Weapon of Choice, A (5 page)

Chapter 10

While Carter drove the fifty-eight miles to the Framingham Correctional Facility, I called Greta Stone.  Her secretary informed me that Greta was not in her office and asked for my name and number.  I told the woman that I’d call back later. 

I had got in the habit of never leaving phone messages.  Most of the time, people don’t call back, especially if it doesn’t benefit them in some way.  The best practic
e—
and a valuable one I’d learned from Carte
r—
is to meet people face to face, whenever possible. 

“Hey Carter, what if Melanie was planning to write a segment in her book about her husband’s small weenie? Maybe Gregory found out and wanted to make sure she didn’t write that book.  But then again, it’s a silly reason to kill someone.”

Carter laughed.  “Never underestimate the power of a man’s ego.”

“Yeah, I know guys can be very sensitive about the size of their genitalia, but size doesn’t matter to women as long as they know how to use it.”

He raised an eyebrow at me.  “Is that right?”

“Yep.  Unless a woman has a cavernous vagina, a small Johnson is not a big problem.”

“You mean a
small
problem?” he teased.

“Whatever.” I could feel my face getting hot.  I lowered the window for fresh air.  “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.  Mind if we grab some fast food before we visit Jasmine? Visiting hours don’t start until noon and we’re ahead of schedule.”

“Sure.  What are you in the mood for?”

I was going to say hot dogs, but decided not to press my luck.  I was done with the penis jokes.  “Roast beef sandwich sounds good to me.”

* * *

The Framingham Correctional Facility looked like my old high school or, rather, the
insane asylum
, as my friends and I liked to call it.  The massive, brick structure had a foreboding feel to it.  Probably had something to do with the barbed wire fence surrounding the place.

Carter and I walked into the entrance and right up to an information desk.  A sallow looking fellow was seated behind the desk.  He lifted his head slowly, as if annoyed.

“Can I help you folks?” His said in a clipped tone.

“Yes,” Carter said.  “We’re here to see an inmate.  Her name is Jasmine Thompson.”

He studied us for a few seconds, sizing us up.  “Are you her attorneys?”

“Private detectives,” he said.  “We would like to request a private meeting room, if possible.”

The man sniffed and turned his attention to the computer.  He punched in some numbers then asked us to fill out a form and show ID.  He directed us to the security checkpoint.

Once we were thoroughly patted down and practically strip-searched, we were led to the visiting waiting area, which resembled a hospital waiting room with magazines and a large flat screen TV.  About fifteen minutes later, a uniformed guard escorted us to another private room, where we loitered yet another twenty minutes sitting on hard, metal chairs that were cemented to the floor.

“Have you ever done this before?” I asked Carter.

“Sure,” he said.  “When I was a cop, it was a monthly occurrence.  Never a pleasant experience.”

Finally, the door opened and Jasmine walked in.  The guard informed us that we had fifteen minutes and left us alone.

Jasmine just remained standing, staring at us with a blank look.  Her black, curly hair was tied back into a net.  Her pale face was void of make-up, and the dark circles under her eyes aged her about ten years.  The orange jumpsuit she wore was a size too big.  I couldn’t imagine the food here was anything to brag about.

“Hello, Ms. Thompson,” I began in a friendly voice and proceeded to introduce us.

“The guard said you were private investigators,” she said in a monotone voice.  “Who do you work for?”

“Candice Barr Frazier.”

At the mention of her name, Jasmine’s knees seemed to buckle and she sat down in the chair provided.  “Oh, wow.  Does this mean she believes I’m innocent?”

I didn’t know how to answer, so I just said, “She’s not sure what to believe, but your letter made an impression on her.”

Jasmine wiped her eyes.  “I never thought she’d come and visit me.  Never in a million years.  But I had to tell her my point of view.  The fucking lawyers don’t give a shit about the truth.  Even my public defender was a dick.  They all think I’m a low-life druggie.  I never should have trusted any of them to help me.”

I could understand her frustration with the legal system.  I had to believe she didn’t get a fair shake.  “I’ve read the police report many times but I’d like to hear your story if you want to tell us.”

