Godsend 6: All Jokes Aside

“WAIT A MINUTE. Am I understanding you correctly?” Don Loftner said while squatting closer to the paper license tag on his new Jaguar. He looked back at Echo and Kiandra Robertson. “You two are private eyes, and you have zero authority to make me answer your questions?” He was an average-sized white guy dressed in a sweater and slacks. He had a screwdriver in his right hand, about to replace the paper tag with the metal one that was near his loafers.

Echo looked to his left, right, and then directly at Don’s modest but comfortable home. He and Kiandra, a 26-year-old black woman who was one of three Godsend trainees, stood in Don’s driveway in a quiet neighborhood of Stockton, California.

Don said, “Three years ago, I answered every question in cops threw at me about Ramona’s disappearance. The cops obviously cleared me; so if you got any questions, why don’t you go ask the police?”

Echo rushed him, slamming a foot square-off in the middle of Don’s ass. When Don’s head banged against the truck of the Jaguar, Echo stepped on the hand that held the screwdriver, grinding it to the cement driveway and breaking two of Don’s knuckles.

Don let out a yelp and said, “Okay, okay!”

Echo said, “Release the screwdriver or get ready to use it in a gunfight.”

“I . . . I can’t because you’re standing on my hand.”

Kiandra scanned the neighborhood again. She was dressed in a pantsuit and wore loafers with soft bottoms.

Echo took a step back and watched the man abandon the tool. “Now get the fuck up and invite us inside.”

Less than two minutes later, the three of them were standing in Don’s kitchen. Echo and Kiandra slipped on some transparent latex gloves. Echo said, “Have a seat. This might take a while.”

Don sat at his kitchen table.

Kiandra removed a handgun from the shoulder holster beneath her sports coat. “Put your hands on top of the table and keep them there.”

Don followed orders. He stared at his right hand and the bruises. Damn thing was throbbing, or rather, the two broken fingers were.

Echo walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. “The lady got a few questions for you, not necessarily the same questions the cops asked three years ago.” He grabbed an unopened half-gallon carton of orange juice.

Kiandra said, “You told the cops that you dated Ramona Hartley for only three weeks and two days. How long did it take for you to get her in bed?”

“I’m . . . I’m thinking it was the fourth day.”

“And in those three weeks, how many times did you screw her?” He shrugged. “Two times.”

Kiandra saw Echo drinking straight from the orange juice carton.

Echo held the carton out for her. “You wanna hit this before I pour the rest out?”

She reached for the juice then drank a small amount. She gave the carton back to Echo then said to Don, “Two times in twenty-three days. Was that enough for you?’

“It was fine. I mean, the decision was hers.”

Echo poured the rest of the juice down the sink. He placed the empty carton in the sink and turned on the hot water.

Kiandra said, “Ramona was last seen on a Thursday night at her job, the Pharaoh’s Bar. At that point, how long had it been since you last screwed her?”

Echo was fixing a couple of sandwiches with luncheon meat and single cheese slices.

Don said, “We hadn’t had sex for about two weeks.”

Kiandra smiled at Don. “Okay. You dated her for twenty-three days before she went missing. Sex on the fourth day and . . . again on . . . the ninth day. Then she dries it up for the next two weeks. What did you think?”

“I thought she might be seeing some other guy, but it didn’t matter much to me because I was seeing someone else, too.”

Echo was now perfecting the sandwiches with Miracle Whip. “Why the fuck you ain’t got tomatoes in this muthafucka? You bought a new Jaguar but your refrigerator damn near on E.”

Kiandra sat at the table, across from Don. “An investigation revealed that she may have been seeing a black guy. Know who he might be?”

“Not a clue.”

She said, “I like two scenarios. Maybe you got the black guy and her killed. After all, nobody knows who the black guy is.”

“I never killed anybody or had anybody killed.”

Echo walked over to the table and offered Kiandra one of sandwiches. When she declined, he pulled out a chair and said with them at the table.

She said, “Or maybe you only got rid of her and hoped the cops would focus on the black guy.”

Don shook his head. “I never hurt her, and I even passed a polygraph test.”

Echo said, “Polygraph? Another Jerry Springer production.” He bit a deep chunk out of the first sandwich. He produced a handgun and touched Don’s neck with the barrel. With a mouthful, he said, “This here is a more reliable lie detector.”

WENDI LAMBERT was face to face with her mother, Gloria. They were in a well-kept den, and the television was louder than necessary, but the two white women were even louder.

Wendi said, “Mom, I did not have sex with your boyfriend.” She was an attractive woman, but she was skinny to the point of not being shapely.

Gloria said, “You’re a damn liar. He has pictures, and he showed them to me but wouldn’t let me keep any. If you weren’t such a loose whore, you’d know when you were bring put on camera.”

