When Rain Falls

by Tyora M. Moody

  Her legs were exquisite. Darnell tore his eyes away to refocus on the scene. He’d developed strange habits over the years. Whenever he entered a crime scene, he focused on details that really didn’t matter. In some weird way, it helped him concentrate on the lifeless body, heightening his senses to find the clues he needed to seek justice. Right then, he needed to piece together this crime scene. Those legs belonged to a prominent defense lawyer.

  Darnell tended to have a bad taste in his mouth about most lawyers, but he liked Pamela Coleman. Definitely nice on the eyes, but not the only reason he liked her. Despite her beauty, she gave prosecutors nightmares as they fought to prove her clients’ guilt. Hundreds of criminal cases. Her list of enemies could span a decade or more. He had to figure out who hated Pamela enough to smash in her skull, leaving her blood across her two-car garage floor.

  Flashes bounced off the walls as a young crime scene investigator Darnell didn’t know snapped photos nearby. He turned his attention to the victim’s face. Her brown eyes were wide open; her full lips slightly parted. What was she thinking in those last moments? Did her assailant allow her time to speak? A spaghetti-strapped red dress peeked out from under Pamela’s black trench coat. Was she on her way out or returning home?

  Buzz.

  What was that? Darnell looked away from the corpse and cocked his head to the side. The sound vibrated nearby. Dropping to one knee on the cold concrete, he peeked under the white Volvo. A cell phone lay inches away. “Hey, Brunson, bring over an evidence bag.” Perched on his elbow and knees, Darnell reached under the car and grabbed the black phone with a rubber-gloved hand. He didn’t much like phones with the fancy keyboard. Probably good for text messaging. Darnell barely liked typing on a full-size keyboard. Pen and paper worked just fine.

  Brunson walked up with the bag. “You know how to work that thing?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good luck. Better you than me.”

  The phone vibrated in Darnell’s hands. A number appeared on the screen. “Hey, Brunson, write this down.” Darnell called out the phone number to his partner. He slipped the phone into the evidence bag and placed his initials on the bag. The forensic lab could examine it better in a sterile setting. He’d check the phone records later. For now, he needed to focus on the victim.

  Blood had seeped into the concrete, tinting her mass of dark hair with dark reddish tones. Her chocolate brown complexion appeared ashen underneath the bright fluorescent lights.

  The medical examiner, Lou Reynolds, tilted his head to the side. Darnell knew Lou longed for his approaching retirement but remained dedicated. “Ah, Jackson, I tell you our boys started the season well the other night.”

  Darnell grinned. “Yes, they did. They need to keep it up, though.” Being a die-hard Tar Heels fan and basketball lover had its advantages. Especially with his transfer from California still being fresh. It felt good to have some common ground with guys who clearly felt passed over for the coveted detective position. “So, Lou, how long you think she’s been dead?”

  Lou looked over his rectangular glasses at Darnell. “Well, it looks like rigor mortis has set in pretty well. I estimate ’bout ten to twelve hours.”

  “Any ideas about the murder weapon?”

  “We got guys searching the garage. As you can see, we have quite a few to examine.” Lou tilted his head toward the neatly organized back wall. Either Pamela had enjoyed being a carpenter on the side or she’d had a fetish for tools.

  “So, did she die immediately?”

  “Hard to say right now. With no immediate attention, some bleeding could’ve occurred inside her brain over time. Depending on the strength of the blow, she could’ve hit this concrete dead.”

  “Mmm, so who found her?”

  “Um, well ... her dad.”

  “Ah, man, that’s rough. Is he inside?”

  Lou exhaled. “You don’t know, do you?”

  “Huh?”

  “Her dad. Judge Bill Coleman.”

  Darnell rubbed his hand across his closely shaven head. A judge’s daughter. Man, this case could get worse before they got started. A stretcher arrived for the corpse. “Thanks, Lou. Keep me updated. I guess it’s time to stand before the judge.” Darnell balked at his own humor, almost running into the fresh-faced forensics investigator with the freckles and red hair. Howdy Doody meets Forensic Files. He needed to quit while he was ahead. But he couldn’t help it.

