When Rain Falls

by Tyora M. Moody

  Alarm was clearly written on both of their faces. She needed to get them out of the building. “Let’s go.”

  “Mom, what’s wrong?” Daniel asked, breaking into long strides to keep up with her.

  “I will tell you as soon as we get home.”

  Inside the car, she felt Rachel’s stare from the passenger seat. When her daughter reached for the radio, she covered her hand. “Please don’t turn that on. Please.”

  “Why?” Rachel frowned.

  Candace swallowed. “Trust me.” As much as she loved music, she couldn’t risk the children hearing what she needed to tell them over the radio airwaves.

  That was easy. Almost too easy. He lifted the cardboard cup to his lips and finished off the bitter black coffee. He grimaced, and then a smirk spread across his face. Crushing the cup, he tossed it out the open car window.

  “Ah, Ms. Coleman, I think I might miss you.” Her beautiful face would be the talk of the city for days to come. He cackled, “She wasn’t as tough as she thought.”

  He reached over to the passenger seat and unzipped the black bag. With a quick glance around the parking lot, he pulled out the Smith & Wesson and laid it to the side. He reached back in the bag to grab the digital camera.

  Funny, he enjoyed the feel of the camera as much as the gun. Both had a bit of power when shooting. As the camera buzzed to life, his mind went back to the last time he used the gun. His first taste of victory.

  Family meant everything to him, and the punishment was long overdue.

  He clicked through the stored photos to find a particular picture.

  A photo of Candace Johnson and Pamela Coleman appeared in his view. The two women were sharing a laugh over their lunch entrées. He zoomed in on Candace’s face. So pretty, yet so sad.

  Her solemn face enraptured him. Should he contain himself? Or should he plan a face-to-face meeting soon?

  Chapter Eight

  Darnell stood outside the city morgue, inhaling the fresh air as though he was about to take a dive into deep water. Once inside, he strode down the long hall, passing gray-green walls. The smells assaulting his nose reached down into the pit of his stomach. Maybe polishing off a double cheeseburger and a chocolate shake before coming to the morgue wasn’t his brightest idea.

  After leaving the salon, Brunson wanted to be dropped off at the police station. Something about needing to start paperwork. Darnell had a feeling that talking to Candace had put a damper on Brunson’s spirits. He wouldn’t say Brunson completely disliked him as a person. But he was not Frank. Anyway, he had a job to do and didn’t need to be labeled as some hotshot from L.A.

  Darnell grabbed a mask from the equipment room and adjusted it around his face. The morgue door swung open easily as he entered the autopsy area. Pamela Coleman’s corpse was covered up to her waist with a white sheet. He wished the top portion were covered as well as he attempted to ignore the open chest cavity.

  Lou looked up from his work around the head area. The overhead light reflected off the medical examiner’s glasses. Behind his mask, his mouth moved. “Right on time. I might have something for you as far as a possible weapon. Come over and take a look.”

  Darnell had hoped Lou wouldn’t invite him to stand that close. He tried to move closer to the table. Tried. For some reason, his size twelve feet decided to stay rooted to the floor.

  Lou looked over his glasses. “You coming to take a look?”

  “Yeah.” With much effort, Darnell picked up a foot and lurched forward. As he made his way around to the front of the table, he prayed. He hadn’t felt this bad in a long time.

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  Darnell nodded.

  “Hold it in until we get finished, all right?” Lou winked. “There’s a sink over there if you need it.”

  Ignoring the medical examiner, Darnell leaned forward and inspected the ugly contusion. Earlier a mass of dark hair had covered the geometrically shaped wound. The blood, long dried, was now crusted around the edges, appearing pinkish. He looked at Lou. “What did this?”

  “I’d say a lug-nut wrench.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” Darnell tinkered with cars a little bit, so he was familiar with the tool. “Did we locate the tool?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Did she have a chance to put up a fight?”

  “Nope. Her fingernails were pretty clean. The only soil on her hands probably came from her falling to the ground. She probably fell face forward. That would account for the bruising around the left side of her face.” Lou pointed to the purplish marks.

