by Debra Webb
“I had to check on something.”
Her voice trembled like a frightened child’s. The sound made his dick hard. Her fear was like a drug. It gave him a hell of a rush. Hell yeah. That’s what he should do. Take her in the woods somewhere and break her down like a shotgun and give it to her like she’d never had it before. Teach her who the hell was boss once and for all.
“Like what?” He stared across the darkness at his idiot wife. Seeing her eyes wasn’t necessary. He could smell her fear.
“I was just being paranoid. I couldn’t remember if I put the glasses in the right place after I cleaned up.”
He’d been a cop too long to buy that load of bull. Every nuance of her tone screamed liar, liar, liar.
“Are you lying to me?” He allowed the question to echo in the darkness for a bit. “You said you took care of everything. That was supposed to be the end of it.” He shook his head. Damn, he wanted to teach this dumb bitch a lesson. “You had one thing to do.” His mouth tightened in fury. “Just one. How could you screw up that one thing?”
She said nothing but her breathing told him she was growing more terrified by the second. She drew in short little shaky puffs of air. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help. I made a mistake.”
He was the one who’d made a mistake. “If I come home just one more time and find you unaccounted for,” he warned, “I will make sure it’s the last time. Do you understand me?”
“Yes. I swear this was the only time. I just had to—”
He thrust his fingers into her hair and jerked her face close to his. “Don’t lie to me, Sarah. Old man Haines told me you were out a second time that night. The babies’ crying woke him up. He said next time he was calling nine-one-one instead of me. Can you even fathom what would happen if he told anyone about that?”
“I needed milk,” she whimpered. “Chloe wouldn’t have had any milk for breakfast so I ran out before I went to bed.”
Did she really think she could fool him? “You just gonna keep lying?”
“I won’t do it again. I swear.”
“Good.” He twisted his fingers in her hair. She made a desperate sound. “You try to take me down with this, I will make sure they know it was you.”
She somehow managed to hold back the sobs he could feel quaking her body.
“That’s right,” he promised. “I’ll tell ’em all the things you’ve done and then you’ll wish you were the one dead instead of poor Gabrielle. Too bad your friend didn’t realize when you first met that you would be the death of her.”
Linn Park, 10:45 a.m.
Jess hated this part of her job.
The reporters were shouting questions at her before she’d gotten the cursory thank you out after giving her statement regarding the Grayson case. The whole crowd had nearly gone to sleep during the mayor’s opening remarks. Jess had spent that time mulling over what the evidence tech had found at her place—nothing. The note left on the photo had been written in blood but it wasn’t human. No hits on any of the prints yet. Officer Cook was at her place now overseeing the installation of new locks while she was stuck here doing this.
The shouts drew her attention back to the present.
No matter that she’d given a detailed, admittedly brief, statement, now she had to do the rest. Take questions.
Okay, Jess, just pick somebody.
Gina Coleman, Channel 6, stood out amid the clutch of reporters. She had been the first to find and report Jess’s abandoned car to Burnett only moments after Jess had gone missing on Friday evening. The entire concept of Lopez’s younger and seriously twisted sister sending two of her goons downtown to snatch Jess off the street scarcely a block from the police department still blew her mind. It wasn’t exactly the way Jess had planned to rescue DeShawn Simmons, but she’d managed to accomplish that goal just the same.
And though it pained her to admit it, she owed the reporter one. “Ms. Coleman, Channel Six.”
“Thank you, Chief Harris,” Coleman said as the others backed off.
How could the woman look this good on a regular basis? A white sheath gloved her thin figure and showed off her perfect tan, which in turn made an amazing backdrop for her dazzling smile. Not a single, lovely hair was out of place. Makeup was exactly right. Jess could spend days prepping and never look that good.
“You stated,” Coleman said, dragging Jess’s wayward attention back to the reason they were all gathered on this muggy August morning, “that Gabrielle Grayson’s murder is not related to the MS-13 violence we’ve seen escalate this past week. How can you be so certain of that conclusion? Are there any details about where you’re taking this investigation that you can share with us at this time? A suspect, perhaps?”
Jess smiled politely. “Let me clarify, Ms. Coleman. I did not say that Gabrielle Grayson’s murder is unequivocally not related to the MS-13 activities,” she corrected. “I stated that we found no link and, for now, we’re moving on to other scenarios.”
“Point taken,” Coleman acknowledged.
Grumbling and mumbling rolled through the crowd of newshounds and citizens curious enough to come out in the heat.
“We have gathered considerable evidence,” Jess went on, “and we do have a list of persons of interest we’re narrowing down.” Let them make what they would of that. “We will find Gabrielle’s killer.”
“Are you giving your personal guarantee?” Coleman challenged.
“What about you, sir?” Jess said to the gentleman from the Birmingham News standing behind Coleman. She’d gotten her question. Time to move on.
Before the reporter could ask his question an African American man pushed through the gaggle of reporters. “What about me?” he demanded. “Are you going to call on white reporters all morning?”
