Black Princess Mystery (5 page)

“If it was
a homicide,” Thorston said, “the motive wasn’t robbery because the ring wasn’t
lifted.”

“But maybe
it wasn’t a homicide at all.” McNab sighed and studied the landscape. “Maybe it
was a heart attack preceded by a nose bleed.”

“Maybe a
crow ran into him and killed him,” Tasheka said in a strange way, as if she was
mocking the senior detective. Her eyes looked malicious. “Yes, detective,
you’ll have to look for a dead crow.”

McNab
heard every word she said, but ignored her and called to the uniformed officer.
“Get the tape up and post here to keep onlookers back.” McNab turned to Tasheka
with an exasperated look. “Since you were the first on scene, Miss Green,
Detective Henry will take you back to the office for a written statement.” The
crusty old detective gave her one more look and then called headquarters,
requesting what he needed. He turned to Thorston. “Take Miss Green to the
station and get a statement.”

“Ms.
Green,” she corrected.

“Oh, yes,”
he said. “Why do I keep forgetting that?”

“Yes, why
do you keep forgetting that?”

“Because
I’m old-fashioned?” he ventured.

“Or maybe
you’re trying to get me angry, to see if I have a temper.”

“Like I
said, Ms. Green, you have an active imagination.” He suddenly stared at her
with obvious suspicion. “Tell me something. You said that after you found the
body, you ran back to the garage and called the police.”

“Yes,” she
replied. “And?”

“Why
didn’t you call us on your cell phone right away? Or are you the only young
person who does not own a cell phone?”

“I left it
home,” she returned, “because I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“You
didn’t want to be disturbed?” he shot back, crooking an eyebrow.

“Bothered,”
she clarified. “I wanted to be alone and enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“It didn’t
quite turn out that way, did it?”

“Obviously
not.”

He stared
at her some more, to the point where she felt morbidly uncomfortable. She was
about to say something, but didn’t. Thorston politely pointed to the car and
led her away from the murder scene. McNab watched her the whole time and just
as she was about to get into the car, he suddenly called out. “Thorston,” he
said, gesturing with his head for his partner to join him.

Tasheka
got into the front seat and rolled down the window when the two men stopped in
front of each other. Though they kept their voices low, Tasheka could hear what
they said and she unblinkingly stared at McNab in the side mirror. He suddenly
looked right at her and their eyes locked.

“She’s
telling us a lot less than she knows,” he said, clearly enunciating every word
for Tasheka’s benefit. “That’s for sure.”

“Do you
think so?” Thorston asked, sounding unconvinced.

“I know
so. I believe Miss Green knows a lot more about this story than she’s letting
on.” He paused. ”Maybe she’s a part of the story.” He stared deeply into her
eyes. “Or maybe she is the story.” He cleared his throat. “Take her to the
station and get a statement. But be careful.”

“Why?”
Thorston asked with a short, surprised laugh.

McNab
stared at her reflection in the mirror. “Because she’s dangerous.”

“All
right,” Thorston said, looking torn between his respect for McNab’s judgment
and his obvious attraction to Tasheka. He got into the car, glanced at her with
a fascinated and confused expression, and then fastened his seat belt.

“Please
let me take Kie home first, Detective Henry,” Tasheka said softly. “I live at
thirteen Green Lane.”

Thorston
flashed a friendly but reserved smile and then started the engine. Tasheka felt
uncomfortable in the police car and fidgeted constantly, as if she couldn’t
wait to get out. Tasheka saw Thorston watching her out of the corner of his eye
as he put the car into gear.

Tasheka
looked back over her shoulder. “Is your partner coming?”

“No, he’s
very particular about securing locations. He’ll stay to supervise just in case
this isn’t a heart attack that we’re dealing with.”

“Come now,
detective, we both know it’s murder.”

Chapter
Three

Thorston
glanced at her and shrugged, though his gaze lingered on her face. He drove to
the Lakeside Garage, where a larger crowd had gathered. They excitedly
questioned him, but he told them the body had not been identified and that the
area was being secured. He also assured them that the cause of death was still
unknown. Tasheka, all eyes on her, picked up Kie and thanked Matt for watching
him. They returned to Detective Henry’s car.

“They’re a
little edgy,” Thorston said as they pulled away from the garage.

“Wouldn’t
you be?”

“It was
probably a heart attack.” He smiled with boyish charm. “We can tell Chicken
Little the sky isn’t falling yet.”

“There’s
something very odd,” Tasheka noted as they pulled out of the parking lot.

“Oh?”

“Detective
Henry, the hand in the snow is wearing a ring that belongs to Father Tim
Murphy.”

“Father
Tim Murphy?” Thorston said with an incredulous look.

“You know
him?”

“A
little,” Thorston said as they drove past Big Mike’s store. Tasheka saw him
snap to attention when he noticed Mike Power standing behind the big display
window and looking at the road. When Mike recognized the detective’s car, he
quickly moved away. Thorston turned back to the road and regained his focus.
“We have a drug awareness program in the city,” he said distractedly, “and a
Father Tim Murphy spoke one night. I met him for like five minutes.”

“Was he
about six feet tall, with a small scar above his right eyebrow?”

Thorston
turned and nodded.

“Father
Tim is our village priest, but he is definitely not the victim because I saw
him this morning on my way to the golf course. There were only a few minutes in
the difference and the body was covered by undisturbed snow with no tracks in
it. The body had to have been there for hours.”

“I don’t
know,” Thorston said, shaking his head. “Let’s see who belongs to that hand. It
might be some homeless guy or a drunk.”

