Power (21 page)

“I get it now.” Harper gave a nod. “Those little girls like you. They don’t want to talk to anyone else.”

Jess snorted. “Must be my nurturing nature.”

Harper checked his cell. “Just got another five possibly credible hits from the hotline.”

“Damn.” She grabbed her bag. “I’m going with you. The girls will just have to wait.”

“Prescott has phone duty at the task force headquarters. She can go with me. You take care of those little ballerinas.” He winked, then slipped on his Ray-Bans. “Could be good practice.”

“Funny.”

On the way to the parking garage for her Audi, Jess called Lori and asked the detective to meet her at the Chandler mansion. Lori reported that Dresher and her daughter were at the orthodontist’s office, so the timing was good for her.

The idea that Katrina wasn’t at the studio rehearsing with the other girls seemed odd to Jess. But then, what did she know about kids and their maintenance?

• • •

Cotton Avenue, noon

The massive, ornate entry gates stood wide open as Jess turned onto the long drive. The only vehicles parked in front of the Chandler home were Andrea’s BMW and a vintage Rolls-Royce.

Had to be the grandmother. Birmingham’s grande dame of the arts, Dorothy Chandler.

As she climbed out of her Audi, Jess surveyed the drive and the cobblestoned parking circle for Katherine Burnett’s posh Mercedes. There was no sign of her or her car, thank God. Jess climbed the steps and raised her fist to knock on the opulently carved front door. It opened before she could make contact and an older version of Darcy Chandler appeared before Jess. If she’d ever met anyone with better posture, the recollection escaped her. Tall, slender, and undeniably beautiful, Dorothy Chandler wore her hair in the same meticulous French twist she’d worn when she was an internationally celebrated ballerina. The tailored sheath and matching high heels hadn’t come from any store at which Jess had ever had the pleasure of shopping. Though the dress was unquestionably elegant, the soft gray color was just somber enough to announce the woman’s state of mourning.

“Chief Harris.”

“Ms. Chandler.”

“Please come in.” The graceful lady stepped back and opened the towering door wider in invitation.

Lori’s sassy red Mustang roared up the drive and parked next to Jess’s ancient Audi. “That’s my colleague, Detective Wells.”

Chandler nodded. “Show her in. We’ll be waiting in the garden.”

Dorothy Chandler turned and walked away, her steps precisely measured and as smooth as if she floated on air.

Lori bounded up the steps, any indication of the beatings she’d taken last week no longer visible in her movements.

“What’ve we got?”

Jess shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s a command performance.”

Lori’s expression lit with anticipation. “Interesting.”

“Maybe.”

Inside, Jess led the way through the center entry hall. She couldn’t help glancing at the place where Darcy Chandler had landed on the cold marble floor.

The French doors at the back of the grand home that led onto the terrace were open. Two of the dancers waited with Andrea and the elder Chandler in the butterfly garden. The colors and scents and fairylike figurines created a whimsical setting that lured butterflies and children like bees to honey.

“Wow,” Lori murmured.

Jess’s lips quirked. “Yeah. This is how the one percenters live.”

When they reached the waiting group, Andrea jumped up and hugged Jess. “Thank you for coming.”

She ushered Jess to the bench closest to Chandler. Lori joined her there.

The two girls Jess had heard in the background on the phone sat with Andrea on another limestone bench while Chandler sat, back ramrod straight, on the third.

When no one else kicked off the conversation, Jess said, “You are aware this case is closed.”

“I am aware that your department believes so, yes.” Eighty years old or not, the woman spoke with supreme confidence.

“And you’re also aware that Deputy Chief Harold Black is in charge of this case.”

“I am. But it’s you I wish to speak with.”

Jess sent Lori a you-are-my-witness glance before continuing. “Whatever the story is, ladies, please start at the beginning.”

“Andrea, take Sylvia and Lauren into the house for refreshments.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Andrea ushered the girls across the terrace and into the house. When the French doors were closed, Chandler began her story. “In January of last year Corrine Dresher and her daughter Katrina moved to Birmingham from Seattle, or so she claims.”

Jess waited for her to continue.

