Chapter Six
The alarm blared loudly at seven o’clock sharp. Jessie buried her head in her pillow, a deep moan of exhaustion rising from her chest. A mere two hours of sleep left her mind clouded in fog and her body aching with fatigue. A long hot shower brought some relief, although not nearly enough.
Now she sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee while staring at her half-eaten cup of plain yogurt. Let’s face it, there was nothing enticing about its taste. In an attempt at improving her eating habits, she had bought a half dozen of them and now, every time she opened the refrigerator door, they sat there, all nicely lined up in a row, reigniting the old guilt. Eventually she would eat them all, maybe even drop in some fresh fruit to improve their flavor.
Her thoughts went back to Lilly. Did she sleep? No doubt she would ask for her mom this morning. How does one tell a child she would never see her mother again without tearing her heart apart?
She sighed deeply, drank the rest of her coffee, and threw away the remains of the yogurt.
It was time to go.
In the lobby of the office building, she paused briefly before pushing the button to summon the elevator. She didn’t like them, avoided them as much as possible. However, today, she was just too tired to attempt the stairs. Stepping off on the eighth floor, she spotted Lonnie McKenzie standing near his desk. He was talking to Sandy Herzog, the lifestyle editor and her former boss. Sandy had hired her at the newspaper fresh out of college, and although their relationship had not been a close one, she was more than supportive when Jessie applied for her new position.
But right now, Jessie wasn’t willing to share the previous night’s events with her. She stopped short of the glass door leading into the office.
Lonnie noticed her hesitation, and broke off his conversation with Sandy. He came out to meet her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning in concern.
Tears welled in her eyes as she told him about the shooting, the car wreck and Lilly. Lonnie shook his head. “This is awful, Jess. She lost her mom, and her father is in jail. What will happen to her?”
“Right now she’s in a foster home. The social worker assured me she would be well taken care of. This has been on my mind all morning, Lonnie. I want to go see her father, talk to him. I have to make sure there’s somebody out there to take care of her.”
“And if there isn’t?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Like you always tell me: one thing at a time, right?”
He motioned to her. “Come here.”
Jessie stepped closer and he folded her in his arms and held her tight. “You’re such a good soul.”
Then he gently pulled her away and looked into her eyes. “If there is a way to help this little girl, you will find it. I’m sure of it. God only knows how persistent you can be. And if you need me, I’m right here.”
His words brought a smile to her face. “Thanks, Lonnie. Your support means a lot.”
She smiled, watching him saunter back to his desk. Lonnie had been an entertainment reporter at the Broward News for quite some time when Jessie was first hired.
From the very first moment they met, he made her feel at ease, and better yet, knew how to make her laugh. At thirty-eight, he was short, a few pounds overweight, with blond curly hair, dark blue eyes, and an easy smile. He was also gay, and not afraid to let anyone know.
Feeling somewhat better, she took the stairs down to her floor to find her boss, Art Brown. He was in the break room, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Jessie stood behind him, looking over his shoulder, while he added several heaping spoons of sugar. He turned to look at her. “What is it?” he barked.
She shook her head. “No wonder you’re borderline diabetic. Have you considered cutting back on that stuff?”
“None of your business,” he said gruffly, and squeezed past her, carrying his mug.
With bushy eye brows, a full head of white hair, a wide girth, and no tolerance for nonsense, Art gave the impression of a grumpy old man. Some of his reporters were quite intimidated by him. Jessie, on the other hand, knew him well enough to realize he was really a softie at heart.
She followed him, noticing his pronounced limp. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
He ignored her question and glanced at her over his shoulder. “What do you want?”
She made a face. “Geez, most men don’t mind when I follow them.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “I mind because I know you’re up to something, and I seriously doubt I’ll like it.”
They went into his office, walled off by glass on all sides and in full view of every desk on the floor. Everyone referred to it as the fish bowl. “All right, let’s have it,” he sighed. Lowering himself into his seat, he winced in pain.
Without waiting for an invitation, Jessie plopped down into the chair across from his desk. “Really, Art, you don’t look so good. What’s wrong?”
“Why do you have to be so damn nosy?” he complained.
“I’m a reporter, it’s my job. Besides, I care about you whether you like it or not.”
His demeanor softened somewhat, and he shrugged. “Yeah, well, it’s old age. Arthritis. Gotta learn to live with it. You’re young. You’ll find out someday.”
“Grammy Milner used a menthol salve for aches and pains. As a matter of fact, she used it for just about everything. She swore by it.”
He waved it away, “Yeah, yeah, everybody has a solution, and none of them work. Tell me what you want.”
She told him about the car chase, the shooting and her involvement.
“So where is this going?” he asked when she finished.
“I want to get an interview with Dariel Thomas at the jail.”
Art snorted. “How the hell you gonna do that?”
“I don’t know yet. I want to talk to him about his daughter Lilly. Also to find out why someone would want to kill his wife.”
“Well, good luck. If you manage that, we’ll have a story. So get busy.”
