Murder on the Down Low (42 page)

J.C. glanced at the bag, then at Nichelle. “There’s no way I or anybody else could get away with something like that. First, I’ve been taken off the case. And second, they would know the cameras had been switched because they don’t have the same serial numbers. They usually record them when they log evidence into the property room.”

“
Usually
is right. Half the time the guys who run the property rooms are so lazy, they don’t even bother to take down the serial numbers. I’ve had cases where they couldn’t even find the evidence once they
had
logged it in.”

Vernetta couldn’t believe that Nichelle was actually serious.

“You know why criminals get caught?” J.C. said. “Because they don’t cover every angle. Have you thought about the fact that Special’s prints won’t be on your camera?”

“Her prints
are
on my camera,” Nichelle said. “So are yours and Vernetta’s and Maya’s, because you all took pictures with it at one time or another. Special borrowed it whenever she couldn’t find hers. I would bet more of her prints are on it than mine. And there are pictures of all of us stored on this camera. So no one would question that it’s Special’s.”

Nichelle groaned. “Stop looking at me like that. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“You’re a former prosecutor,” Vernetta said. “I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing.”

“That’s exactly why I am suggesting it. I saw far too many poor people being convicted while people with money walked. Everybody thinks I left the City Attorney’s office because I got tired of prosecuting cases. What I got tired of was all the unfair treatment of black and brown people. We’d have to send some black crack addict to jail for being caught with three rocks, while the white guy on the west side who got picked up with three times as much powder cocaine, never did a day behind bars. It’s not fair. And you know it isn’t, J.C. You see so-called justice from a different angle than we do.”

Neither woman could dispute what Nichelle had just said.

“What I’m asking you to do may be illegal, but it’s not wrong.”

J.C. slowly swung her head from side to side. “The reason Special is in trouble is because she took the law into her own hands and started harassing Eugene rather than waiting for the legal system to deal with him. Now you’re proposing that we—no, that
I
—do the same thing. You’re the one always talking about putting things in God’s hands. Where’s your faith?”

“It’s still there. But sometimes you have to rely on a little more than faith.”

Vernetta thought about Special’s gun. She had initially told Jefferson she needed time to think about his proposal, but ultimately decided to put it back where she found it. Since the police had already searched Special’s place, it was unlikely that they would discover it. She had not mentioned the gun to Nichelle and now she was glad she hadn’t. Nichelle would have urged her to let Jefferson get rid of it.

“Nichelle, this is wrong,” Vernetta said. “You can’t ask J.C. to put her career on the line like this.”

“At least think about it,” Nichelle replied calmly. “If you don’t think you can get away with it, fine.” She ignored the stunned expressions on their faces. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that if Maya were sitting at this table and one of us were in the same trouble Special is in, she’d agree with me one hundred percent.”

Nichelle circled the rim of her glass with her index finger. “So, if you can’t do this for Special,” she said, staring at J.C. with a defiance Vernetta had never seen before, “then do it for Maya.”

V
ernetta sat in the client meeting room of the county jail, waiting for Special to be brought in.

Jefferson had warned her not to tell Special about the discovery of the gun, but after Nichelle’s outrageous proposal earlier that day, she had decided that it was best to confront her.

Special sat down across from Vernetta and waited for the guard to close the door before speaking. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look worse than me, and I’m the one about to go down for a murder I didn’t commit.”

Vernetta tried to laugh. It was so unnerving to see her friend all chained up in the faded orange jumpsuit.

“You’re scaring me. Please don’t say you’re here to tell me I’m going to be convicted!”

“I have something important I need to ask you.”

“Okay,” she said uneasily. “Go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you owned a gun?”

Special opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. “I . . . I didn’t want you to know.”

“Where’d you get it?” Vernetta asked, then raised her hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I got it from my cousin,” she said. “And I know what you’re thinking, but I swear I didn’t kill Eugene.”

Vernetta stared solemnly across the table, uncertain of what to believe. “Did you throw those nails in his driveway?”