“It’s a
murder,” Tasheka stated as if it was a fact. “That means the media will be
invading our sleepy little hamlet.” She sighed deeply. “I ask you, detective,
how endearing an image is that? Christmas lights, the annual concert at the
elementary school, and the media descending on Lakeside like a flock of
vultures.”

“I don’t
know,” he said. “Your imagery is rather bleak, Ms. Green.”

“Is it
bleaker than a bloody hand sticking out of the snow? This is a very quiet
community, detective. Lakeside has bake-offs, not killings. The biggest news
here is who won bingo on the weekend.” She suddenly jerked in her seat and
pointed at the church parking lot. “See!” she exclaimed.

“See
what?”

“Father
Tim’s car was there this morning, but it’s gone now. I knew it couldn’t be him
on the golf course.” She distractedly gave directions to her house.

“If it is
murder,” Thorston said, “McNab will track down the killer. He’s very sharp.”

“How
sharp?”

“Sharp,”
Thorston assured her. “They nicknamed him ‘Spider’ a long time ago because he
always catches the flies.”

“Always?”

“Pretty
much.”

“What
makes him so good?”

“When he
was only six, his older brother was killed by a drunk driver as they were
walking home from the store. McNab was the only witness, but he was so helpful
that it took the police only a few hours to catch the guy. I suppose that in an
odd kind of way his career started way back then. Who knows, maybe in his mind
he’s working his brother’s case when he deals with a murder now. All the pain,
the loss, the anger, maybe it surfaces every time he investigates a homicide. I
know for sure that he’s one damned good cop and if you’ve got blood on your
hands, you’re in trouble. Spider is coming.”

“I don’t
like him,” Tasheka said capriciously, unbuttoning her coat.

Thorston
looked at her and shrugged. The top third of Tasheka’s blouse was opened and a
substantial part of her bosom was exposed. Her breasts were largely visible and
restrained only by a small white bra. Tasheka was well aware that Thorston was
looking, though she did not turn directly to him, but rather leaned forward,
watching him out of the corner of her eye as she scraped snow off her boots. As
she jerked around, she knew he could see almost all of her breasts, excluding
only her nipples, and though she could see him trying not to look, he kept
stealing peeks. Tasheka suddenly turned to him.

“Keep your
eyes on the road,” she stated with the informality of a woman who is speaking
to her husband of thirty years.

Thorston
straightened up like a school boy caught pulling a prank in church. His whole
face flushed and it seemed as though he didn’t know whether to apologize or
climb into a hole.

“How long
have you been partners with McNab?” Tasheka asked, dismissing him like a mother
who lets her son go outside even after he ate all the chocolate chip cookies.

“A year,”
Thorston said, looking straight ahead with a stiff demeanor.

“Tell me
more about him.”

“He’s a
company man,” Thorston said, looking awkward at discussing his partner. “This
is all common knowledge. He’s one hundred percent commitment. He works nights,
weekends, holidays, and he never makes so much as a whimper. When there’s been
a murder, he lives and breathes it until he solves the case. After it’s over,
he always visits the family of the victim and spends some time with them. He
has a lot of respect on the force, Ms. Green.”

“Is he married?”
she asked quickly.

“No.”

“Was he
ever married?”

“You ask a
lot of questions.”

“He’s
after me,” Tasheka said so calmly it was almost eerie. “Wouldn’t you want to
know everything about the hunter stalking you? Or should I say the spider?
Maybe I’m one of his flies and he’s trying to catch me in his web.”

“No one
suspects you, Ms. Green.”

Tasheka
slowly turned to Thorston, and he, as if drawn by supernatural powers, glanced
at her. Their eyes met for a split second. He then looked back to the road and
tried to appear composed.

“You’re
not driving Miss Daisy,” Tasheka said, “so don’t get your panties in a bunch. I
told you to keep your eyes on the road while you’re driving. What you do when
you’re not driving is open to negotiation.”

Thorston
stiffened so much it was comical.

Tasheka
unconsciously licked her cherry red lips. “Was McNab ever married?”

“His wife
left him,” Thorston said.

“She left
him for another man, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” he
said. “How did you know?”

“I have a
sixth sense about people.”

He laughed
at her. “You’re very different.”

“Is that
good or bad?”

“Good. I
like different.”

“Do you
like black women?”

“In what
sense?”

“I like
white men,” she said, not answering his question. “I don’t know why I like
white men, but I do. And when I say ‘like,’ I mean I’m attracted to white men.
You’re a detective, so have you got any idea why a black woman would be
attracted to white men?”

“I don’t
know.”

“You
didn’t answer my question,” Tasheka continued.

“Yes, I
did. I said I don’t know.”

“No, about
black women,” Tasheka persisted. “Do you like black women?”

“I think
black women are beautiful.” He turned to her. “I think you’re beautiful.”

“I think
you’re beautiful, too,” she said.

He laughed
awkwardly.

“What’s
the problem?”

“This is
the first time anyone has ever called me beautiful.”

“But women
have called you handsome,” Tasheka remarked. “Oh, don’t be bashful, detective.
False modesty does not become a man. You’d have to be blind not to realize that
you’re a handsome man and women are attracted to you. Are you in a
relationship?”

“No,” he
said. “Are you?”

“I’ve
never had a romantic relationship,” Tasheka said.

“Never?”

“I’m not a
virgin, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve never been in love. I’ve had some
experience that never amounted to anything, and certainly not romance. I’d like
to try it sometime, though. How about you?”

“I’d like
to have a woman in my life,” he admitted, “but I’ve never met the right one.”

“Maybe
it’s your lucky day.”