Jessie was smiling when she left his office. A couple of years earlier, he had pushed hard to get her the investigative slot despite the paper’s efforts to cut back drastically. Newspapers were bleeding money, and the Broward News was no exception. Although the additional digital format gave them more readership, it was an uphill fight for survival in this new world. Nonetheless, Art came through for her.
Back at her desk, Jessie called Sam Perrone. The detective sounded pleased to hear from her. “Jessie. What’s going on?”
She filled him in on the events of the previous night and told him about Lilly.
“Yeah, I heard about it this morning. I didn’t know you were the one who called it in. It’s too bad about Mandy Thomas and the little girl. But if you’re writing an article about it, you’re better off talking to Boyd. He’ll have all the details.”
“Sam, this isn’t directly about the story, so I wonder if you could help me.”
“What do you need?”
“Is there any way I can get in to see Dariel Thomas?” she asked tentatively.
“Mm…I don’t know if it’s possible. Granting interviews with prisoners isn’t exactly on top of a warden’s list.”
“Sam, I hate asking you for favors, but this is really important to me. This little girl just lost her mom. Talking to her father might give me some insight on what I can do to help her.”
Perrone paused for a moment. “Sure, Jessie, I’ll check it out for you.”
It was mid-morning when he called her back.
“Sorry about the wait. Boyd just came in a little while ago. He stopped by the jail earlier to see Thomas, told him about his wife’s death. According to him, the man really took it hard. He insisted he had no idea who would want to kill her. Swears he always works alone. His criminal record seems to confirm that, leaving out any potential accomplices. On Monday, airport security identified him as the man who stole a briefcase from a passenger who collapsed and died at the airpo
rt.”
“I know. Boyd told me,” Jessie said.
“This whole business is fishy. A fingerprint search for the dead man came up with an Anton Adler, a German national with an arrest in New York for assault three years ago. The charges were dropped when the victim withdrew her complaint. According to the German police, he made frequent trips to the Middle East where he was observed having contact with suspected terrorists. This time he was travelling with a fake U.S. passport under the name of Charles Brent, a man long deceased. They ran down the address. It led them to an empty lot in Kansas City. There’s a good possibility he was a drug courier.”
Jessie nodded. “So maybe he had associates who were desperate to get back this briefcase, and with Thomas tucked away in jail, they decided to go after his wife.”
Perrone shrugged. “Could be. So far, Thomas is not talking, and a search at his house didn’t turn up anything.”
“Did you find out if I can see him? Maybe he will talk to me.”
“I’m waiting for a call back from the warden. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear from him,” Perrone said.
Fifteen minutes later he rang her back. “Thomas is detained at the Pompano Facility.” He gave her the address. “The captain who’s in charge of the prison is an old acquaintance. He agreed to your visit. If you have any problems just tell them to call me.”
“Sam, what are his charges?”
“Hang on a minute I’ll check.” She heard him typing. “It’s for violation of his probation terms.”
“He was on probation?” Jessie asked.
“Yep. Just got out of jail six weeks ago. Then, of course, they will be charging him for the theft at the airport,” Perrone added.
“What was his last conviction?”
The typing resumed. “Petty larceny. You know, shoplifting, purse snatching, etc. The man just can’t clean up his act. Not only that, he keeps getting caught.”
Jessie sighed. “Poor Lilly.”
“Yeah… I don’t think he’ll get off easy this time around.”
“How long will he be incarcerated?” Jessie asked.
“At least long enough to serve out his prior sentence.”
“How long is that?” she asked anxiously.
“It doesn’t look good for him, Jessie. Three to five years.”
“Okay, thanks, Sam. I’ll let you know if he decides to talk to me.”
“Yeah, see if you can get him to tell you what he did with that damn briefcase,” he said.
“Will do.”
Chapter Seven
After punching the address into her GPS, Jessie hopped onto I-95 Northbound, got off at Hammondville Road, and turned on Twenty Seventh Avenue. Twenty minutes later she was at the jail. After she sat waiting in a dingy gray room for a short while, a glum-faced guard led her down a narrow corridor, past two thick metal doors with coded keypads, before entering another drab room painted a darker shade of gray. He pointed to a metal table in the middle of the room. It was bolted to the floor. Two gray plastic chairs sat across from each other. He told her to take a seat and wait for Thomas to be brought in. Then he left, closing the door behind him. It made an odd clicking sound and Jessie wondered if he had locked her in. Twenty minutes later she was getting rather impatient, when a door opened on the opposite wall. Wearing prison garb two sizes too big, a small framed man shuffled in, with long straggly blond hair clinging to his scalp. He stopped and gave Jessie a confused look. The guard behind him pushed him forward.
As he approached the table, Dariel’s pant legs dragged on the floor with an odd swishing sound. The guard shoved him down into the chair across the table from Jessie, then went to stand against the wall, his arms folded in front of him, his face expressionless. Dariel slumped in his seat, eyeing her through red-rimmed eyes.
