Devilish Details (17 page)

“Has she been charged yet, Lt. Miller?” A
tall Black female reporter stuck a microphone out toward Miller’s
face.

“This is an on-going investigation. Back up
and let us do our jobs,” Miller grumbled.

The police officer strode up as if on cue
and slammed the door shut. Between the noise and solid glass of the
cruiser’s windows, Jazz couldn’t make out what was being said. She
stretched her neck to look for Byron.

Jazz leaned toward the metal grill that
separated the rear passenger section from the police officer
sitting up front. “What about my friends? They didn’t do
anything.”

“Everybody gets a free ride downtown
tonight, Miss,” the woman replied. She tapped entries in the
laptop, spoke into the radio, and put the car in gear with
efficient movements.

* * *

“Four hours of hell,” Jazz muttered. She
dropped her forehead onto her folded arms on top of the cold metal
table in the interview room. “That’s going to be the title of my
book when I get out of this mess.”

Miller sat on one side of Jazz. A female
detective, Audra Crawford, sat next to Jazz. She wore a brown suit
with an orange handkerchief in the pocket of her jacket. Det.
Crawford had done most of the talking since they’d brought Jazz in
after processing, which didn’t take long. They hadn’t booked her
though. Which Jazz interpreted as they didn’t have enough—yet. The
song and dance they performed had the aim of getting a confession,
but they were also waiting. Jazz figured they hoped forensics would
come in with more information, or Byron would give her up.

“Tell us the truth and we can wrap this
thing up,” Miller replied abruptly.

“I’m tired,” Jazz said without raising her
head.

“You’ve had a rough night,” Det. Crawford
said.

Miller pushed back his chair, stood, and
unbuttoned his jacket. “You’re making this harder than it needs to
be, Ms. Vaughn.” With that he strode out.

When the door bumped shut, Det. Crawford put
a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “Look, we’re just trying to get at what
happened. I’m not after you or anyone who’s innocent. I want to
help you.”

Jazz kept her head down. Her first instinct
was to call Crawford on her bullshit approach. The old “show
empathy” interviewing tactic. But smarting off would likely only
result in more hours in this room. So she sat up, brushed her hair
back and tried a different tactic.

“I got it. Y’all have to do your jobs. Hell,
in your shoes I’d think I was guilty, but I’m not. Anyone who knows
me would tell you I’m not stupid.” Jazz kept her voice soft. She
put as much weariness into her performance as possible.

Crawford leaned in, as if sure she was about
to crack the case. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. You’ve gone
from swinging on a pole to owning a business.”

She’s good
. Jazz looked into Det.
Crawford’s green eyes, bright with anticipation. She guessed her to
be in her early forties. Lines fanned out from her eyes. Her
reddish blonde hair had streaks of grey. Jazz also figured she used
a self-tanner on her skin. Working long hours, this woman didn’t
take time for sunbathing.

“Exactly what I’m trying to tell y’all,”
Jazz said dramatically. When Det. Crawford nodded with a
sympathetic expression, Jazz went on. “Kyeisha and I had a beef
about the way she tried to stab me in the back. Not for real, I
mean her and Lorraine keep trying to ruin my business. But I was
going to work it out. I wouldn’t slice the girl up because of it
though.”

“It must have been awful to know you faced
losing everything you’d earned because of lies. With the city
trying to shut you down is what I mean. Lorraine was happy to tell
us she’d called the health inspectors and the city on Candy Girls.”
Det. Crawford sat back. “Hell, she lost the place without any help
from me,” Jazz spat.

“Yeah, we know about her tax problems.”

“So you know Lorraine and Kyeisha dug
themselves into holes and more than once. You better go through the
long list of other folks they both pissed off.” Jazz sat back.
“Okay, listen. Kyeisha came by my place a couple of weeks ago
maybe. She had the nerve to ask
me
for a favor. See, from
what I heard, her boyfriend, that Brandon dude--”

“Yeah, he got shot in a drug house. Then
Kyeisha went on the run,” Det. Crawford replied.

“This is just street talk because I don’t
hang with dealers now. If I find ‘em hanging out in my club? Out
they go. Anyway, I heard Brandon got killed, but Cleavon, Kyeisha’s
other man, was the real target. Some kind of gang beef.” Jazz
shrugged as though that’s all she knew.

