Sweet Violet and a Time for Love (27 page)

“Good evening. We begin tonight's newscast with several breaking stories related to the Delmon Frank triple murder trial.” The news anchor, a blond-haired man with clear green eyes, stared solemnly into the camera as it zoomed in. “Officials are reporting that the defendant, accused of killing Baltimore philanthropist Julian Morgan and two other victims, has escaped from jail. Authorities are not releasing any details on how the escape occurred or their current efforts to locate him.

“We are also being told that within the last half hour, some type of incident has occurred at the original murder scene, A New Beginning House. Authorities are responding to the scene and have not released any further details about the nature of the incident, possible victims or injuries.

“You may also recall that just yesterday, in a shocking and tragic twist, we learned that the lead prosecuting attorney for the case, Alisa Billy, died on the courtroom steps of an apparent accidental overdose of prescription drugs. An autopsy confirming the cause of death is pending as other sources are raising the possibility of intentional poisoning. In the meantime, reports are surfacing that the trial's star witness, Sienna St. James, may have fled the country out of an abundance of caution for her safety due to these disturbing developments. This follows reports that her husband, former Officer Leon Sanderson, may have been the instigator in a domestic disturbance yesterday.”

“I'm turning this off.” Mike reached up and pressed the power button of the hospital room's flat-screen television. “We already know that some of those stories are not true, so there's no need in wasting time following this flawed coverage. We need to get out of here.”

“Agreed.”

“Are we going back to the safe house?” Roman asked, pacing the length of the room.

“Safe house?” My mother raised an eyebrow. “What on earth is going on?”

“We'll explain what we can later, but no, the safe house is not an option seeing that Sienna's original plans were somehow outed. I do not trust anything or anybody right now.” Mike continued. “I think we need to split up to leave the hospital. We're too big of a group to travel together. Yvette, Mr. and Mrs. Davis.” He nodded at my parents. “You come with me as I'm sure Leon's going to want to stay with Sienna.”

“I'm going to stay with Sienna too,” my father spoke up. “I don't know what's going on, Leon, but I'm here for backup. This is my daughter and my grandchild. Roman you stay with your aunt and grandmother.”

“But Roman was coming—”

“It's okay, Sienna,” Leon interrupted me. “Plans are changing as we speak. I just want to get you out of here. If there is some kind of leak to the media, it will only be a matter of time before everyone knows you are here.”

“That killer is on the loose. I think we all need to get out of here.” My mother's alarm was apparent as she and Yvette scurried behind Mike. Shavona and Roman took the rear.

“I'll walk you to the elevator, honey.” My father caught up and held my mother's hand. “But I'll be back, Sienna.”

Just me and Leon.

“Do you know what you're doing?” I asked him as he began disconnecting the wires and belts, unplugging machines, eyeing my IV.

“I got you, babe.” He gently removed the IV and helped me back into my street clothes. “I want to get out of here before the doctor comes back. I don't want her to have any additional information about you to give to anyone, including the authorities, if, no, when they come asking.”

“You're not trusting anyone right now, either.” I thought about Mike's words.

“I fully expected Delmon to ‘escape' as that's the only way he could keep his cover and not go to jail, but someone in the department is not keeping quiet on matters that they should, and the fact that there's been another incident of some nature at the shelter—not to mention Alisa's death, well, murder—is really concerning. Come on, Sienna.” He helped me slip back into my shoes, grabbed my things, and peeked out into the hallway. “All clear. We're heading to the elevator. Your father is holding the door open. Now.”

I followed him, my head swirling. Within seconds, the three of us were inside the closed space, my father breathing heavy as the elevator descended.

“You okay, Alvin?” Leon looked concerned, but my father didn't.

“Yup.”

“Is the cab driver waiting for us somewhere?” I asked.

“I told you, I'm not trusting anyone until I find out what's happening at A New Beginning House.” We were almost at the bottom floor. I pressed the button for the second floor.

“What are you doing, Sienna?”

“That unfinished space on the second floor. We need to sit down for a moment and figure out what we're doing. I can't be walking around in circles with these contractions just getting under control. Plus,” I said, lowering my voice, “I want to share with you the information I learned earlier.”

Leon sighed, but he didn't object. We got off the elevator, headed for one of the empty cubicles off of the main corridor. I plopped down in a desk chair. Leon and my father rolled chairs over next to me.

“This is a picture Sister Agnes texted me earlier today.” I handed Leon my phone. His eyes narrowed as he zoomed in on the image on the screen.

“Marta Jefferson and—”

“Sweet Violet,” I finished for him. Leon looked up at me, a question on his face. “Sister Agnes found this picture in that photo album on her desk. I guess she started reminiscing about Marta after we left and ended up finding this snapshot.”

“What year was this taken?”

“I forget what she said.” I shook my head. “1971? 1972?”

“What are y'all looking at there?” My father reached for the phone and took it out of Leon's hands. Then he shook his head and chuckled. “Now ain't that something? I haven't seen this woman's face in, what, forty years.”

“You know her?” I gasped.

“Of course. I mean, I don't know her, but I know who she is. Anybody who grew up in West Baltimore back in the sixties knows who she is.”

“Who is she?” Leon and I asked at the same time.

“Francesca J. Dupree, better known by her pen name, Frankie Jean.”

“Pen name? She was a writer?”

“Yeah, she was a columnist for one of the little black newspapers that sprung up around town back then, wrote a bunch of short stories and poems.”

“She wrote stories . . . for a paper?” I shook my head, still trying to wrap my head around what my father was saying.

