Sugar & Spice (7 page)

Blake stared at me while I questioned him. I could tell that he wanted me. In another place, in another time, if I weren't married, and if he wasn't a criminal, I might go for the young man. There was something attractive about him. Perhaps it was his cool exterior. Or maybe it was the danger that seemed to seep from his pores. Whatever it was, it was alluring, but I remained professional.

“Listen, Blake,” I began. “I know you weren't involved with the Perkins murders. The drug dealing is another matter altogether. We may not be able to prove that you were supplying the prison, but I know you were.” I
bluffed. “However, I'm not interested in that crime. I'm interested in the murders. What can you tell me about them?”

Blake smiled broadly. “You know, girl, you sho' is sexy.”

“Thank you,” I said, then went right back to work on him. “Did the warden have enemies inside the prison? Maybe one of the guards wasn't getting enough of the cut?”

“I guess that ring means you married, huh?” Blake asked.

I didn't want to turn him against me, so I figured I'd better play along for a while. I had about two hours before his plane took off. If I became argumentative, he may not tell me anything at all.

“Yes,” I said and showed him the ring up close.

“Humpf,” he grunted. “If I had you, I'da bought you one them Zsa Zsa Gabor rings. You know, one that would light up the night when the moonlight hit that bad boy. Like Alicia Keyes said, ‘Baby, you know you worth it.'”

I smiled. “I'm married, Nelson. I have an eight-year-old daughter, too. Please don't interfere with that.”

“So you happy?” he asked.

I kind of laughed a little. Shook my head. “You know, Nelson, it always amazes me when people ask that question. It's like if you say I'm unhappy, then somehow you're no longer married or something. But, to answer your question, I'm very happy. Okay? Now, will you answer some of my questions before your plane takes off?”

“Yeah, okay. What do you wanna know?”

“What are your thoughts on the warden's murder? If you had to guess, who would you say did it? Who would have that big of a grudge to bullwhip them like they were runaway slaves?”

“I have no idea. None whatsoever. Wasn't no dealer though. If I had to guess, I'd look at the recently paroled inmates. Perkins was no choirboy. Allowed the prisoners to do pretty much what they wanted as long as nobody got killed. See, killin' would bring too much unwanted heat. There would be an external investigation. Perkins couldn't control that. So as long as nobody got killed, we all made money. Serious money. The
warden, me, the guards and the gangs. And the prisoners got all the drugs they wanted.”

“So who would be pissed if everybody was getting what they wanted?”

“The hell if I know. If I did, I'd waste whoever it was myself. Deals like that don't get no sweeter. On the other hand, Perkins let a lot of sexual abuse go on. Prostitution rings, gang bangin' other prisoners—all kinds of shit went on in that prison. You had to be a gang member or a Muslim to avoid being turned out.”

“There's something different about you, Sterling,” Kelly began. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?” Sterling asked, but he knew exactly what she was talking about.

Sterling had been a lady's man all of his life. But with the murder of his assistant, he had begun to reflect on his playboy lifestyle. In the last month he had thought about Vanessa Wright, his former live-in girlfriend, and decided to try and get her back.

“You just seem different,” Kelly repeated. She didn't see the same lust in his eyes that she'd seen in the Denver airport when they met. A month ago, Kelly believed that Sterling found her attractive. Were it not for the tragedy that befell them, he probably would have made a move on her. “How have you been getting along since your assistant died? Tiffany was her name, wasn't it?”

“Yes, her name was Tiffany,” Sterling acknowledged. “She had been with me for about ten years. She was just eighteen years old when I met her. She was a student at the University of San Francisco and working part-time for the District Attorney's office. But to answer your question, I've been better.”

“So you used to prosecute criminals, huh?” Kelly smiled.

“Yeah, for about seven years. Never lost a case.” He grinned proudly.

“What made you leave the DA's office?”

“I got an offer I couldn't refuse from the most prestigious firm in San Francisco. Ever heard of Daniels, Burgess and Franklin?” “No. I can't say I have.”