“Filipe Perez’s boys think maybe Cleavon and
Brandon helped him get put away. To add insult to injury, Cleavon
might have taken his last big drug shipment and his cash. You used
to run with Filipe.” Det. Crawford let the last sentence hang in
the air between them.

Jazz blinked at her. Sticking close to the
truth made sense. As Jazz read her, Det. Crawford had the same
limited view as most police officers; the obvious explanation most
likely always turned out to be true. Crawford also seemed to think
criminals were simple and not as bright as they thought. The
“you’re not stupid” speech didn’t ring true. Jazz cleared her
throat.

“Right, right. Kyeisha thinks I’m still in
touch with Filipe, but I’m
not
. I wish everybody would get
over that bullshit theory,” Jazz said and stared at a corner of the
wall. The small camera almost blended in, but she knew it was
there.

“So Kyeisha wanted what from you?” Det.
Crawford said with force to draw Jazz’s attention away from the
camera.

“The girl practically got on her knees
begging me to visit Filipe in prison and convince him she wasn’t
hooked up with Brandon or Cleavon. Everybody knows different. Those
three go way back. I told her no. Filipe is a way bigger bag of
trouble than Kyeisha and Lorraine.”

“Agreed,” Crawford said with a stoic
expression. “So things got physical between you two that night
because Kyeisha wouldn’t listen.”

“I don’t care what Lorraine told you. I
didn’t beat up Kyeisha,” Jazz snapped.

“Kyeisha told several people, not just
Lorraine. She had bruises on her arms they said.”

“Not from me. I shoved her after she jumped
me, but then she got some sense and started begging for help.
Kyeisha will lie at first, but she ain’t the sharpest tool in the
shed. Keep questioning her and she’ll tell the truth after a while.
Ask her.”

Miller swung the door wide before Crawford
could answer. “Kyeisha can’t speak up for you, Ms. Vaughn. She died
one hour ago.”

Jazz gulped in air to keep from screaming.
She gripped the edge of the metal table until her fingers ached. “I
want a lawyer.”

Chapter 10

The next day Higgins sat across from Jazz in
the visiting area of the East Baton Rouge Parish Prison. The DA had
agreed with the police that she could be arrested for Kyeisha’s
murder. She’d been moved from the police station lock-up two days
later. Jail wasn’t so bad. At least she’d been here before. Except
this time Jazz had too much time to think about how she could spend
years in a cell.

“How are you holding up? Yeah, stupid
question. Sorry.” Higgins glanced around at the bleak setting.

“At least none of these other women are
trying to mess with me. Once they find out you’re suspected of two
murders, folks tend to leave you alone. I didn’t have to fight over
my dessert or which bed was mine.” Jazz gave a grim laugh. “So if
you gotta be locked up, get charged with murder is my advice.”

“Uh, okay,” Higgins said and cleared his
throat. “You got a big problem.”

Jazz eased against the metal back of the
chair. She crossed her arms as she gazed at him. “Shit, you’re damn
smart. What was your first clue?”

Higgins spit out a laugh before he could
stop it. “We have to get together socially when this is all
over.”

“Yeah, when I’m not killing people, I’m a
fun girl.”

He laughed again, and then lowered his
voice. “Your sisters are hiring a top criminal defense
attorney.”

“Sisters?” Jazz blinked at him.

“Yes, Mrs. Crown and Ms. Landry,” Higgins
replied as he opened a slim leather folder.

“MiMi is telling people we’re sisters? That
crazy lil’ heffa,” Jazz said with a grin.

“Your sisters care about you, Ms. Vaughn.
That means a lot under these circumstances.”

Jazz’s smile faded. “Yeah, they’re...”
Emotion choked her throat. “So who is this criminal attorney?”

“Keith Phillips. He’s represented several
high profile clients in the past ten years, including that rapper
David Saunders, aka Fast Dawg.” Higgins slapped papers on the table
top.

“Oh right. I remember. Dawg performed at
Candy Girls way back when Lorraine still owned it. I wanna say
2006, maybe 2007. That was before he blew up.” Jazz frowned.

“Keith got him off on the murder charge, but
Mr. Saunders didn’t follow his advice to stay out of trouble. He
ended up with a twenty-five year sentence on drug charges,” Higgins
replied. “Keith has a solid record of winning.”

“Y’all on a first name basis?” Jazz looked
at him.

