Alibi II (20 page)

D
iana woke up unable to move, her body frozen, her brain slowly transmitting images. The last thing she remembered was going to the bank, then driving. She looked around the hotel room and remembered him, forcing her and pointing a gun at her head.

Oh, God, if Webster ever finds out, please, God, just let this be over, just let this all be over.
Diana could hardly move. Her body lay still as she tried to lift herself, too weak to hold herself up. She lay back down as thoughts of her life flashed before her. Thoughts of her husband, Webster, and the love they shared made her ball up into a fetal shape and wish she was never born.
How could this be happening to me? How does he know who I am?
She thought back to the day that Webster proposed. He had called suddenly, as if he was prepared to stop time. He told her to be ready, and he picked her up from a job she had gotten at a social services clinic after graduating from Arizona State.

“Where are we going?” she asked, not caring if he took her to the end of earth or Satan’s dungeon. Wherever he wanted to be with her, she would go. She had fallen in love with Webster and would do anything for him.

Only Webster would have a helicopter waiting for them, and just like that, he whisked her away in the sky, flew her above Phoenix as a helicopter flew by them and began to write in the sky, “I love you, Diana, will you marry me?” for all of Phoenix and Scottsdale to see. She looked out the window of the helicopter and there in big fluffy clouds she read her proposal in the sky.

“Yes, Webster, yes, I’ll marry you,” she said as she hugged him tightly. Never having any second thoughts, the two of them had a small wedding, with her college friend Paige serving as her bridesmaid, and Webster’s closest friend from high school serving as his best man.

The ceremony was held in Vegas at the Bellagio in 1992. They had been married for the past fourteen years and still, to this day, Diana loved Webster just as she had when they were college sweethearts. And even though they never had children, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t that they didn’t want children, they tried many times, and each and every time, Diana lost the baby due to miscarriage. They realized that children were out of the question after Diana suffered three miscarriages in a row.

“It’s okay, we don’t need children to be a family, Diana. You are all the family I will ever need,” whispered Webster in Diana’s ear as he walked her to the front door of their beautiful home facing Camelback Mountain.

“I love you, Webster, you are the best husband in the whole world.” Diana smiled as he held her tightly.

“I love you, too,” he whispered back to her. “And just to show you how much I love you, I got you something,” he said, hoping the news of a gift would cheer her spirit.

“What? Please tell me, what is it?” she begged to know, not wanting for anything.

“Look outside,” said Webster, pointing to the newborn colt grazing in the backyard.

“Webster, it’s a horse,” she said confusedly.

“Not just a horse, a stallion, a true Thoroughbred, and he’s yours, all yours. You can raise him, and race him, if you like.” Webster smiled, hoping that she would approve, and she did, she most certainly did.

The colt was the gift of life from her husband, letting her know that everything would be okay, even though she had lost their third baby and the doctors said she would never carry or possibly even conceive again, and she never did. But having no children didn’t change the love, it changed nothing, only made them closer, stronger, and even more a family, because each was all the other had in the world.

Oh, my God, how long have I been here?
she thought to herself as she looked around the hotel room. The shades were drawn and the room was dark. She rolled over in the bed, her body feeling heavy, her head pounding, and her vision a tad blurry.

Webster! I have to hurry home, I have to go.
She tried to lift her body but was unable to, and not only did a sudden feeling of nausea come over her, but the room started spinning out of control, and she felt as if she was suffering from a horrific case of vertigo. Her balance, her vision, her splitting head, and her nausea consumed her.
If only I could throw up and make it all go away,
she thought, wishing she could erase whatever drug was in her system.
Please, God, just let me get home, just let me get home.

Her ravaged body smelled of sex and the sex of another man consumed even herself.
I can’t go home like this. Look at me.
She sat on the edge of the bed, facing an oblong mirror above a desk and for a split second, she didn’t even recognize herself. Her makeup was worn and stained, her hair wild and matted, her facial muscles still twisted from the drug. Her sensory and motor skills were turned off, completely. She moved like a drunk on Vicodin.
Get it together. Come on, let’s get out of here,
she told herself, wiping her eyes as she walked, using the wall for support, into the bathroom. She clicked on the light, “Oh, no,” she said, blinded by the light, before clicking the switch downward and turning the lights off.