  The Howdy Doody look-alike grinned. “Hey, Detective. I think all the essential items have been found, but I have something you have got to see.”

  Darnell glanced at some of the marked items. With her wallet, car keys, and the car still in the garage, robbery didn’t appear to be a motive. From the collected Baggies, the young man reached inside one and pulled out an item. “Check it out.”

  Darnell whistled as the pear-shaped stone caught the sun rays, projecting a shimmering reflection against the garage’s back wall. “Man, that is some serious bling-bling. Where did you find it?”

  “Over in the corner. Looks like it was torn from around her neck. See? The clasp is broken.”

  He studied the gold chain links. The defense attorney must have ticked off somebody close to her. He headed toward the house, thinking it was time to talk to Pamela’s father, to see if the judge knew who had it in for his “little girl.” Right now this scene had “crime of passion” written all over it.

  Chapter Three

  Pamela, where are you? She better have a good excuse. Candace monitored the clock for the tenth time that morning. She’d called Pamela’s home phone, her BlackBerry, and the office phone. Nothing. Pamela had asked her if she wanted to attend the art gallery opening last night, but Candace had declined.

  Now she kind of regretted not accepting her friend’s offer.

  Even though her own life seemed to revolve around being a mom and owner of Crown of Beauty Salon, she was still curious about the other side. That is, the sophisticated lifestyle her best friend lived as a high-profile defense lawyer.

  A fit of hacking interrupted Candace’s stream of thoughts. She realized, her one client who showed up on time that day had grown quiet. “Mrs. Roberts, is everything okay?”

  Fredricka Roberts talked to anyone who would listen. Most people couldn’t help but listen to the seventy-six-year-old. Feeling sheepish, Candace realized she’d lost focus on the woman’s conversation a few minutes before.

  “Well, honey, I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I have so many things going through my head today.”

  “That’s okay, sugar. I appreciate you fixing me up at the last minute. My son sent tickets for a seven o’clock flight Saturday morning. Lord, have mercy. I’m getting too old to be flying around those clouds. God might decide to say, ‘Well, the old bat’s so close, I may as well take her on home with me.’”

  Grinning, Candace responded, “Mrs. Roberts, you need to stop. You got too much to offer us young things down here for God to take you yet.”

  “Sugar, you are a sweetie pie. Life is scary enough on the ground. If someone decided he wants to terrorize me in the air, I may have to take him down.”

  Candace laughed as she adjusted the chair for her client’s lithe frame. As a result of her years with the Katherine Dunham Company, a modern dance company, the older woman probably could knock a terrorist off his feet with her strong, shapely legs.

  “So, is your granddaughter going with you?”

  Mrs. Roberts’s smile faltered. “No, I can’t get that girl to go anywhere.”

  “Well, like you tell me, we have to be patient with these young‘uns and pray for God to do a work in their hearts.”

  “Well, you know what? God may not be through with me yet. Always something to bring Him to clean up.”

  Both women laughed.

  From behind her, Candace heard a voice. “Is that Miss Roberts, with her grown self, over there acting up?”

  After she grabbed a bottle of sh
ampoo from the shelf, Candace turned and winked at her stylist, Beulah Samuels. “Ain’t she something else?”

  Beulah placed her hand on her round hips and shook her head. “I tell you, if I grow up to look like this woman, you couldn’t tell me anything.”

  “Ah, now, Beulah, you are already in a class by yourself, Miss Thang.” That was for sure. Well into her fifties, Beulah wore a short, recently dyed platinum blond Afro with the finesse of a much younger woman. The colors blended well with her creamy, smooth complexion.

  “Thank you, honey.” Beulah leaned in closer to Candace’s ear. “Honey, you okay? You’re not looking too good.”

  Candace grabbed the hose to rinse her client’s hair. She knew Beulah meant no harm, but now wasn’t the time. She should’ve known Beulah would eventually pick up on her lack of sleep. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Now, Tangie is the one you might want to worry about.” This morning must be the day for Divas Missing in Action. First, Pamela, a no-show. Now one of her stylists was almost an hour late. Yet again, somebody who didn’t know how to pick up the phone out of courtesy.