More of that grumbling churned around the crowd of onlookers. Just what she needed at her first open press conference. Someone drawing the race card.
“I’m new here, sir,” Jess acquiesced. “I didn’t recognize your affiliate, but, please, go ahead with your question.”
“No one in the BPD,” he said, his tone mildly accusing, “ever explained why it took almost seventy-two hours to start investigating DeShawn Simmons’s case. Or why police protection was removed from his friend, Jerome Frazier, ensuring he lost his life to the devils who call themselves the MS-13!”
A crowd of angry folks who apparently wanted answers to those same questions seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere at once. The small group of reporters and curiosity seekers were suddenly flooded with a mob of people who had no real interest in the life or death of Gabrielle Grayson. Uniforms filtered into the throng but they were vastly outnumbered.
This just got better and better. Jess moistened her lips and braced for whatever came next.
The man who had asked the questions shouted over the rumbling. “Do you have any answers, Deputy Chief Harris?”
Burnett moved up next to her and whispered for her ears only, “Let’s get you out of here.”
Jess ignored him. “Yes, sir. I have answers.” She surveyed the disgruntled crowd of new arrivals. “If anyone is interested in listening. Y’all need to settle down so no one gets the wrong impression of why you’re here. You’re here,” she suggested, “because you want justice. You want to feel safe in your own homes and on the streets of your city.”
The crowd relaxed a bit. “As to your first question, sir,” Jess began, “there was a communication drop between the North Precinct and my office, which created the delay you spoke of. The moment we were made aware of DeShawn’s case, we launched an investigation that ultimately saved his life.”
Several in the crowd started chanting Jerome’s name. The man asking the questions held up his hands until they quieted. Then he repeated his other question. “Why was police protection dropped for Jerome?”
Burnett’s hand settled at the small of her back. She understood the signal. Don’t answer. Walk away.
“That was my decision, sir,�
�� she announced. “And mine alone.” Jess rode out the angry cries of outrage. Her heart stepped up its pace. This could get ugly, but the man had asked her a question and there was no need to give him anything less than the truth. Jerome Frazier deserved no less.
The man, who she had decided was about mid-sixties, and definitely the leader of this citizen group, raised his hands again. Silence fell over the park. “Will you explain to us why you did this?”
“I will.” Knots of regret twisted in her belly. “I dismissed his surveillance because he asked me to. Jerome—”
The crowd hurled accusations at her for five or six seconds, until their leader raised his hands again.
Jess cleared her throat. “As soon as I became aware of how close DeShawn and Jerome were and the possibility that he might have some knowledge of certain things that could endanger him, I put him under protective surveillance. Jerome confronted me about this and demanded that I cancel the surveillance because he feared that being followed by a cop was going to make a target out of him far more so than anything he knew. I honored his request, sir. I wish I could have made a different decision but I had no choice but to do as he asked under the circumstances.”
More of those vicious remarks were shouted at her. A chant calling for equal treatment started out with one voice then grew into a roar. Jess focused on keeping her respiration steady and her attention on the crowd. Burnett tugged at her arm. She wanted to say something more… but what? That the law didn’t always make their job easy? Or that a passionate young man had made a mistake that almost cost him his life and did cost his best friend his life?
As if her internal struggle had summoned him, DeShawn Simmons elbowed his way through the crowd. He stared at Jess for a moment and a certainty passed between them. He broke free of the crowd and came to stand beside her.
Silence fell over those assembled.
DeShawn pointed at her. “This lady saved my life.” He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself before going on. “We were both hostages. I was one”—he poked his chest with his thumb—“because I was a fool. Chief Harris was one because she was trying to save me. She had a chance to get away before we were both almost killed. But she didn’t. Instead, she told me to run… to save myself. She was willing to sacrifice herself for me. A kid she had never even met before that night.” He shook his head. “Whatever beef you got, it’s not with this lady.”
He hugged Jess and that was just about her undoing.
Silence fell over the crowd again and Jess turned to see what was going on.
Burnett had walked into the crowd and offered his hand to the man who had been asking all the questions.
Cameras were snapping and rolling. What was this?
“Mr. Jones, you are welcome in my office any time you have questions or would like to offer any suggestions for how I might better serve our entire community.”
Several of the younger, angrier men huddled around Burnett and started making demands of their own. Jess’s pulse reacted. Uniforms pushed forward. This could turn into serious trouble. What the hell was Burnett doing?
Jones held up a hand. “I believe it’s time we allowed the newer blood in the police department to fight our battle with their badges rather than our brothers fighting with their blood in the streets. We”—he surveyed the crowd that had arrived with him—“would be best served to take our efforts back to our neighborhoods and our churches and expend them there.” His gaze settled on Burnett. “We’ve all learned a great lesson these last weeks.”
Burnett nodded. “Yes, sir, we have. The Birmingham Police Department protects and serves all our citizens. We won’t be repeating the past under my watch.”
While the crowd dispersed and the reporters reluctantly followed, Jess watched Burnett and this Mr. Jones shake hands again. She had to hand it to Burnett. He had turned into quite the man on the street. Mayor Pratt had better watch his back.