Her body somewhat sore, she sat on the edge of the toilet seat and turned on the shower. Then, carefully, she stepped into the tub, holding on to the wall, careful not to slip and fall. Diana moved as close to the shower of water as she could, resting her body against the tiled wall. The water beat down on her body and rolled down the drain along with all the evidence of the nightmare she had encountered.

She tried to remember what day she had come to the hotel and what day it could be, but she couldn’t. All she did know was that Webster was sure to be looking for her, probably calling the police and filing a missing persons report by now.
How the hell am I going to drive?
Where there is a will there is a way, and if one person could find the will to get herself home, safe and sound, it would be Diana.

Nard sat in his bedroom on the floor, his television playing the Channel 3
Eyewitness News
. Once again, he had collected a few magazines and newspapers and was going through them, cutting and clipping what he needed.

“Nard, what the hell are you doing? Look at this mess,” said Beverly, sounding as if he were thirteen instead of forty-two. I know you don’t think I’m cleaning this up. I’m not,” Beverly said heatedly.

“I got it, I got it, no worries,” he said, rehashing slang he had picked up from his young guns that ran the block for Liddles.

“Yeah, I’ma be worried all right, worried about you running around the way you do.”

“Relax, everything is fine. You don’t need to worry about me, I’m building my house right now, Liddles got the workers, the materials, and once it’s fixed up, you can come and visit me, but you don’t have to worry. I’m okay,” said Nard, shaking his head. “I’m gonna be okay.”

“All right, well, hurry up. I need your help ’cause I had to send Tyrone to the liquor store. Everybody is gonna be here any minute now for Thanksgiving dinner. Everybody’s coming ’cause it’s your first holiday back home. Rev and Maeleen, Donna and her new boyfriend, Carl, Mia and Dayanna, and I even invited Chris. You know, your cousin stopped getting high and is working for a meat distributor down in South Philly. Who would have ever thought he would get himself together? It should be a real nice holiday, and the best part is you’re home, baby, after all these years, my baby is home.”

Beverly bent down, held Nard’s face, and kissed his forehead.

“That food sure does smell good.”

“You know I makes it do what it do, baby,” she teased, sounding like Jamie Foxx as she closed the door behind her.

Diana, with nothing but a prayer on her back, opened the door to the hotel room. A Spanish woman was cleaning the room next door.

“Buenos días, Señora.”

“Buenos días,”
she responded.

Diana slipped out of the Sleep Inn and slowly walked over to her car, parked next to the large green Dumpster. The key was in her pocketbook, which she fumbled after, putting on a pair of oversized sunglasses to hide from the light. Once inside the car she realized the day of the week and how long she had been missing. Today would be the second day in a row she had not been home. Four o’clock this afternoon would make a complete forty-eight hours. She looked at the time. It was eleven-thirty-three in the morning.

Maybe had she turned on the news before she left the hotel, or even the car radio, she would have heard the special news bulletin or seen her face spread all over the television screen. But she hadn’t. Diana Poitier Praeliou was the headline story for every news station, including CNN.

Webster Praeliou had been shot and killed while having sex with an unidentified woman. His penis was still inside the woman’s vagina at the time the bodies were found. The police reported both Webster Praeliou and the unidentified woman were found with two gunshot wounds to the head.

The gun used in the murder was found outside in a Dumpster behind the hotel of the crime scene. The police would later identify the woman as Paige Hunter, Diana’s best friend and college roommate. Paige and Webster had been having an affair for the past nine months.

It turned out that Webster had never left town, nor did he plan to. His conference in Miami had actually been postponed, but he failed to mention that. Instead, he pretended to be traveling. He packed a carry-on bag and went twenty minutes away from his home to downtown Phoenix, where he checked in to a hotel with Paige.

After housekeeping found the bodies, the hotel manager phoned 911. Of course, the police were on the scene within seconds, combing the hotel and surrounding area looking for clues, and they found the gun immediately. Within a matter of hours, forensics came back with fingerprints on the gun belonging to none other than Diana Praeliou, Webster’s wife. An arrest warrant for Diana was issued, and an all-points bulletin alert was sent out as well.