  Beulah frowned. “She is making this a habit. Don’t be too hard on her now.”

  Candace grunted. That was the problem. People tended to take her being nice as confirmation to do what they wanted. At this stage in her life, Candace could empathize with Tangie, being a single mom, but time was money.

  Beulah came back out the supply room with an armful of towels. “Candace, you got to take care of yourself, too.” She raised her thinly arched eyebrows. “You sure you don’t need to take some time off?”

  “How can I? We have clients booked, and not everyone is showing up to do their job. Look, I will be fine, but yeah, a vacation would be real nice.”

  “You the boss lady. Take one. And if you need help, you holler. Loud.”

  Candace murmured, “I will.” She had no intentions of being a burden on anyone, especially Beulah. The woman took on more than was necessary. She’d almost become a surrogate mother to Candace. Only Beulah and Pamela knew how she had clawed her way back after losing Frank.

  “By the way, sugar, I wanted to know when you were going to let me introduce you to my nephew.”

  “Ah, Beulah, come on. I’m sure your nephew is a wonderful man, but right now I can’t.”

  “Honey, I’m not trying to pressure you.” Beulah grinned. “I just know you two should at least meet each other.”

  Candace balked at Beulah’s matchmaking. The one and only man she’d dated in her life, she’d fallen head over heels in love with, and they’d had two beautiful children, and then God took him from her. She had accepted Jesus in her life as a young girl, but over the years she had grown distant from God. Her mother’s murder had pierced her faith. As she struggled to understand Frank’s death, she felt the farthest away she had ever been from God. Her eyes stung. She bit her lip.

  From the sink area, Candace heard the salon’s back door open. Water from the hose splashed up into her face. Thank goodness Mrs. Roberts had drifted off into la-la land. As she grabbed a towel to dry her face, Tangerine Nelson, better known as Tangie, poked her head into the sink area.

  Tangie’s micro braids were held elegantly at the top of her head; the braided tresses curled at the ends and trailed down to the nape of her neck. A pair of gold hoop earrings danced as she moved her head. Almost six feet tall, the ebony-skinned woman had had aspirations of being a model. A bad marriage and three children later, Tangie devoted her life instead to making others beautiful. Well, at least when she decided to show up to work on time.

  “Hey, Candace.”

  “Nice of you to show up this morning, Tangie.” Her retort came out sharper than she wanted. Candace didn’t want to be confrontational, but she didn’t want to hear any excuses. She could’ve at least called.

  Tangie sucked her breath in sharply. “I’m sorry. My babysitter went out of town again without telling me. I had to take the boys all the way across town to Mama’s house. She wasn’t pleased.” In the mirror above the sink, Tangie did a quick check. Candace thought her makeup looked flawless. Tangie thought otherwise, as she reached in her purse to pull out a tube of lip gloss.

  “To make matters worse ...” Tangie applied the shimmery burgundy liquid to her lips. “I would’ve been here sooner, but Mama’s refrigerator was empty. I had to run around the corner to get some groceries. You know my three little monsters can eat.”

  Candace reached for a towel from the basket behind her and threw it across her shoulder. She didn’t bother to look Tangie in the eyes. They were going to have to talk soon. She had a business to run. “So, you were nowhere near a phone to call and say, ‘Candace I’m going to be late.’”

  Tangie shook her head. “I’m sorry.” Despite her apology, she narrowed her eyes and faced Candace. “I’ll call next time, okay?” The gold bracelets on Tangie’s arms clattered to a beat as she walked away.

  Candace’s neck and shoulders began to tighten. She didn’t need this drama. Once again she glanced over at the clock. She needed Pamela there. Her friend could make her laugh like nobody else. Make her forget about all her issues.

  Pamela, where are you? And what is it you couldn’t tell me last night?

  Chapter Four

  He hated this part. Darnell hesitated at the door, scanning the white sofas, Oriental rug, and large paintings. A fireplace took center stage, the mantle lined with exotic statues. People were everywhere in the room. He could fit his entire apartment in this area alone. Pamela Coleman had spent her money well. Too bad she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the rest of it.