Special looked down at the table. “Yeah.”

“And what about bashing in his car and vandalizing his house?”

She looked up. “Nope . . . but I had it done.”

“How?”

“How?” Special laughed softly. “Girl, puh-leeze. Do you know how many crazy, ghetto-ass people I have in my family? It didn’t cost me but fifty bucks.”

When Vernetta didn’t laugh, Special turned serious.

“But that stuff and the email was all I did. I did
not
shoot Eugene. Or anybody else.”

“When did you buy the gun?”

“A few days before Maya died. The day the doctor told us she probably wouldn’t survive another week.” She looked down at the table again. “I’ll admit that when I bought the gun killing Eugene was exactly what I wanted to do. But I couldn’t. So I decided to start harassing him instead.”

“Eugene was killed with a small-caliber gun. Probably a twenty-two. So were all those other men. Your gun is a twenty-two.”

“That’s just a coincidence.”

“So if I hand that gun over to the police and they conduct ballistics testing on it, it won’t match?”

“It absolutely won’t match. Not unless somebody stole it from my apartment then put it back.”

“Are you saying that’s what happened?”

“No. I’m saying that as far as I know, that gun didn’t kill Eugene or anybody else. I’ll swear to that on a stack of Bibles.”

Vernetta desperately wanted to believe her friend. “Jefferson asked me to let him get rid of it.”

Special chuckled again. “What did you say?”

“I told him I needed time to think about it.”

“Well, at least there’s one good thing that’s come out of all this.”

“And what’s that?”

“At least I know you really got my back.” Special started to tear up. “I’m shocked that you, Ms. Law and Order, would even consider doing something illegal like getting rid of a gun.” Her chains rattled when she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s nothin’ but love.”

This time Vernetta smiled.

Special looked over her shoulder to make sure the guard wasn’t watching, then reached across the table and squeezed Vernetta’s hand. She remained silent until Vernetta’s eyes met hers.

“I swear on Maya’s grave,” Special said, “I did not shoot Eugene. So, please, don’t let them convict me.”

J
.C. tossed and turned for most of the night. She finally climbed out of bed at four, showered and arrived at the station an hour before the start of her shift.

Nichelle’s request continued to weigh on her even though she knew switching the cameras was something she could never do. So why was she still wrestling with the thought?

It was her job to enforce the law, not break it. Being an upstanding, by-the-book cop wasn’t easy when others chose to abandon right and wrong anytime it suited them. Lieutenant Wilson’s refusal to notify the public that a serial killer was gunning down gay black men was a prime example of that. But two wrongs did not make a right.

Other than Special, no serious suspects had surfaced. They were still waiting for the analysis of Lamont’s mail to confirm whether his prints matched the ones found on the wineglass and kitchen window at Eugene’s house. Though Detective Jessup was convinced that Lamont could be their guy, J.C. thought his partner, Ken, might have more of a motive. The police were keeping both men under surveillance.

Despite rejecting Nichelle’s request, J.C. had confiscated the camera, concerned that Nichelle might try to find another way to make the switch. Right now, it was locked in J.C.’s desk drawer.

Later that afternoon, a thought came to her. She wondered if she actually
could
make the switch without getting caught. She wouldn’t even have to switch the cameras, just the disks. Not that she
would
do it. She was just curious to see whether she
could
.

J.C. waited until the end of the day, ten minutes before the shift change when she knew the regular property desk guy, Nick O’Connell, would be anxious to leave.

“Hey, Nick,” she said, stepping up to the counter. “I need to take a look at the evidence log in the Nelson murder case. Here’s the case number.”

Nick did exactly what she had expected him to do. Check his watch. “I was just about to leave. Marty’ll be on duty in a few minutes.”

“C’mon, you have another ten minutes before quitting time. I won’t be long. I promise.”

He grudgingly reached under the counter and handed J.C. the log. She ran her finger down the list of items, searching for the camera.
What a surprise.
No one had bothered to record the serial number.