As Diana turned the corner that led to her block, on Camelback Mountain, she could see the red and blue lights atop a crowd of police cars that were surrounding her home.

Jesus, Webster, you had to file a missing persons report, didn’t you? I knew he’d do this.
Diana knew her husband all too well, and there was no way she could be missing without his calling in the army and the national guard.

She parked her car down the street in the closest available parking space, not wanting to intrude on all the police vehicles and the commotion on her lawn. She locked her car and walked up the block to the front of the house.

“Sorry, ma’am, no one allowed except for authorized personnel,” said an officer.

“I live here…what’s going on?”

“Are you Diana Praeliou?”

“Yes, I am Diana Praeliou. This is my house and I live here. Did my husband call you?”

“Diana Praeliou, you’re under arrest. Please turn around and place your hands behind your back,” the officer said as he stepped back from her and drew his automatic, pointing it at her face.

“Arrest for what?”

“For the murder of Webster Praeliou and Paige Hunter,” said the officer as he manhandled Diana, taking her into custody as the other officers ran over to where the arrest was being made on her front lawn.

“Are you joking? You must be mistaken,” she said matter-of-factly. She felt her world begin to shatter as the officer handcuffed her, tears running down her cheeks as thoughts of her husband, Webster, being murdered crippled her into a mini-meltdown.

“No,” she screamed. “No, not Webster. No, please, God, no.”

L
ieutenant Delgado was parked outside Graterford Prison waiting for his brother Sammy to come walking through the gates. Tommy had been sitting there since six-thirty. He could only imagine spending nine years behind bars, only to be released and find no one waiting for you. He wanted to be there. They started releases as early as five-thirty, so he could walk out the door at any moment. It had been a long time since he had seen his kid brother—nineteen years, five months, and three days to be exact. Nineteen years is a long time, but then again, he had served his time straight for robbing a Brinks truck. He refused parole. He could have come home after serving thirteen years, but the family didn’t want the cops sniffing around, so Tommy wrote him and told him to stay inside, and he did, for another six years. No one visited, least of all Tommy. God forbid someone that he had arrested see him in the visiting room. That would only have made life harder for Sammy. Not that life was hard. Sammy was making more money on the inside than one could have imagined.

Tommy looked at the reflection of himself in the mirror. He had done a lot, seen a lot, and lived a lot of lives. He turned his face to the side. The lines of age, frustration, and stress had begun to set in.
Shit, I’ll be fifty in two more weeks. I look good, though, I’m still here, God bless the dead.

He turned his face to the other side and stroked his jaw. He needed a shave; he could feel the stubble. He smiled at himself.
You’ve had a great life, Tommy Delgado, a great life.
And he had, because Tommy had family, a network unlike any other. It crossed states, and his family was tied into other families. Knowing that there was a sea of men ready to stand strong and battle for any cause made life’s turbulent ups and downs worth it. Plus, his family had honor, and that was something that would last forever and stays with you always, and he had honor among men.

“Whadda ya doing?” asked a gray-haired, rail-thin Sammy, puffing on a Newport as he leaned down and looked at his brother admiring himself in the mirror. “You think you’re sexy? Jesus Christ, open the door, Mr. America?” he joked.

“Sammy, oh, my God, look at you.” Tommy smiled, happy to see his kid brother, a mirror image of himself. He opened the driver’s-side car door and got out of the car, making his way around the back of the car to hug his brother. “Jesus Christ, Sammy, look at your hair, it’s so gray.”

“Do you believe this shit?” he said, as if he couldn’t stand it. “I gotta get my hair done,” he said, hugging his brother.

“You sound like a woman,” joked Tommy.

“You look like one,” joked Sammy back.

“It’s good to see you,” said Tommy, smiling.

“It’s good to see you, too.” Sammy smiled, “Where’s that FBI ex-wife of yours?” he said, looking all around as if the police were scoping him out.

“Please don’t say her fucking name, it’s like saying beetle juice. This bitch used to come with her unit, Jesus Christ,” said Tommy opening his door, “and the fucking ATF, DEA, and every other agency,” he continued, sitting behind the wheel as Sammy closed his door, “this psychotic bitch could think of just to get her child support or a document signed. I don’t know where she is and I don’t want to know. She doesn’t bother me anymore and I don’t bother her. I think we have a mutual hate relationship, built on mutual disrespect and disregard for one another, and it works, you know?”