  “Since she was found faceup, her assailant probably flipped her onto her back. If she wasn’t knocked out at this point, she definitely saw him. Or her.”

  Darnell looked away from her face. “Would be nice if the guy left some fiber or hair on her clothes.”

  “We have folks processing the clothes. Just remember we are backed up. I know, I know. The captain is going to want us to move her ahead of the pack. I will see what we can do, but it will take some time.”

  “Thanks, Lou.”

  “Happy Easter egg hunting.”

  Yeah, right. Darnell wrinkled his nose. He had definitely had enough and exited through the swinging door. His stomach muscles quivered, but he kept walking until he reached the car. He sat behind the steering wheel, and his mind started spinning. He needed to find the murder weapon. But he had his first real lead, thanks to a tip from Candace Johnson. He hoped to thank her sometime in the future.

  Chapter Nine

  What are you doing? Candace knew she should be home. Daniel had taken the news like a trooper, but his quietness had spoken volumes. She hadn’t been prepared for Rachel’s reaction, though. “How could this happen?” The girl had welled up and screamed, “Why does God take away people I love?” Candace had reached for Rachel, but the girl had shaken her away, not wanting to be touched. Her daughter’s anger nearly knocked her over like a runaway freight train. It also scared her, because she couldn’t answer her daughter’s rage-filled questions. She had asked the same questions over and over again herself.

  “Honey, please let’s talk.” But the teen raced to her bedroom, slamming the door hard enough to rearrange the photo frames on the walls in the hallway. Candace stood helpless in the middle of the living room for the longest time. Not knowing what else to do, she tiptoed down the hallway. She grabbed Rachel’s doorknob to turn it, but it wouldn’t budge. With a clenched fist in the air, she prepared to bang on the door, but thought better of it. For the umpteenth time she would only fuss about how much she didn’t like locked doors. It might seem stupid to a teenager, but those were her rules.

  Rules didn’t matter now. This was too much of a blow for all of them.

  She’d called Beulah, asking her to come over. Despite the older woman’s protests and obvious wise advice, Candace barreled down the highway. Her friend was dead. As much as she didn’t want to, she couldn’t help but think Pamela’s death had to be the result of what her friend wouldn’t tell her the last night they’d spoken. Maybe she should have pushed harder, even convinced her to stop by the house.

  Now there was only one person who knew the answers to some of her questions. She weaved her way through late afternoon downtown traffic. With some frustrated circling, Candace found a parking space not too far from where she had to walk. She quickly fed a parking meter and hoped she could get the information she needed before the time ran down. Once inside the high-rise, she stabbed the elevator button and watched the numbers light up one at a time. The doors slid open. From memory she pressed a number. What was she going to say when she arrived on the seventh floor? She didn’t know.

  God help me.

  Candace entered the office. The woman stood to the side with a file in her hand. “Hillary?” Only four hours ago she’d talked to Hillary at the salon. Had it been that long?

  Hillary looked up from the folder. “Candace, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be home?”

&n
bsp; “I need to talk to Mitch.”

  “No.” Hillary placed the folder on her desk and marched around toward Candace. She reached out and touched her arm. “You don’t want to do that. You’re upset. Everyone is upset. Now is not the time.”

  “Hillary, I know you mean well, but I need to talk to him now.” Candace pushed past the woman, ignoring her objections. She jerked open Mitch Harris’s door.

  The man jumped up from his desk chair, his countenance a mixture of sadness and surprise. “Mrs. Johnson?”

  “I tried to stop her, sir.” Candace heard Hillary’s huffiness. She hoped she hadn’t lost a salon client, but she had to talk to this man.

  He held up his hands. “It’s okay. This is a surprise, Mrs. Johnson, but I understand your need to come here.”

  Her body shook as the office door closed with a click behind her. She stared at Mitch. All her emotions formed a lump in her throat. She could see why Pamela was attracted to the man, despite being at least fifteen years her senior. Mitch Harris was still built like a linebacker, exuding confidence and aging quite well.