J.C. handed the logbook back to him. “Just one more thing. I need to go in the back and take a look at some of the evidence. I only need a couple of minutes.”

Nick frowned. “I told you Marty’ll—”

“C’mon, Nick. I have to get out of here, too,” J.C. begged. “Tell you what? I’ll go get it myself.”

It was against procedure for J.C. to retrieve an evidence bag herself, or to even go in the property room without an escort. But all Nick cared about was going home on time. He spread his arms out. “Go for it.”

He hit a buzzer and opened a metal gate that gave J.C. access to the area behind the counter. J.C. had to hurry before Marty showed up. He never would’ve allowed this.

What the hell am I doing?
She passed shelf after shelf of items bagged in plastic and marked with red tags.
I’m not going to switch the disks.
I just want to see if I could.

J.C. could hear the pounding of her heart as her eyes quickly scanned the case numbers on the shelves. She found the bag she was looking for and tugged it loose. She set it on a nearby counter, pulled out the camera and removed the disk. J.C. then slipped her hand into her pocket and retrieved the disk she had taken from Nichelle’s camera and held them side by side. They were identical.

J.C. stood there for a long tense moment. As much as she wanted to do this, she couldn’t. She was about to slip the disk back into Special’s camera when someone shouted from the front.

“Hey, what are you doing back there?” Marty was marching straight toward her.

Just as she picked up the bag, a slip of paper floated away. She grabbed it from the floor and shoved it back into the bag, then jammed the disk back into the camera. She had already put the evidence bag back on the shelf when she realized she had put the wrong disk inside the camera.
Or had she?

“You’re not supposed to be back here by yourself,” Marty admonished her.

“I just needed to check out some evidence.” J.C. slipped the remaining disk into her pocket. “You know how Nick is around quitting time.” She stepped around him and headed for the ladies’ room.

Locking herself in the last stall, J.C. pulled the tiny disk from her pocket. She’d been so nervous she had no idea whether it was Nichelle’s disk or Special’s she was now holding. She pressed her forehead against the stall door.
How stupid!

Deep inside, she had actually
wanted
to switch the disks, even though doing so was against everything she professed to stand for.

J.C. knew what she had to do. She would go get Nichelle’s camera and check the disk. If it were blank, she would know that it came from Special’s camera. And if she had indeed switched them, she would just have to figure out a way to switch them back.

W
hen Vernetta learned about Special’s jailhouse visitor, she began to wonder why Belynda was suddenly curious about that photograph Special took. So, with Nichelle in tow, she decided to attend Sunday services at Ever Faithful in the hope of talking to the woman.

On the ride over, Vernetta suggested the possibility that the man Special saw kissing Eugene was someone from Ever Faithful, perhaps a member of the church leadership. Nichelle, however, refused to consider the possibility that a minister from her esteemed church was on the down low.

“Think about it,” Vernetta reasoned, “Belynda tried to show Special a picture of someone in the church bulletin. You just said the only pictures in the bulletin are of Bishop Berry and the three assistant pastors. That means she obviously thinks Eugene was seeing one of the ministers.”

Nichelle wasn’t hearing it. “I don’t care. It’s not possible.”

“I hope you’re right, but this is an angle we have to investigate.”

Even though they arrived twenty minutes before the start of the service, the church parking lot was already full. They ended up parking a block away. When they finally made it inside the church, the only available seats were near the back.

Nichelle scanned the pulpit, then opened her program. “It looks like Reverend Sims is preaching today.”

Vernetta looked around for Belynda, but didn’t see her.

“Welcome to the Ever Faithful family,” Reverend Sims said after a selection from the choir. “Our esteemed leader Bishop Berry has been in Houston all week at the National Baptist Convention. So you have to contend with the B team today.”

The congregation laughed good-naturedly.

Following the church announcements, the offering, altar prayer, and two more selections from the choir, Reverend Sims took to the pulpit.