“No, I really don’t know,” said Sammy, still a tad upset with Viv for arresting him. But had his brother not been such a shithead to her, she probably would have let him go. Sammy was glad he didn’t have the women problems Tommy always had. He had married his childhood sweetheart and they were still together. Of course, Sammy did what he wanted to throughout his life, but he always loved Marie, and he always took care of her. What was Marie going to do? She had had five babies within eight years, locking herself to him for the rest of their lives. Right now, she was waiting for him at their house, with their children and grandchildren. And later tonight at the Donatella Lounge on the corner of Ninth and Snyder, they would join everyone from the family to celebrate Sammy’s homecoming.

Nothing but the finest meats, lobsters, and champagne was being sent in for Sammy, and right now everyone who mattered in South Philly was preparing for his homecoming. It would be a night that no one would ever forget. Since Tommy was an officer of the law, he would have to sit that party out. Tommy had big plans, and someday he would be the chief of police, and he would do whatever it took to make that happen. And it would, one day, of course. But there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Sammy and nothing he wouldn’t do to protect the family.

“I need you to take me to the house on Livezly Lane. Remember the house?” asked Sammy.

“Yeah,” said Tommy, looking quite confused.

“Well, I’m gonna need your help,” said Sammy. “And we got to grab some shovels, too.”

Tommy heard the word “shovels” and automatically responded as if the last thing he was doing was digging holes to bury god knows who for Sammy.

“Shovels, what the hell you want to do with a shovel?” he asked, not sure he even wanted to hear it. “I’m a fucking lieutenant, Sammy, come on. I can’t fuck around with you, and no bullshit, you hear me?”

“We can stop at Home Depot, get the shovels, then go to Livezly Lane,” said Sammy with a devious grin on his face.

“What do we need shovels for and what’s at Livezly Lane?” demanded Tommy.

“I got so much money buried in my old backyard, Tommy. I swear to God, at least a million dollars buried out there.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sammy?”

“Would I fucking lie to you?” Sammy asked, looking at his brother as if Tommy were fresh out of the looney bin for even assuming he was joking.

“Come on, you gotta help me. All you got to do is pull that badge out on whoever’s living there and we’re digging up the backyard. Come on, what are you a cop for? I got shit to do, I got a party tonight, baby. How do I look?” Sammy asked in all seriousness. “I look good, right, Tommy?”

“You look like a million bucks, Sammy, a million bucks.”

“Ha, good answer.” Sammy laughed as he grabbed his older brother around the neck. “Good fucking answer.”

Daisy went back to her block after seeing her assigned social worker. She felt as if she were trapped in a nightmare not her own. The past week spent behind bars had been pure hell. She never thought in a million years she would ever be living her life without Webster, let alone that she would be charged with murdering him. She passed the guard’s desk on her block just as a CO held out her mail and passed it to her.

In this facility, mail was opened and screened before being given to the inmates. Diana was hoping that she would receive a letter from her lawyer with good news. She had requested another bail hearing because her bail had been denied. Her lawyer was hopeful, but it didn’t look as if she’d be granted another hearing. With Diana’s DNA evidence found at the scene of the crime and prints on the murder weapon, it didn’t appear that she would be going anywhere, but rather that she’d be spending the rest of her life behind bars, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that.

She looked at the first envelope and then the second. Her heart began to pound, as her fingers and her hand began trembling. She recognized the writing and realized it was that of the blackmailer, as the envelope looked identical to the first one she had received from him. Quickly, she walked back down the block, careful not to let anyone see what she was holding. She went into her cell, sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk, and pulled out the letter inside. It was him, the same person. She could tell by the cut-and-paste letters scattered across the lined yellow tablet paper. The note was barely readable. She slowly made out the cut-and-paste wordplay, and it was then that she realized exactly who had blackmailed her, killed her cousin, and brutally murdered her husband. And as she read the note, twenty years of pieces of a puzzle slowly came together in her mind, and she knew who he was.

“H
OPE
Y
OU
G
OT
A
N
A
LIBI
—Y
OU’RE
G
ONNA
N
EED
O
NE
, B
ITCH!”