“I gotta go, Chief Harris,” DeShawn said. “If my grandmamma sees me on the news, she’ll skin my hide.”
“Thank you, DeShawn.” Jess gave him another hug. “For coming to my rescue this time.”
“Chief Harris.”
She turned toward Burnett’s voice. He and the man, Mr. Jones, were striding toward her.
“This is Wendell Jones,” Burnett told her. “He’s the current president of the Black Brotherhood.”
“Mr. Jones.” Jess offered her hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
He gave her hand a firm shake. “I’ve been working with Chief Black and Captain Allen. It seems my followers have been blamed for certain black on brown activities that we absolutely did not do and do not condone. Despite what you saw here this morning, we are a peaceful group. Fierce but peaceful.”
Fierce was a good description. “With the Grayson investigation, I’m afraid I’m a little behind on where we are with the Lopez situation. But I’m very pleased our Gang Task Force is seeing results and working closely with folks like you to sort out the needs of the community.”
“It is my singular goal to see that our community leaders become completely color-blind,” Jones said. “I’ve been watching you. Your briefing this morning allowed the opportunity for my people to see you and our good chief of police say those things with such heartfelt determination. We’ve had too many broken promises in the past, Chief Harris.”
So the angry crowd was a setup. Judging by his reaction, Jess was confident Burnett had been as in the dark about it as she was. “Mr. Jones, I’d like to make you a proposition.”
The older man smiled. “It’s been a while, but I think I can handle whatever you throw my way, young lady.”
A sense of humor, too. “I am in charge of the BPD’s new Special Problems Unit.” She wished she had a proper card to give him. “I’d like to invite you to breakfast the first Monday of each month so that we might discuss any issues you feel need to be hashed out.”
“I’ll join you,” Burnett offered, “when possible.”
Jones shook Jess’s hand again. “I look forward to the opportunity, Chief Harris.”
Jess realized something very important about herself at that moment. “I grew up in Birmingham, Mr. Jones. I’ve been gone for more than twenty years, but now I’m back and I’m here to move forward.”
Whatever enemies she’d made here in the past or in the last three weeks, Jess wasn’t afraid to face a single one of them. Whatever happened with her and Burnett, she wasn’t running away. She might not have a long-term relationship or children to show for her forty-two years on this earth but she had other assets, like the ability to ferret out evil. Birmingham needed her. Her sister needed her. Maybe even Burnett needed her.
Jess was here to stay. That was what she needed.
Noon
After surviving her first official BPD press conference, Jess was starved but there was no time for lunch. Officer Cook had kindly thought to pick up a little something for the crew. Burgers and colas in the office wasn’t Jess’s favorite kind of lunch but it beat nothing.
Harper was at the case board adding new developments. These kinds of brainstorming sessions were an important part of any investigation.
“There were four distinct sets of prints on the baby bottle. Our victim’s, the mother. And the baby’s.” He scrawled this information on the white board. “And two others we haven’t identified.”
“Why do most men have such lousy penmanship?” Lori asked.
Jess almost choked on her Pepsi.
Harper shot both of them a look over one broad shoulder.
“Is that harassment?” Officer Cook rallied to the defense of the males in the room.
“No, it is not,” Jess said for the record. “It’s merely a statement of fact. Carry on, Sergeant.”
Lori smirked.
“One set is clearly a child’s, but not the baby’s.”
The little boy next door, Devon Chambers, came immediately to mind. “We need to ask Lieutenant Grayson if the Chambers boy
who lives next door ever came over to play or visit. If he visited earlier on Sunday, the prints might be his.” The more accurately they could pinpoint who had access to the home in the hours before Gabrielle’s murder, the better the understanding of the events leading up to her death.
Lori stood and strolled over to the board. She took the dry erase marker from Harper. He straightened his tie and went back to his desk.
“Dr. Baron has determined,” Lori began, “that cause of death was manual asphyxiation. Since some results haven’t come back yet, the official autopsy report won’t be available for a few more days. But one screening has shown that the victim had at least one glass of wine and either consumed or was administered a rather large dose of OC, OxyContin. According to her husband and her medical records, which I was able to have a look at this morning, Gabrielle was not on any prescription medications. He wasn’t aware of her taking anything beyond an Aleve for the occasional headache. And, to his knowledge, she had not consumed any wine when he visited around eight that evening.”
“The OC explains the lack of defense wounds,” Harper noted. “With a heavy dose like that, if she wasn’t a regular user, she was probably unconscious.”
Lori jotted down his comment. “And it suggests intent on the part of the perp. He didn’t drug the vic for nothing. He had a goal. But was it murder?”
“If murder was his intent,” Jess argued, “why the disorganized methods? What was the motive? Did Gabrielle have something he wanted? Did she make him angry? Did he kill her because he hated her or was this an unplanned act of rage?”
Lori jotted down jealousy and rage as possible motives.
Harper pointed out, “This new development confirms we’re not dealing with a gang hit.”