  Through the bustle of investigators and police officers, Darnell caught sight of Judge Coleman staring out the bay window; the sun rays highlighted his tuft of silver hair. He crossed the expansive space and stopped in front of the man. “Judge Coleman?”

  The man turned and stared at Darnell. It was difficult to guess the judge’s age, but he seemed wilted despite his tall frame, his grief embedded in the creases around his eyes.

  “Yes, and you are?” The judge’s deep baritone voice bounced off the walls.

  “I’m Detective Jackson.” He held his arm out toward the judge, but the man stared down at his hand as though it was some alien life form. Darnell placed his arm back at his side and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your loss, sir. I understand you found the ... her.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything you can share with us? Did you know about your daughter’s plans last night?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no telling with that girl.”

  Girl. It seemed strange to hear the woman summed up as merely a girl. Then again, this was her father.

  “I believe she attended an art gallery opening last night.”

  Startled, Darnell whipped his head to the side. He hadn’t noticed the woman sitting in the corner of the bay window. Was this Pamela’s mother? The older woman’s slight frame seemed fragile compared to her daughter’s almost Amazon features.

  “Mrs. Coleman, I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Do you know if she went alone?”

  Pamela’s mother glanced at him with her red-rimmed eyes and then peered down at her hands. She twisted and squeezed her fingers with such an intensity, Darnell thought she might injure herself. Her voice barely above a whisper, she replied, “I’m not aware if she had a date.”

  Seemed strange that she wouldn’t know. Darnell prodded. “Was she currently dating anyone?”

  Desiree Coleman shook her head and sniffled softly. The judge moved closer to his wife but didn’t touch her. He instead crossed his arms. “Pamela lived her own life. We learned not to interfere.” The judge choked. “That might have been a mistake. Find who did this.”

  Darnell nodded his head. “Yes, sir, we’re on it.”

  The judge shifted to his full height and pointed his finger toward Darnell. “You better. She was ... my only child.”

  Darnell shifted his eyes to peer out the window but still caugh
t the tears that flooded the old man’s eyes.

  A movement from the doorway caught his attention. He started to groan but stopped himself, remembering the Colemans were nearby. For the umpteenth time, he regretted losing his day off.

  Captain Walter Ransom rarely made an appearance at a crime scene, which meant long days and sleepless nights were ahead for sure. The man showed his face for press conferences but remained more of a fixture in the office. Right now his girth almost filled the doorway. The captain’s sharp eyes assessed the room, and then he turned toward the corner where Darnell stood. With more speed than Darnell realized Ransom had, the captain trekked across the room. His thick brown glasses slid to their familiar perch on his nose as he stopped in front of the judge. “Judge Coleman, Mrs. Coleman. We’re sorry for your loss. I hope you know we will do everything in our power to find the person responsible.” Ransom then eyed Darnell. “Detective, can we talk for a moment?”

  Darnell followed the captain, staring at the bald spot in the center of his head.

  Once out in the hallway, Captain Ransom wasted no time. “So, what you got?”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have much to go on yet. We believe she attended an art gallery opening last night, so we will gather a list of people who attended the event. Not sure whether she went alone. If she didn’t, it may be that someone surprised her on the way back home.”

  “Well, we need to move quickly.” The captain rubbed his hand over the grayish tufts on the sides of his head. “Judge Coleman is in shock right now, but when it wears off, he will get ugly, and fast. He didn’t have the best relationship with his daughter, but she was his only child.”

  Darnell yanked on his tie. “Yeah, I know.” He didn’t doubt this whole affair would blow up in the media. A few minutes ago, through the bay window, he’d seen television vans beginning to line the street.

  Brunson walked out of a room farther down the hallway and approached them with something in his hand. He nodded at the captain. “Captain, surprised seeing you here. CSIs are looking for any signs of forced entry. So we went through the vic’s office, looking for anything that might help. The techs are taking her computer to review the files. Did find this.” Brunson held a black planner in his hand.