Lady Justice on the Dark Side (Volume 19) (11 page)

    Elizabeth Crane set the diary aside and wiped more tears from her eyes. “My God. That is so beautiful. I just wish my mother would have shared it with me while she was alive.”

    “If she had told you that part, she would have had to tell you the rest and she was probably reluctant to do that.”

    “You mean there’s more?”

    I nodded. “You have to read way ahead in the diary for the next part. I’ll just share it with you now if you’re ready and you can read it for yourself later.”

    “Go ahead,” she replied apprehensively.

    “A few weeks later, your mother realized she was pregnant, and in September of 1944 she gave birth to a beautiful daughter.”

     The doctor’s eyes grew wide. “That --- that was me! I was born in September of 1944. So my father wasn’t Terrance Thrasher. It was Johnny Butterfly. How could she keep this from me?”

    “Again,” Kevin said, “you have to remember that this was 1943. Today, women have children out of wedlock all the time and nobody gives a rip, but back then, it was different --- a social stigma, and it was a thing that families tried to keep under wraps.”

    “Well, that certainly explains why my dad was never close to me. I wasn’t his child.”

    “You can read the rest of the story yourself, but in a nutshell, after your mother moved in with her aunt, she got a job as a checker at Thrasher’s grocery store. In November of 1944, two months after you were born, Terrance Thrasher returned home from serving in the army during World War II. He went to work at the family store, met your mother there, they fell in love and were married. Terrance adopted you to make everything legal and socially acceptable. A year later, your brother Gabe was born and, well, you know the rest.”

    Dr. Crane sighed. “This is all so much to absorb at one time. You two have done a fantastic job. I certainly got my money’s worth.”

    “There’s more left to do,” I said. “Don’t forget about Nate’s locket.”

    “Oh yes, the locket. I was so wrapped up with your revelation about my parentage I almost forgot. What do you suggest?”

    “I think we need to go through your mother’s things at the storage facility and see if it’s there. Remember, this whole thing started because your nephews were stalking you, and I don’t think that is going away until we see if that locket really exists.”

   “And what if it does exist?”

    “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

    She thought for a minute. “The diary. You said I didn’t want to know the details of how you acquired it, but if I’m reading between the lines correctly, won’t they be upset when they discover that it’s missing?”

    “Probably so,” Kevin replied. “One way or the other, it’s a pretty good bet that there is a family reunion somewhere in your near future.”

    She thought a moment more. “My mother’s share from the Wells Fargo heist. Does the diary say anything about it?”

    I nodded. “Your mother never told anyone other than Johnny Butterfly about Nate or the robbery --- not even her husband. According to the diary, she hid the money away. Then used it to help pay your way through college and medical school.”

    Another shock to the doctor.

    “I had an academic scholarship but I knew it wasn’t enough to pay all my college expenses. Dad had passed away. I always thought the money came from a life insurance policy.” She looked around her elegant home. “All of this --- everything I have --- my whole life --- it all started because some bastard tried to assault a young girl seventy years ago. Unbelievable!”

    “What’s equally unbelievable,” Kevin replied, “is that the other half of the heist may be hidden out there somewhere, and if that locket exists, we just might find it.”

CHAPTER 13

    Billy Bob Thrasher had turned both bedrooms upside down looking for the diary.

    “Oren, you had the diary last. Where did you put it?”

    “Last time I saw it, it was on the nightstand beside the bed. I haven’t touched it since then.”

    “Well, it’s not here now. Think! Could you have put it somewhere else?”

    “Nope, it was right here,” Oren replied, joining his brother in the bedroom.

    “It couldn’t have just walked away. Help me look for it.”

    The two men searched the entire apartment, but came up empty.

    Exasperated, they sunk onto the worn sofa.

    “Aunt Liz!” Billy Bob muttered. “It must be her. She must have seen us tailing her. She’s loaded. I’ll bet she hired someone to check us out. Remember the other day? Miss Finch told us she saw two old guys hanging around the building. I’d bet anything she has the diary.”

    “But no one’s broken in,” Oren protested. “No doors or windows open. Nothing’s missing except the diary.”

    “Of course we wouldn’t know. If she hired someone, they’d be pros. Not hacks like us.”

    “Well, if she does have the diary, then that’s the end of the line for us. We’ll never get our hands on the locket or that twenty-five grand. There goes our chance to start our own business.”

    Billy Bob thought for a minute. “Maybe not. When Grandma died, Dad got the boxes that had the old photos and the diary, but he never did anything with them. It wasn’t until we went through his stuff that we found the thing. Maybe Aunt Liz was the same. I remember Dad saying that Aunt Liz had some movers pack the rest of Grandma’s stuff in a van. I can’t imagine her hauling all that old furniture and clothing to that fancy house of hers. Maybe she put it in storage and just forgot about it.”

    “Well if she did,” Oren replied, “she’ll sure be looking after she reads that diary.”

    “Exactly! We need to keep watching. Maybe she’ll lead us to that locket after all.”

    “What if she does? What then?”

    “Then I guess it’s time for a family reunion!”

    DeMarcus Tweedy winced as he pulled the bandage off his arm and examined the bullet wound in his bicep.

   “Payback time!” he said to his friend, Lamar, as he reached for the antiseptic. “That old fool shot my cousin Rashawn dead, then his cop buddies shot Deandre, and now this!”

    “What you got in mind, Bro?”

    “He ain’t a cop no more. Him an’ another ole fart are playin’ private eye. I figure we follow ‘em an’ when the time is right, the two of us shouldn’t have no trouble takin’ out two guys old enough to be our granddaddies.”

    Dr. Crane had appointments scheduled for the next day, so we made arrangements to pick her up at her home, then proceed to the storage facility where we hoped to find Nate’s locket.

