Murder in Germantown (37 page)

“
Get the fuck out of the way!” I heard a women’s voice yell.

I turned and saw that she had a gun raised in the air.

“
Move, you assholes.”

I heard the ding-dong warning that the train conductor was closing the doors. As the doors slid shut, Dajuan was at the other car holding the door open. Brandon and I ran out of it and it slammed shut.

The train pulled off and the crazed woman sprayed bullets into the train window. It was bullet proof.

I smiled.

She slammed her hand on the door and rode to the 15th Street station pissed.

Thirty seconds later, we emerged onto Market Street and hopped into the car with Kensan. Daylight had arrived. It was officially Sunday. We were headed to Germantown.

“
Somebody was shooting at us!” I said, as he pulled off. “Did you get the tickets?”

“
Yes, three. Two adults and one kid, just like you told me. All on Dajuan’s card. I hope this works, because the police are definitely looking for you.”

“
How you know that?”

“
They were posting pictures of you in the station.”

CHAPTER 86

Kensan Pope’s cellar was spacious and covered the entire length of the house. The floors were cold and concrete, except where he had throw rugs laid down. Light was allowed into the room, thanks to the windows that ran under the porch. He had actually cordoned off the bedroom from the living room, giving the area a little style. There was a toilet with a sink and a small stand-in shower. He had everything, except a kitchen.

Dajuan and Brandon sat on the sofa, and Kensan turned on his TV for them to watch. I had the laptop call up all of the information on Mr. 357. I asked Kensan to go to the pay phone and make a call for me, as I researched away.

“
Whatever you need,” he replied without all of the lip service that he had given me at my office.

“
Go call 9-1-1 and tell them that reporter Aramis Reed is tied up in his Park Drive Manor apartment number 1007.”

“
What if he is not there?” Dajuan asked.

“
No harm to the police. That’s their job,” I said. “I can then take the steps to have them searching for him.”

* * *

The idea of Aramis being dead was unbearable. I steadily researched and learned that 357 did reference a gun. It also was the number of crimes that he committed in a city.

Three.

Five.

Seven.

He had committed two in Philadelphia according to him, so I was third. Or perhaps, number three on his road to five or seven. He was spiraling out of control, and I planned to help him fall from grace. I would be right there to plant the Ravonne Lemmelle flag on his forehead. I typed in another website, and Aramis Reed marched down the basement stairs in front of Kensan.

I jumped to my feet and embraced him tightly. I was overwhelmed with joy and could not thank God more.

“
What the hell happened?” I asked and released him.

“
Some crazy bitch put a .357 to my dome, made me call you, and that’s after I allowed her to cuff me to the bed,” he said and plopped on the sofa.

“
What? How’d the hell did you meet her?”

I gave him a blank stare and he volleyed a crazy one, so I said, “The party line.” I let that sink in before I said, “Bet that will keep your ass off that chat line now.”

I then asked Kensan, “How’d you get him from the police?”

“
I never called them. I went to the apartment and had the manager open the door.”

“
Wow.”

I was impressed.

“
Yeah, I am not as dumb as I look,” Kensan said and grinned.

No one could laugh.

“
Maybe,” Aramis said. “But what the hell is going on and who is this crazy bitch?”

“
She claims to be Mr. 357.”

“
What! Lies,” Aramis said.

“
Yes, this bitch is a psycho, too.
The Inquirer
had covered Mr. 357 extensively. Could you get the notes and articles from the library vault, so we can figure out who this is?”

Aramis said, “I suppose I could, but what does Mr. 357 want with you or me? And since when did mister become misses?”

“
Since tonight,” said I, and then told him the short version of tonight’s events.

He replied, “That’s bananas. Why would someone want to take Brandon?”

“
I guess it is anger at me for having Artis acquitted. Other than that, beats the hell out of me. Call the editors and get the info to see if I crossed this son-of-a-motherless goat.”

“
They’re going to take me through a bunch of red tape, because I am not an official reporter, but I may have a favor due to me.”

“
Tell them that you may nab Mr. 357. They’d be richer if they published the report. You would be famous and make history. So do whatever you want to do to get their library.”

* * *

An hour later, Aramis and I continued to plow through the
Philadelphia Inquirer’s
library files on Mr. 357, two hours after they had E-mailed what they had. I had sped read all of the articles twice. There were articles from all of the cities where he had committed crimes. The article titles could not be ignored, either. I could not imagine going out to retrieve the morning paper and having one of these former headlines screaming at me:

HE’S HERE, MR. 357

LOADED .357 LEFT IN THE BOX W/BODY

MURDER CONNOISSEUR IN MIAMI

STAY IN TONIGHT, OR MAYBE GO OUT

If I was not a sane lad, I would believe that other murderers felt second rate when the press announced Mr. 357’s arrival to their town. The thought of local Charles Manson’s becoming envious of Mr. 357 was repulsive. Hell, I was jealous. His intelligence superseded mine by far.

“
I am really on to something here,” I announced to Aramis.

He gave me one of those point-blank stares and I explained myself.

“
I’ve outlined a chronology of the crimes and it seems I’ve been a visitor to all of the cities where
they’ve taken place.”