“Yup, well, it was supposed to be stories. Everybody was scared to be around her because rumor was that if you talked to her long enough, your personal business would make the front page of the
Garwyn Oaks Gazette,
the little newsletter she wrote for, disguised as a short story. The theme was supposed to be something about planting seeds of knowledge in the black community, but her stories made that paper more of a place for rumors to take root and blossom. Once those stories became the feature, that paper really took off. Actually, now that I recall, she owned that paper along with her husband. They did really well off of it for a time.”

“Husband? She had a husband?” I asked, looking at Leon who was sitting back in his chair, his face scrunched up in deep thought.

“Yeah, sure did. Can't remember his name. He was older than her. Real well-dressed fellow, an old-fashioned man's man.” My father smiled. “Always had a hat on, a cigar in his mouth, a tall glass of whiskey in his hand. I know that they was real popular at all those clubs down on Pennsylvania Avenue, back when that area was really something. The Sphinx, the Arch Social Club, all of those. True party people.”

“Samuel Otis King,” I blurted.

“Who?” my father asked.

“Samuel Otis King. That was her husband's name, right?”

“No, not at all.” My father chuckled. “But Silent Sam? Haven't heard that name in a while either. Samuel Otis King.” He shook his head.

“Silent Sam?” Leon leaned forward in his seat. “That was a real person? I heard that name every now and then when I was working full time for the department. He was supposedly the ultimate gangster, the man who ran Black Baltimore back in the day.”

“Oh, he didn't just run Black Baltimore. He ran all of Baltimore, behind the scenes of course. He was a large funder and loan shark for black businessmen who couldn't get money from the banks. He stayed out of view because his business ventures up and down Pennsylvania Avenue were on both sides of the law: liquors, drugs, women; medical clinics, restaurants, beauty salons. He kept control over it all by keeping a firm grip on Baltimore's powerhouses: politicians and the police.”

“So, what was the deal between Frankie Jean and Samuel Otis King? I asked. “What, did she have an affair with him?”

“No. Not at all.” My father scratched his head, looked up as if trying to pull together old memories. “She and her husband were too in love for extra hanky-panky, so they said. Everybody knew that Frankie Jean got a bouquet of flowers every day from her husband. She would plant those flowers in community parks to ‘share the love' as her columns used to say. I'd say her relationship with Silent Sam was quite the opposite of an affair.”

“How so?” Leon leaned forward in his chair.

“Oh, she messed up when she began putting Silent Sam's business into her ‘fiction' columns. Like I said, they were socialites who frequented all the spots and would know all the people Silent Sam was doing business with. I guess she wanted her paper to become more than a gossip column and so she decided to make it her mission to enlighten the masses about the illegal activities of a man who was pretty much controlling the city. She tried to frame it as a series of made-up short stories, but everyone knew she was really just revealing all of Silent Sam's operations.”

“Sounds like a dangerous business move.”

“Oh, it was. After a while, the feds were forced to start investigating him and his connections, which, of course, the powers-that-be who were in on it didn't like. The paper stopped suddenly and after she laid low for a bit, she disappeared altogether following the suspicious but uninvestigated death of her husband.”

“Wow. They killed him?”

“Yup. I remember reading how they found his body somewhere on Pratt Street, naked and beaten to a bloody pulp.”

“Pratt Street?” Leon asked. His bakery was on Pratt Street. I guessed we both were thinking that's why she hung around that area so much.

My father wasn't finished. “I remember the news saying that someone left a bag with his personal effects at the cemetery on the day of his funeral, and his wife, Frankie Jean, immediately left town at the close of the service. No investigation, no suspects, no other mention of the case after that.”

“Guess she had no choice but to leave,” I piped up.

“You got that right. Everyone said that if she ever showed up again, heads would start to roll and more bodies drop to make sure the secrets behind Silent Sam's power reign over the city would never be revealed, but that was years ago, decades ago.” My father pulled on his chin as he spoke.

“Whatever happened to Silent Sam?” Leon asked quietly.

“Nobody knows. People who didn't do business directly with him don't even know what he looks like. There are no pictures. He was never really investigated, never really apprehended. No mug shots, no indictments. Nobody knows what happened to him.”

“I Googled Frankie Jean, and Sam, earlier today.” I pointed to a darkened computer screen. “But I didn't get any results.”

“No, there wouldn't be. Sounds like there are too many secrets to expose. People in powerful places can make records, names, dates, places disappear without even a virtual trace.” Leon mulled.

“Well, Frankie Jean returned and heads have been rolling and bodies dropping, forty years since she was last seen around here. Somebody in power is spooked.” My father sat back, satisfied with his story.

“Why do you think she came back? Unfinished business?” I asked.

“Or maybe she's just an old woman who tragically lost her husband and her livelihood, who had enough memory to come back home, but enough brokenness to not be able to pull it all together,” Leon answered.

“Somebody doesn't want her memories to awaken. And now, she was given a train ticket to get out of town,” I recalled.

“They said officials helped her disappear the first time around to keep their tracks covered. I guess there still must be a lot at stake and officials are helping her disappear again. Nobody wants the covers rolled back or the past revisited,” my father added.

“The question is who?” I tried to piece it all together. “Leon, you didn't disagree when I concluded that you were investigating something related to the drug market. You hinted that Delmon Frank was part of that investigation and was deep into it. Well, he was following Frankie Jean around, I'm sure of it, so whoever told him to trail her would have some link between the powers that be back then and right now.”

“Back then it was guns and numbers that helped run the underground power system. Now it's drugs. Makes sense that there would be a connection. Same pilots, different planes.” Leon bit his lip, scratched his head. “Let me get in touch with Mike and update him. See where they are and what he wants to do.”

He dialed but hung up without talking.

“No answer,” he explained.

“Do you have Shavona's number?”

“No.”

“Well, I'll try Roman.”