  “Why don’t you have a seat? Can I get you something? I know this must be difficult for you. We’re all in shock,” he said.

  Her legs felt shaky, so she took his advice and sat in one of the big chairs across from his desk. “I don’t need anything. Thank you. What I do need to know is what happened last night.”

  “No one has answers to that now. Someone either followed Pamela or was waiting for her when she arrived home.”

  Candace gasped.

  “You didn’t know those details, did you? I’m sorry. I misunderstood your question.”

  “That’s okay. I actually meant at the art gallery reception. She called me after she left. I could tell ...” Candace struggled with her words. “Something was bothering her. I thought you might be able to tell me.”

  “I know you have come here to find answers, but what makes you think the art gallery had anything to do with it?”

  Candace scooted to the edge of her seat. “I don’t know that. Look, we met for lunch yesterday. Everything was fine. She was in good spirits. Between then and when she called last night, something rattled her. She didn’t want to talk about it until today.”

  I should have made her tell me last night, she thought.

  She swallowed. “I know you had a ... special bond with her. Are you sure she didn’t tell you something? Maybe about a case.”

  Mitch stared at her and then looked away. “I can’t tell you anything about what goes on in this law firm, Candace, but I will tell you this. As far as I could tell, she was fine last night.”

  “Are you sure? She didn’t seem worried about anything to you?” As she waited for Mitch’s response, Candace couldn’t help but ponder whether Mitch Harris was the source of Pamela’s anxiety.

  “I’m sorry.” Mitch stood. “I really wish I could help you. Let the police do their work, and you spend time with your family. I spoke to Judge Coleman an hour ago, and I understand the Colemans have already started funeral arrangements.”

  Funeral arrangements. What the judge and Desiree must be feeling now. With all that had happened, she hadn’t taken the time to call them yet. Candace’s body felt planted in the chair. She wasn’t through with her questions for Mitch. He wouldn’t dismiss her that easily. “She still loved you.”

  “What?” The man’s eyes grew wide.

  She watched his Adam’s apple bob. Surely he didn’t think that as Pamela’s best friend, she didn’t know about their relationship. “I could see it in her eyes. I told her time and time again, you would never leave your wife. But you wouldn’t leave her alone.”

  “That’s enough. I don’t know what Pamela told you, but I can safely say any pursuing was on her part. Now, I think you need to go home. You’re distraught.”

  “No, I’m not.” Candace stood. Her voice rose. “I hope for your sake, you didn’t have anything to do with Pamela’s death.”

  Anger flashed in the man’s eyes. “Now, hold on a minute. I know you want to blame someone, and I will excuse you for having the nerve to accuse me—”

  “I’m not accusing you of anything. My aunt taught me a long time ago, what someone does in the dark will come to light.”

  Chapter Ten

  From behind the huge maple desk, the secretary tracked Darnell’s approach, his black leather shoes noiseless on the plush beige carpet. Her gold-framed glasses sat almost on the tip of her nose, reminding him of a school principal from his past. The secretary’s silver-streaked hair was pinned into a bun at the top of her head. This woman’s knowledge could be valuable to him, so he needed to be nice. “May I speak to Mr. Harris?”

  “Do you have an appointment, sir?”

  Darnell pulled out his badge. “Don’t need one. Can you let Mr. Harris know Detective Jackson is here to ask him a few questions?” He flashed her a smile.

  The secretary pursed her ruby red lips and stared at him for a few seconds. Did he see a flash of panic across her face? If so, she recovered without missing a beat. “Wait one moment.” She turned her body slightly and pushed a button on the phone. “Mr. Harris? Yes, sir. I know you are busy, but ...” She glanced over her shoulder in the detective’s direction. “There is a detective here who wants to see you, sir.”

  The longer she talked, the lower her voice dropped. He had to strain to hear her.

  “Yes, sir, I will.” Hanging up the phone, the secretary turned to face him. She still wasn’t smiling.

  “Detective Jackson, please have a seat. Mr. Harris has a visitor and will be with you in about ten minutes.”

