thing he was growing surer about by the minute.