“Since she isn’t employed and has no husband, I can only assume she has a trust or some source of income. Even before she was settled in a permanent home, she enrolled her daughter in my Darcy’s dance studio. Generally we have a process, including tryouts and an interview, but since Katrina had been accepted into Brighton Academy she was given priority status.”

Brighton was another Birmingham institution. Sending a kid there was like paying college tuition the dozen or so years before college. It also guaranteed acceptance to most any college or university in the country. Still, the Alabama Belles Dance Studio was a private business. No one made Darcy Chandler enroll the child. “But your granddaughter accepted Katrina’s enrollment at the studio.”

Dorothy conceded with a nod. “She had no idea the mistake she was making.”

Jess needed more than blunt, emotional statements. “I know this is difficult, but I need you to explain what you mean by that. What aspect of enrolling the child was a mistake?”

“Corrine became one of the pushiest mothers. She complained about everything. Her daughter’s talent was far from this studio’s usual standard, but Katrina was immediately moved into the position of competition team alternate. The entire chain of events was a fiasco.”

“Why would Darcy make a decision like that?”

“It wasn’t her decision. It was
his
. He allowed that horrid child and her evil mother to become an integral part of the team, as if they had always been here. The other girls had worked years to rise to the level they have achieved. Darcy was furious.”

“Do you believe Alexander was having an affair with Corrine?”

The elder Chandler reflected on that question for a time. “Darcy insinuated there was something between the two, but whether Alexander was screwing the Dresher woman or not wasn’t as relevant as it might have once been.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“Meaning?” Jess prodded.

“Darcy was embroiled in an affair of her own.”

“Was this affair with Jarrod Pratt?” Jess had a feeling that was why the mayor wanted the case closed quickly.

Dorothy Chandler looked away. Her hand shook as she covered her mouth for a moment to compose herself.

“Ms. Chandler, I’m sorry to have to ask these questions, but if you believe your granddaughter was murdered by someone besides Alexander, we have to know the answers to the hard questions.”

She squared her shoulders and met Jess’s gaze. “Not with Jarrod. With his wife, Cynthia.”

Well, there was a twist Jess hadn’t expected. Talk about a scandal. No wonder it was being kept on the down low. This was Alabama where being black, Hispanic, or queer was still only marginally acceptable and rarely discussed in public. “Were either of the husbands aware of this affair?”

Dorothy nodded. “There was quite a heated yet discreet battle taking place. Cynthia had agreed to wait until after the election to seek a divorce. Darcy was to get hers now.” The matron of the Chandler family frowned. “But something changed two weeks ago, and Darcy decided she didn’t want Alexander to have any part in the studio anymore. She refused to discuss it with anyone. Not even me. But it seemed to have something to do with that unpleasant child, Katrina, and her mother.”

“I understand that you have reservations and the facts you’ve related to me are compelling, but what reason would Alexander have for confessing to a murder he didn’t commit?” Jess wholeheartedly agreed that the Russian was likely lying. They needed to know why and to be able to prove it.

“He’s covering for the real killer and I believe that person is Corrine Dresher,” Chandler insisted. “Whatever power Corrine holds over him, it’s enough to have him step forward to ensure the truth is never found. Alexander doesn’t have the guts to commit murder. He’s protecting someone—my granddaughter’s killer.”

“You haven’t mentioned any of this previously. Why are you sharing this information now?” If she genuinely believed Dresher was involved in her granddaughter’s death, why keep it to herself?

“Andrea showed me the video clip. While we were watching, Lauren and Sylvia came into the parlor. They were supposed to be rehearsing with the others. Andrea and I had let the time get away and everyone else was gone except those two. Sylvia was the first to speak up. She reminded Lauren about the way Katrina bullied Michelle.”

“Michelle is?” Jess inquired.

“The child we lost just before Christmas last year.”

Oh yes. Andrea had told her one of the dancers had died in an accident. Katrina had taken her place on the competition team. “Was there some question about Michelle’s accident?” Andrea hadn’t mentioned anything but then they had gotten interrupted by Jess’s call from Burnett after the so-called BPD leak hit the news.