“Well, Zachary Daniels is the senior partner and he recruited me after I cleaned their clocks on a murder case.” Sterling grinned again.

“It's hard to lose someone you cared about, huh?” Kelly asked.

“Yes.”

“Believe me, I know. I've been through the ringer, too,” Kelly said. “So Phoenix says you're in town working on contracts for some of the football players.”

“Yes. That's correct.”

“Do you like being an agent better than you liked being a defense attorney?”

“In some ways. In others no. In a way, athletes are like criminals in that they are used to having what they want when they want it. I guess that's why so many of them end up in the system after their playing careers are over.”

“So what do you do for fun, Sterling?”

“These days I haven't had much fun. The regular season opens in a few weeks and I still have some owners that are playing hardball with some of the veteran players. On the other hand, some of the veterans see what the rookies are making fresh outta college and they're jealous, which I can understand. When you've given your heart and soul to a team and some rookie who hasn't proven his worth comes to camp with a $12 million signing bonus, it gets under their skin. The trick is to find a happy medium—a contract that both parties can live with.”

“Well, how much longer are you going to be in town?” Kelly asked.

“A few more days. Why?”

“I was thinking I haven't had much fun myself since Coco Nimburu blew into town and shook up everybody's world. And if you want some company, I thought we could have some coffee or something. Talk, or shoot a game of pool, whatever.”

Sterling felt himself stiffen. It was a natural reflex for him. Women came onto him all the time. This was nothing new, but it was different.
He found Kelly attractive, just as any man would. But now he wanted to change his ways. He wanted to stop the bed-hopping and finally go after Vanessa Wright. Nevertheless, he hadn't had sex since he left Denver, almost forty days ago. And his body was telling him he could go after Vanessa later. Right now, it needed to be submerged into some friendly flesh.

“I'll tell you what. I may have some time later this evening and I may not. Sometimes contract talks go late into the night.”

“Yeah, sometimes investigations do, too,” Kelly said. “Let's just play it by ear.”

“Cool,” Sterling said.

Nelson Blake had told me all that I needed to know as far as who the suspects were. He had eliminated himself and anyone from his drug-infested world when he told me that they were all making money. Rarely does a drug dealer have a better set-up. They even had a processing lab inside the prison. There was absolutely no reason to disrupt the free flow of drugs from Norrell. When the warden was killed, everybody lost money and the lab was shut down.

Somehow, the word “money” kept coming up, yet the money wasn't taken. This led me to believe that either the killer didn't need the money, or this was a righteous killing. The killer wanted to expose the warden. Maybe that was the reason for the bullwhip. Maybe the killer wanted to punish Perkins for his crimes. But why the wife? Why scourge her? Why rape? Did she have anything to do with drug dealing? I was baffled.

“Kelly,” I said as we zoomed down the Beltway to Arlington in her black Stingray. “What do you think is going on?”

“The hell if I know, Phoenix. I've been thinkin' about the handsome lawyer we just left.”

I looked at her. Kelly was smiling from ear-to-ear. I knew what that meant. She was going to screw Sterling. She had already made up her mind.

“Kelly, don't you think…”

She cut me off. “Phoenix, don't. Okay? I know what you're going to say and I don't need to hear it right now. You know what I've been through
with Simon, and you know he lost Tiffany. Maybe we need each other right now to move on. You know what they say, ‘Nothin' gets you over the last one like the next one.'”

“So Sterling was havin' a thing with Tiffany?” I asked.

“Probably. I mean, she was his personal assistant. All the traveling together. Let's not forget that she was good-looking and so is he. I'd say they were knocking boots.”

It was hard for me to understand Kelly's attitude about sex. There had been a lot of traffic between her thighs in the ten years I'd known her. Well, maybe five or six guys aren't a lot these days. I was a virgin when I married Keyth. Call me old-fashioned, call me self-righteous, but I think sex ought to mean more than a romp and a sincere “see ya when I see ya” attitude. But Kelly is my girl, my very best female friend. And if she didn't want to hear it, I wouldn't say it.