Jessie smiled at him. “Hi Dariel, my name is Jessie Milner. I’m a reporter for the Broward News.”
“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he muttered in a voice so soft she could hardly hear him.
“I’m sorry about your wife Mandy.”
He glanced away. “I already know about Mandy. The cops told me.”
“Dariel, I was there. Last night, when it happened—”
He jerked his head back, his eyes suddenly widening.
“You were there? Do you know who did it? Who killed my Mandy?”
Jessie shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I live nearby and when I heard the shots, I ran outside. I only got a glimpse at the other car before it took off.”
He muffled a sob and lowered his head to his chest, limp hair spilling over his pallid face. Jessie wanted to reach out and hold his hands, bring him some comfort. She glanced over at the guard. He was glaring at her and she kept her hands in front of her.
“Dariel, I got to meet your little girl, Lilly.”
He looked up at her, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You know my Lilly? Is she okay?”
She smiled. “She’s fine, Dariel.”
His eyes glistened with tears. “They said she was in a foster home now.”
Jessie nodded. “For the time being. Hopefully it won’t be for long. She’s a wonderful little girl.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips. “I know. She’s my Bunny.”
“Dariel, do you have any family, anyone close to you who can take care of Lilly until you are released?”
He hesitated, and Jessie sighed in frustration. “If there is someone, don’t you think it would be better for her than a foster home?”
He shook his head. “We don’t have anybody, except for my sister Emily. We haven’t been in touch, though, for a long time. Last we talked, she lived in Minnesota.”
“Can you contact her?” Jessie asked.
“I don’t know. I lost her number.”
Jessie took out her notebook and a pen. “What’s her name?”
“Emily Newhart. Her husband Martin, he doesn’t like me very much. Back when I first was arrested, he didn’t want her talking to me anymore. I can’t really blame him. He wanted Emily to have a better life. Our family… well, we weren’t like a normal family, so he moved her away as far as he could from us. They have a boy, Benjamin. He’s a lot older than Lilly. He’s probably thirteen now. My sister never even met Mandy or Lilly”—he started crying again—“and now Mandy is dead. Emily will never get to know her, to know what a good person she was.”
Jessie waited a few minutes, giving him time to compose himself. “Do you remember the town Emily lives in?” she asked softly.
He frowned, thinking about it. “I think it was Pine Island. Yeah, that’s what it was, because at the time she told me, we were living in an apartment on Pine Island Road in Sunrise. Emily said it’s kind of a small town.” He leaned forward and gave her a weak smile. “Only one stoplight. Can you imagine? Their place is just outside the town, a farm, with a big house, cows and chickens. You know, like a real country place.”
“Okay, I’ll find her,” Jessie assured him.
His eyes took on a new intensity. “I have to see Lilly. Will you please bring my little girl to see me?” he implored.
“I don’t know if I can, Dariel.”
He glanced over at the guard, making sure he was out of earshot. “I can pay you. I have lots of money,” he whispered.
Jessie frowned. “Where did you get it?”
He hesitated then glanced away.
“Dariel, look at me.”
She held his eyes across the table. “You have to level with me. The cops are really eager to get their hands on that briefcase you stole at the airport. They have a video. So there’s no denying you took it. Is that where your money came from?”
He didn’t answer. Jessie leaned forward, speaking softly. “Listen to me. If you don’t cooperate, they will charge you. But if you turn the briefcase over to them, they might be willing to show some leniency. Think about it. Lilly needs you.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have it anymore.”
“What? The b
riefcase? What did you do with it?”
He shrugged. “I threw it away.”
“And what was inside, Dariel?”
He sighed. “Did the cops say they’ll let me go if I give them the stuff from the briefcase?”
“No, not exactly. Here is what I think. Somehow they’re very concerned about the man who died at the airport. He seems to be their main focus, not you. This is why it may be your chance to get out of here and be with Lilly.”
He covered his face with both hands.
“Dariel, come on,” Jessie insisted.
“Maybe that man killed Mandy,” he said, his voice muffled.
Jessie shook her head. “Impossible, he died from a heart attack at the airport.”
Dariel dropped his hands and shook his head irritably. “No, not him! The other guy. As soon as I grabbed the briefcase, he was on my tail.”
“There was someone else with him at the airport?”
“Yeah. He chased me all the way into the parking garage before I ditched him.”
“So you had the impression they were together?”
Dariel shrugged. “I don’t know. When the briefcase guy dropped dead, everybody else stood staring at him. Not this guy. He was on me right away. And the way he did it, very quiet like, to me it meant he had no intention on drawing attention.”
“Can you describe him?”
“Dark hair, dark skin.”
“Black?” Jessie asked.
He shook his head. “No, no, Arab or Spanish maybe.”
“Dariel, what was in the briefcase?”
He shifted in his seat. Frustrated, she pounded her fist on the table. Dariel reared back in the chair. The guard took a step forward. “If you do this again, this visit is over,” he said glaring at her.
Diamond Lilly Page 5