“We know each other from Bar Association
events and seminars. He’s one of the best. If they’d asked me, I
would have put his name at the top of a short list. Tells me your
sisters are doing their homework.” Higgins nodded with
appreciation.

“I’m thinking Dion and Shawn helped. My
foster brothers,” Jazz said when his gaze questioned her.
“Naturally they’d tell you they’re my brothers, period.”

“Not many people can say family run toward
them once they get in serious legal trouble. I can assure you of
that fact. You’re lucky.” Higgins gazed at Jazz as if he had to
revise his view of her.

If he mentioned Willa’s adoptive parents
rushing to help she might not be able to stop a crying fit. She
could just imagine Mama Ruby and Papa Elton ready to pitch in. Jazz
shrugged off another fit of emotion.

“Yeah, they’re awright people most of the
time,” she said.

“When I said you had a big problem, I didn’t
mean the charges. I’m not Keith, but this case has reasonable doubt
by the truckload.” Higgins held up a finger. “First, the conspiracy
to murder this guy Wilks, flimsy is a kind description. Nothing
links you to him; there’s no physical evidence and no motive.”

“I think Miller threw that in just to scare
me,” Jazz replied. It worked.

“Yeah, they’re hoping Wilks’ murder is
leverage and will make you talk provide information on Bennett’s
gang. The murder charge is more substantial, but it has holes. A
good attorney could make them even bigger. Keith isn’t just a good
attorney, brilliant. The guy can twist up a DA’s case and toss it
in the nearest trashcan.”

“Finally some good news,” Jazz drawled. “I
hear the bad news about to come outta your mouth.”

“Second degree murder means your bail could
be set at one million, or more. But I’m thinking once Keith starts
working the DA will back down to manslaughter. Even so, the bail
could be $60,000 minimum. But that means he’s got to get to work
fast and hard.” Higgins’ dark eyebrows pulled together in a grave
expression. “His retainer is fifty thousand up front. If the trial
lasts longer than four months, then he charges by the hour. That’s
the problem.”

Jazz nodded. “I’ll get a top attorney if I
sell everything I own, but still have to sit in jail.”

“You don’t look shocked. Most clients,
including men, would be wailing right about now.” Higgins seemed
fascinated with Jazz.

“I grew up knowing how many strikes I had
against me. Poor
and
black? You get introduced to the
correctional system real quick. Even a public defender needs money
to hire investigators and experts. So no, Mr. Higgins, I’m not
shocked.” Jazz stared at him to get her point across. “What I am is
very pissed off. I want a lawyer who is going to go after the DA’s
case like a drug dealer’s meanest pit bull.”

Higgins stared back. “Your sisters are
planning to mortgage everything they own--”

“Stop them,” Jazz said loudly. “Willa and
MiMi got no damn business getting into debt because of me.”

A sheriff’s deputy came into view.
“Everything okay in there?”

Higgins raised a hand. “We’re fine.”

“Fifteen minutes,” the man said and walked
away.

“Sell the club, the building with my
apartment, everything in them both. Do it.” Jazz fought to keep her
voice from shaking.

“No need. Your investor is willing to give
you a cash infusion of two hundred fifty thousand dollars. You
heard right,” Higgins added.

Jazz squinted at him. “Why?”

“The mayor had a press conference the other
day. Two major corporations are locating downtown. That’s a mere
fifteen minute drive from Candy Girls, Ms. Vaughn. The city has
also cleared six lots that were vacant or had abandoned houses on
them. Developers are lining up to acquire them. With a name change
and some renovations...”

“My place could be a trendy bar,” Jazz
finished his thought.

“The city would lose interest in shutting
down your place. Ames has high powered contacts.” Higgins slid the
papers to Jazz. “Here’s the contract.”

Jazz glanced down. Only two paragraphs in
and the legalese got heavy. “I’ll need time to read this.”

“I’ve highlighted clauses with notes
explaining what they mean in laymen’s terms,” Higgins replied. He
pulled out a duplicate of the contract with highlighted text in
orange.

“Okay, you get points for thinking ahead. I
still plan to look it over.” Jazz raised an eyebrow at him.

Higgins nodded. “I wouldn’t advise you to do
anything less. Besides, your bond hearing isn’t for another day or
so. Expect it to be high because of the seriousness of the charge.
But...”