  Darnell leaned over the desk and smiled. “I will wait, but not for long. After ten minutes, I’m walking in. Understand?”

  Hillary Green, according to the nameplate on the desk, pushed her seat back with a huff and slid back to her computer.

  He took a seat across from the secretary’s desk and picked up a People magazine, not really interested in the celebrity couple on the front, whoever they were. Just needed something to keep him preoccupied as he eyed Hillary.

  She glanced at him, pushed her glasses up her face, and turned back to the computer screen. Darnell grinned. She was nervous. Good. Nervous people usually spilled information. He needed to know where the junior partner, Pamela Coleman, fit in and if one of her colleagues had a serious issue. Serious enough to kill her.

  A few minutes later Darnell tossed the People magazine he’d been pretending to read on the table. A loud voice, very feminine, erupted from behind the door. What was going on in there? He didn’t have long to wait. Mr. Harris’s door sprang open. The office occupant stormed out of the office, her eyes blazing. Surprised, Darnell stood. “Mrs. Johnson?” What in the world was she doing there? He stepped in her path.

  Stopping mid-step, Candace froze. “Detective, good. You’re here. So you have something on Mitch?” Her eyes gazed expectantly at him.

  “Mrs. Johnson ...”

  “Candace. Call me Candace.” A half smile edged across her face.

  The facial gesture threw him. She really was a pretty woman. Who should be home, mourning, not creating havoc in his investigation. “Okay, Candace. Give me a chance to question Mr. Harris. You know the rules, innocent until proven guilty.”

  “I know that.”

  “Candace, go home. Let me take care of this.” Darnell caught sight of Hillary behind Candace. The woman nodded and stepped forward.

  “Detective, let me take care of Candace. I will make sure she gets on her way okay?” Hillary said.

  He stood for a moment, watching Hillary place her arm around Candace and escort her out of the office. He certainly hoped Candace Johnson didn’t intend to be a problem. That was all he needed.

  Mitch Harris stepped from behind the desk and stuck his hand out. “Detective, to what do I owe this visit? I hope Mrs. Johnson hasn’t put any ideas in your head.”

  Interesting way to start the conversation. He wondered what Candace had sai
d to the man. Darnell grabbed the man’s hand. He stood an inch or two taller than Darnell’s six-foot frame. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Harris. I do hope we can talk about Pamela Coleman and her activities during the last week or so before her death.”

  Mitch Harris lowered his eyes and beckoned Darnell toward a plush burgundy wingback chair. “Yes. Have a seat please. This has been disturbing.”

  Darnell decided to stand for a bit. He scanned the massive office space; law books lined ceiling-height bookshelves. Fascinated by an African statue on one shelf, he walked over to touch it. “Wow, this is nice. Where is it from?”

  “Well, thank you.” Mr. Harris eyed Darnell as the detective rubbed the statue. “I’ve had the opportunity to travel a good bit. That particular piece hails from Ghana.”

  In what was kind of an unusual setup for an office, elaborate masks lined a wall opposite the bookshelves. Sometimes the wealth that people had bothered him. Not that he ever wanted to be rich. He just couldn’t get over what people considered treasures. Darnell murmured under his breath.

  “Excuse me?”

  Darnell cleared his throat. “Did you have any concerns about Pamela before her death?”

  “Pamela was like a daughter to me. You know her dad, Judge Coleman, was my mentor—”

  Darnell interrupted. “Really?”

  “I watched her grow up. Very ambitious player here in our firm. Last week she was pretty consumed by a case, more than usual, so I tried to check in with her often during the day.”

  A photo on the wall caught his attention. Judge Coleman on one side, Mitch Harris on the other. Pamela stood in the middle. “So, you are close to the Coleman family and Pamela?”

  “We travel in the same circles.”

  “I understand you and others in the firm attended an art gallery reception last night.”

  “Yes, quite a few of us attended. Grand event. The owner is a client, recently represented by Pamela. I do remember seeing Pamela looking at the paintings. I lost track of her, though. We didn’t get a chance to speak.”