“She fell in front of a car on the main street that crosses in front of the school. It was a horrible tragedy. She lived for three days but she never regained consciousness.”

Jess’s instincts sat up and took notice. “But it was an accident, right?”

“That’s what everyone said. Katrina and her mother were right beside her when it happened. They were supposed to ride to rehearsal together. The mothers rely on each other when there’s an appointment or an illness. If you’re not familiar with how things work at a studio, especially an intimate one like ours, the dancers and their mothers become like a family. That day Corrine was to pick up both Katrina and Michelle. But for some reason she’d forgotten her pickup line pass so she’d parked a block away from the school. It’s quite an annoying rule, but like all rules it has its purpose. Corrine met the girls at the school’s main entrance gate and the three walked along that busy street to her car. After the accident, they claimed Michelle had dropped her cell phone and stumbled into the street as she tried to retrieve it.”

“You have some reason to believe it wasn’t an accident?” Once again, they needed more than speculation. Although Jess did find it quite a coincidence that yet another person with extraordinary balance stumbled and fell. And Katrina and her mother were the only ones around at the time.

Dorothy met Jess’s expectant gaze with fear in hers. “Sylvia and Lauren insist Katrina bullied Michelle unmercifully. She would tell Michelle that if she broke her leg she wouldn’t be able to dance and Katrina would take her place. Every day it was something. Very cruel. It just seems strange to me that Corrine forgot her pass and decided not to bother going back home for it that particular day. Michelle died as a result of that decision. And now my Darcy is dead.”

“But no one who witnessed the incident that took Michelle’s life could say otherwise?”

Dorothy shook her head. “There were two eyewitnesses who came forward but none could say that Corrine’s and Katrina’s stories were false. It just happened too fast. Still, a few weeks later at a spend-the-night party Katrina was angry because the others were taunting her about her poor performance in rehearsal. They said something like they wished they had Michelle back. Katrina told them to shut up or they would be sorry just like Michelle.” Dorothy pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “She warned them that her mother would make them sorry.”

Dorothy Chandler was absolutely convinced that the Russian did not have the courage to kill Darcy. She was equally convinced that somehow Corrine Dresher was responsible not only for her death but also for Michelle’s. Yesterday she had hired a private investigator to see what he could find on Dresher. Jess couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same thing. Unfortunately, without evidence or an immensely compelling motive, the hands of the police were tied in both cases.

While Lori questioned the two girls, Jess checked up on Andrea. Lori would also look into the story about Michelle Butler once they were finished here. There would be a case file on the Butler accident at the BPD. Perhaps the family would be willing to talk.

“You hanging in there, Andrea?” She certainly seemed to be in the thick of this painful situation.

“I’ll be glad when this is over.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “I just want justice for Ms. Darcy and I want my mom to stop being sad.”

Burnett had said that Annette and Darcy Chandler had been friends. But Jess hadn’t gotten the impression that they were that close or that she was taking it quite so hard as Andrea seemed to think.

“We’ll get this case settled and then you and your mom can move on.”

“I don’t think that’ll fix things for my mom. She hangs on me whenever I’m home. Says she hates being alone. I can’t even leave the house without her calling a hundred times like some stalker.” Andrea released a big, burdened breath. “When she’s not driving me crazy, she’s calling Dan.”

“If it’s not the case, then what’s going on with your mom?”

“It’s my dad.” Andrea shook her head. “He’s an asshole. He’s leaving again and Mom just can’t deal with it.”

The memory of smelling Annette’s perfume on Burnett’s jacket filled Jess’s senses.

Well, now she knew.

Her cell clanged and Jess ditched her pity party and dug the phone from her bag. “Harris.”

“I’m on my way to Pelham.” Harper rattled off an address on Lee Street, just off 52. “We got four dead MS-13 members and one dead African American male.”

An ache pierced Jess’s chest. “Is it DeShawn Simmons?”

“No ID on any of the victims, but that’s what the first officers on the scene believe.”

“I’m on my way, Sergeant.”

“We don’t have a lot of time, ma’am. Officer Cook has just arrived on the scene. He called me instead of GTF. He can’t wait much longer before notifying Captain Allen.”