    The storage units were on Holmes Road just north of the I-435 freeway.

    Dr. Crane pulled a slip of paper from her purse. “It’s been so long since I put Mom’s things there, I couldn’t remember the unit number or the combination to the lock. Thankfully, I wrote both down and put them in our safe.”

    We located the unit and Kevin opened the lock with the doctor’s combination.

    We rolled the door open and found the light switch, illuminating what looked like the remains of someone’s garage sale. An overstuffed sofa and chair upholstered in a burgundy frieze from the 1950’s were stacked along one wall. An old Beautyrest pillow top mattress and box spring leaned against another. Various pieces of furniture were piled high with boxes, some labeled, some not.

    “Holy crap,” Kevin moaned. “It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

    “Sorry about that,” Dr. Crane apologized. “I didn’t have time to come with the movers. It’s my fault.”

    “Well, these boxes aren’t going to open themselves,” Kevin said, grabbing the closest carton.

    For the next half hour, Dr. Crane took a belated stroll down memory lane.

    One box was filled with Christmas decorations. “Oh my,” she said, holding up an angel with golden wings spread wide. “This was on top of our tree every year. It was the last thing to go on the tree and my mom would always tell me that I was her special little angel.”

    Another was filled with books. “The Bobbsey Twins!” she said, clutching a book to her breast. “Mom read these to me until I was old enough to read for myself. Nan, Bert, Freddie and Flossie were my heroes. My very favorite was
The Bobbsey Twins at Mystery Mansion
.”

    Other boxes were filled with shoes, clothing, pots, pans and assorted kitchen gadgets.

    “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Kevin said, clutching a box labeled ‘Mom’s jewelry.’

    He was just about to cut open the box when we heard, “Party’s over, assholes. Throw down the knife and get your hands in the air.”

    The voice belonged to DeMarcus Tweedy. He and another black man I didn’t recognize were pointing Saturday Night Specials at our hearts.

    “Hands behind your heads,” he ordered.

    We did as he asked.

    “Good! Lamar, get their guns.”

    Kevin and I were both carrying, but not for long.

    “Please,” Dr. Crane pleaded. “Don’t hurt us. If it’s money you’re looking for, we’ll gladly give it to you and you can let us go.”

    “Shut up, bitch!” he said, making a menacing move toward the doctor. “You just don’t get it. Dis ain’t about money. It’s about respect --- and revenge.”

   “I --- I don’t understand,” she stammered.

    He pointed to me. “Tell her, Mr. Ex-cop.”

    Dr. Crane looked at me expectantly.

    “A few months ago, his cousin, Rashawn Tweedy, shot a police officer during the commission of an armed robbery. He was about to shoot the officer’s partner when I arrived on the scene. I shot Rashawn before he could kill the other officer. Later, Deandre, Rashaun’s brother attacked me and was killed by other officers at the scene.”

    “Like I said, revenge,” he sneered. “But it ain’t just about Rashawn and Deandre anymore. Dat was just here. What about Trayvon Martin in Florida, Michael Brown in Ferguson and Eric Garner in New York? All black kids killed by cops. The Good Book says, ‘an eye for an eye,’ an’ dat’s just what’s gonna happen. Every time a cop kills one of us, we gonna kill some of them --- starting right now!

    I could have quoted a few passages from the Good Book myself, but it didn’t look like DeMarcus was interested in a theological debate.

    “Now get on your knees, assholes,” DeMarcus ordered. “I’m about to show this fancy lady how we avenge the murder of our brothers.”

    I looked at Kevin, hoping he had some brilliant plan to pull our fat out of the fire, but I could see by the look on his face that he had nothing.

    As we fell to our knees, I just prayed that DeMarcus would let Dr. Crane live, but I knew in my heart that probably wouldn’t happen.

    “Told you!” Billy Bob said, as they watched their Aunt Liz and the two old guys turn into the storage lot.

    “Yep, you figured right,” Oren replied. “What now?”

    “Let’s just wait and watch. There’s no point in announcing our presence unless they find the locket. If they come up empty, we’ll just be on our way and no one will be the wiser.”

    “And if they do find it?”

    “That’s when we have that family reunion I was talking about.”

    They watched as the three of them opened box after box with no success. Finally, they saw one of the old guys pick up a box and say, “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”

    At that very moment, two black men with guns drawn entered the storage unit. They heard one of them say, “Party’s over assholes.”

    “What the hell?” Oren muttered. “Billy Bob! They’re getting robbed!”

    “Great! Just what we need,” he replied. “We’re this close to getting that twenty-five grand and two gang-bangers are going to take it right from under our noses. We’ve got to do something!”

    “What?” Oren cried. “What can we do? They’ve got guns and all we have are our mops, brooms and cleaning supplies. Mops against guns --- I don’t like our odds.”

    Billy Bob thought for a minute. “That’s not all we’ve got. The Binford 4000 Power Washer. It’s in the back. That baby shoots a stream four thousand pounds per square inch, enough to knock a guy on his ass.”

    Oren let the idea sink in. “It just might work.”

    “Let’s do it. You climb in the back and fire up the Binford while I turn the van around. I’ll back the van down to the storage unit and you blast ‘em straight to hell.”

    “Hold on a minute!” How come I have to be in the back? If they start shooting, it’s going to be at me!”

    “Because it was my idea, and I’m the oldest. Now get back there and fire up the Binford.”

    Billy Bob turned the van around. The Binford fired on the second pull and by the time the van reached the storage unit, the needle on the pressure gauge read 4000.

    I had just fallen to my knees and was thinking about Maggie and how sorry I was that I wouldn’t be able to tell her goodbye, when I heard the roar of a gas engine being fired up.