“You just make sure you use protection, hear?” I said like I was her mother.

“Yes, Mommy,” Kelly said, mimicking Savannah.

We laughed.

“We need to get out to Norrell Prison first thing in the morning,” I said. “Question some people. Stir things up a bit.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kelly said. “All those incarcerated men, harder than the cement walls that surround them. This may be just what I need.”

We laughed.

I said, “We start with Salaam Khan.”

Sirens blared! Red and blue lights bounced off the homes in my neighborhood. An EMS truck was parked across the street from my house on Continental Boulevard, right in front of Sarah Lawford's house. There were also a couple of police cars and a few media vehicles. I shuddered when I saw the coroner's van. I hoped that it wasn't Sarah. She was one of Savannah's teachers at the Academy. Kelly parked the Stingray. We got out, donned our FBI windbreakers, and flashed our credentials.

As we approached the house, something inside of me prodded me to turn around. I did. I saw Savannah and Jill Fisher, our babysitter, standing on our lawn watching.

“Kelly, I'll be back. My daughter's watching.”

Kelly turned around. “Okay, Phoenix. I'll take a look around. See what happened here.”

I walked across the street. The closer I got to my daughter, the more evident her grief became. Dry tear stains and a blank stare defined her. I didn't know if she was in shock or what. But I did know that she had seen enough, even though she hadn't seen anything at all. At least, that was my hope.

“Ms. Lawford's dead, isn't she, Mommy?” Savannah managed to say, fighting back the tears that welled up again.

“I don't know, honey,” I said. It breaks my heart to see my daughter hurt
this way. I hugged her and took her back inside without answering her question. Somebody was dead. That was certain. And in all probability, it was Sarah Lawford. It was her house. I didn't see her outside. Unless she wasn't home, I could only assume it was her that the coroner's office was here to pick up. “Savannah, I think you oughta get some sleep, honey. I'll let you know what happened, if anything, in the morning, okay?”

Without a word, Savannah turned around, walked down the hallway and entered the bathroom. A few seconds later, I heard the water splashing in the bathtub.

“What time did Keyth say he would be home?” I asked Jill.

“He said he would be late.”

I looked at my watch. It was nearly ten p.m.

“Make sure Savannah goes to bed when she gets outta the bathtub.”

The crowd that surrounded Sarah Lawford's home had increased substantially since I went inside to talk to my daughter. Looks of concern were on the faces of men and women, blacks and whites alike in our integrated neighborhood.

Initially, Henson Academy was predominantely black. When it was learned that Henson was rated the best in the District of Columbia because of the high academic standards, well-to-do whites and other minority groups began to send their children there in droves. Booster money poured in. Soon the school had state-of-the-art computers, a brandnew gymnasium; an Olympic-sized swimming pool and a fencing team.

Our community was probably the only one in America where whites were moving in, not out. Property values were growing, not declining. More important, our community was rising above the petty differences that plagued the country, becoming a racial cross-section of America. Nevertheless, murder had a way of bringing out the worst in people. Often, people associated a person's deeds with their color and either excused what's happened, or they're shocked by who actually committed the crime.

“What's happened to Miss Lawford, Mrs. Perry?” I heard Luther Pleasant ask me.

I looked down at the boy genius who had asked me a thousand times if he had asked me once to teach him the ancient martial art that had become a major ingredient of who I am.

“I don't know, Luther,” I told him. “I haven't been in the house yet.”

I opened the white picket fence and walked up the stairs two at a time. Kelly met me at the door. She told me that Detective McDonald was in charge. We knew him and that meant we wouldn't have to throw our weight around. I hated doing it and the cops hated it, too.

I could tell by the look on Kelly's face that whatever happened to Sarah Lawford wasn't good. Kelly and I had worked lots of murder scenes. After a while, we even ate lunch or dinner immediately after leaving a scene. Never have I seen Kelly look so ghastly, so completely appalled.