“
Good for you. The frequent flyer. Maybe you did literally fuck this animal. If he or she looks like the babe that tied me the hell up, I don’t doubt that ya gay ass fucked her. If it’s her,” Aramis replied.

“
You really think Mr. 357 is a broad somehow?” Kensan asked.

“
Anything is possible. No gun was used and maybe a woman was scared to shoot,” Aramis told him.

“
Nah. I’m not buying that,” Kensan said. “I know plenty of chicks that are shooters.”

“
Hood rats, yeah. Ghetto woman,” said I.

“
Are you implying only hood chicks shoot? Because I know or at least bet that there is a country bumpkin that’ll blow your head off.”

“
Okay, I get it, Kensan. But this is the work of a psychological dysfunctional man.”

“
Ravonne, you’re starting to annoy me. You’re sounding dumb. You could be Mr. 357. He does not have to be insane. He could be very sane. The typical soccer dad. By all accounts you’re a stable family man, which could be a serious facade.”

I was taken aback by the aggression in Aramis’s tone.

“
Alright, I get it. Let me see what you’ve been writing.”

I began to read his notes as he spoke to me.

“
I began an article shell of what has happened from the moment that she cuffed me until the moment Kensan rescued me. Even the things involving you.”

Aramis’s notes were meticulous and extensive. I found very interesting things that “make you go um” hiding beneath his ideologies. He could’ve made an acute attorney, but he worked out to be a fine investigative reporter. His hypothesis was doused with hunches and innuendo, but the ideas were fresh, considering he had something no other reporter had, and that was contact.

I stopped reading and said to him, “Something connects me to this monster. I wronged it somewhere.”

“
Maybe in another lifetime,” Kensan joked in an attempt to balm the mood.

“
He loved Milan during the summer of 2000,” Aramis said.

“
True, and I was there for two months as an exchange student at U of Milan.”

“
How could I forget that? Ariel only visited you once and never took your calls. She called you when she was not busy with Kim. Or was it Daisy at that time?”

“
Daisy. You had to hear all about that as my best friend, because I had no one in Italy to really chat to. Okay, so I came back from Milan in mid-August and we ventured off to Harvard Law together.”

“
Along with your then girlfriend, Ariel, whom I still dislike.”

“
Whatever. At any rate, I got her pregnant in January/February 2001 and then came Brandon in October.”

“
But according to the papers, good ol’ Mr. 357 was ravaging Boston beginning in September 2001 as Sylvester Bailey the murderer and prolific international hacker. Who, might I add, eclipsed the reputation of the Boston Strangler. In October 2001, Ariel dumped you for Hollywood and never looked back. So, between December 1997 and October 2001, I’m assuming you wronged the clown.”

“
So Ariel is the connection?” Dajuan said, and opened his eyes.

He had been feigning sleep with Brandon up under him in a deep sleep.

“
Well, I have to bring something to the light.” Everyone’s eyes beamed in on me. I felt like I was about to perform at a Super Bowl half-time show. “Ariel came to see me a week ago.”

“
What!”

That was Dajuan. He moved Brandon to the side and stood. Kensan and Aramis stared at us.

I went on. “She came to see me on the same day as the Artis acquittal. She refused to meet Brandon, so I walked out of her hotel room. She claimed that she wanted some money. Then she added that she was going to file for divorce and take me for half my worth. And that was because, I told her that if she did not meet Brandon I did not want to talk to her.

“
And take note that that night Dave and Busters was robbed and you received a crank call to watch the news that morning. Also note, Dorothy Kincaid, was bagged, tagged, and shipped to the local FBI office that morning,” Dajuan said. He went on, and said, “I’ve actually read most of what you two are now gagging over. I actually had time to read the papers. It seems that Ariel has been around the set of all of the Mr. 357 crimes in Milan, Boston and now Philadelphia. I’m willing to bet that she was at the Salt Lake City Olympic Games. I would also bet she was with the true Mark Artis, too. That explains why she’s back or she may be Skylar Juday in drag as a man. You did not get the connection with Artis, so the heat was turned up.”

“
There you have it folks. Whoever is trying to kill you has a connection to Ariel Greenland,” Kensan said.

“
Makes sense to me. Why else would they want to blow you up and take Brandon?” Aramis asked.

“
He’s right,” Kensan added. “You were supposed to be blown up and at the same time your condo was being staked out to kidnap Brandon. Only that piece of the plan fell through because I was there and gave you an outlet to warn D and B.”

“
Oh shit,” Aramis and I said together.

I then said, “D and B, as in Dave and Buster’s like Dajuan and Brandon. She fuckin’ did it! That crazy bitch is Mr. 357. That was a clue to the identity and now that I think about it, her favorite drink is...”

“
Don’t tell me,” Dajuan said. “Let me guess, Louis the damn 13th, which further explains why the women who were raped had no semen or body fluid evidence. She used a dildo.”

I bet I looked as ridiculous as I ever have in my life. That couldn’t be it. A charming analysis that I could not accept. We were on the right train going down the wrong track.

“
Ariel is not Mr. 357.”

“
Why not?” Dajuan asked.

“
She’s not!” I growled and jumped to my feet.