“Mom, you’re not using your head. Kevin caught you with his best friend, and he’s only showing you photos to get even. Think about it.”

“Never mind his motive; why would you sleep with him?”

“I never slept with Kevin! The photos are obviously doctored. You already know about the pictures of me that were leaked on the Internet. Kevin must have used those nude shots of me and Cal, simply replacing Cal’s image with himself. And you fell for that. What a loser.”

“I’m still your mother. I expect more respect—” The doorbell rang. “This conversation isn’t over.” Gloria left the den to answer the door. From her front room, she could see a Yukon SUV parked curbside.

She looked through the peephole. “Who is it?”

Brian Cathcart said, “Special Agent Richard Gaston, FBI.” And he held up his credentials for her to view.

Gloria opened the door and saw two black men and a white woman. “How can I help you guys?”

Brian said, “We have a few questions for Miss Wendi Lambert. Is she home?” But they already knew she was there and had even heard the argument.

“Well, I’m her mother, Gloria Lambert. She’s here, but she doesn’t live here anymore.”

Then the woman called out to her daughter. Wendi arrived in seconds. “What’s going on?”

“These men are with the FBI. They want to talk with you.”

Brian said, “We’d like to ask you some questions about Ramona Hartley.”

“Oh. Ramona. Sure. Please come in.”

Brian was working with two trainees. Ezra Timothy Carpenter was a 33-year-old white guy of Brian’s size. Ezra’s friend called him Etceterra, but his FBI credentials had yet another name for him. The other trainee, Derrick Freemont, was a huge, 42-year-old black man who looked friendly and at the same time, unbeatable in a fist fight.

The three men entered the middle-class home and were invited to sit on the sofa and armchair. When Gloria closed the front door, Brian said to Wendi, “The case files tell me you were best friends with Ramona before she disappeared three years ago.”

“That’s true. We sorta grew up together, best friends since age ten and eleven. I’m almost a year older.”

Brian said, “Do you know whether she was fucking anybody other than Don Loftner before her disappearance?”

Gloria cut in and said, “Agent Gaston, is that kind of language necessary?”

Etceterra jumped in and said, “Ma’am, before letting us in you called your daughter a ‘damn liar’ and ‘loose where.’ We only need a few minutes of your daughter’s time. Please don’t interrupt.”

“This is my house. I invited you in and I can ask you to leave.” Etceterra said, “If you ask us to leave, then your daughter’s coming with us. The car she parked out there twenty-five minutes ago is a stolen vehicle, courtesy of her boyfriend, and she knows it. We can either continue the interview or take this loose whore to jail.”

GLORIA STOOD BY the door with her arms folded below her breast. She would have nothing else to say.

Brian said to Wendi, “Who else was Ramona fucking?”

“Ramona was going through something. She didn’t really know what she wanted. She told me she had sex with a black guy just to experience the feeling.”

Derrick said, “And what was the feeling? Did she tell you?”

“She said it was . . . different, in a exotic way, but it was only meant to be a one-night stand.”

Brian said, “Who was the guy?” “Zavius Grant.”

Brian and Derrick concurrently said “Shotglass?” Then Brian added, “The comedian? The funny-ass stand up?’

“Yes, but that was before anybody knew him.”

Derrick said, “When the police first questioned you, why did you not mention Shotglass?’

“Well, you guys are definitely not asking the same questions the police asked me three years ago. They asked questions like when was the last time I saw her; who was she with at the time; did I know anybody who might want to hurt her . . . You know, questions like that. They knew she was seeing Don, so they talked to him and the boyfriend she had before Don. They didn’t ask if she was sleeping around, and I didn’t volunteer it because they questioned me and her mom at the same time.”

Etceterra said, “Plus, they never took the case seriously. The files show that they believed Ramona may have run off with someone or on her own. She was twenty-four and had a right to do so.”

Wendi said, “Ramona dropped off the face of the earth. No way she would run away and never contact me or her parents.”

Brian said, “The woman was twenty-four; at what age was she planning to leave home? Hell, her parents admit that they argued sometimes; maybe you weren’t as close to her as you think. Would you bet your life that Ramona would tell you everything?”

“Yes. She wouldn’t keep a secret from me.”

Derrick said, “How did she feel about oral sex and swallowing?’ Gloria’s face creased up. She headed for the den.

Wendi remained standing near the hallway entrance. “She tried oral sex but we never talked about . . . swallowing.” Derrick smiled. “So she kept that a secret?”

“No. You’re assuming that she swallowed and didn’t tell me.”

“No, I assume that she kept you out of that much of her business.” Brian said, “You and her ever shared the same man?”

“What do you mean by ‘share’?”

“What do I mean? Did you and your best friend Ramona ever fuck the same guy?”

“Yes but not together. She didn’t know.” Brian said, “Who was the guy?”