“Sure,” she said.  “I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Start from the beginning.”

She placed her hands in her lap and sighed.  “A few years ago, I found an ad in the local paper looking for a couple to pose in a provocative publication.  I had done nude modeling in the past and I wasn’t shy, so it seemed like a great opportunity.  My husband agreed to do it.  Melanie liked us, she said we had great energy and confidence, so she hired us.  The pay wasn’t much, but it was fun.  Anyway, I really liked Melanie.  She was pretty cool.  And I’m glad she became so successful.  She wasn’t a snob about it, you know? She didn’t treat me and Raul like we were low class.”

I nodded.  “When did you start selling her the pot?”

“Well, last year, I started growing weed when my husband Raul was diagnosed with cancer.  It was the only thing that helped him with the side effects of chemo.  We didn’t have insurance, so we were trying to pay for everything ourselves.  He couldn’t work, and we barely survived on the money I made waitressing so I started selling joints to friends.  I had no idea Melanie was into weed.  But she called me and offered to pay a premium if I delivered the joints to her office every Friday night.  She was real worried about anyone finding out.”

“And when was this?” I asked.

“Last fall,” she said. 

“So, you went to her office the same time every week?”

“Yeah, usually between seven and eight every Friday.”

“And you don’t deny that you were at Melanie’s office the night of April third.”

Jasmine blinked at me.  “I’ve never denied that.  I told the police I was there delivering the joints.  I got there around seven, stayed long enough to get paid, and then I left around ten past seven.  I got into my car and went home.”

“The police found water hemlock in the joint.  How do you think it got there?” Carter asked.

“I don’t know,” she said.  “But I can tell you one thing for certain.  I didn’t put it there.  I am the only one who had access to my marijuana plants and I’m the only person who made the joints.  That’s why someone must have visited Melanie after I left and whoever that was could have switched a poisoned joint with the one I gave her.”

“Okay,” Carter said.  “Let’s assume you’re right.  Let’s say someone planned to kill Melanie and that person knew you’d be delivering the joint to her office Friday night.  It is plausible that whoever went to the office after you left, was outside waiting for you to leave.  Did you notice anyone sitting in a car or standing on the sidewalk? Did you notice anything suspicious at all?”

Jasmine shook her head.  “I wish I could remember, but I wasn’t really thinking about it when I left her office that night.  I mean, I had no idea that she’d be dead within the hour.”

Carter pulled at his lower lip as he studied her.  I’d seen that intense look so many times before.  I’m pretty sure it was designed to intimidate the person being questioned, but Jasmine didn’t seem fazed by it.  Perhaps Carter’s fierce gaze was nothing compared to the ordeal she’d been through the past few months.

Finally, I reached into my bag for the photos and showed them to her.  “Do these men look familiar to you?”

Jasmine held the photo close to her face and frowned.  “I don’t think so.  Why? Who are they?”

I explained that Ryan Frazier and Charlie Cox were both close to Melanie’s husband, and I told her our theory.

Jasmine gaped at me with wide eyes.  “Are you serious? You think Gregory wanted his wife killed?”

“Have you ever met Melanie’s husband?” I asked.

She sat there with a bewildered look on her face but said nothing.

“Jasmine?” I waved my hand.  “Did you hear my question?”

Her eyes focused and she shook her head.  “Sorry.  No, we never actually met, but I’ve seen pictures of him in Melanie’s office.”

“He was out of the country when Melanie died so, if he killed his wife, he must have had an accomplice.”

“Is there any way you can prove that?”

“Not yet,” I said.  “We need to talk to Ryan Frazier and Charlie Cox and see if they have an alibi for the night of April third.  But right now, I need you to think back in the weeks prior to Melanie’s death.  Try to think of anything that happened out of the ordinary even if it seems inconsequential.”

Jasmine closed her eyes and breathed deeply, thinking it over.  When she opened her eyes, her expression was gloomy.  “Only thing I can think of that seemed a little weird happened a few weeks before.  I was at home with Raul.  He was feeling horrible after a round a chemo and I had just made him some tea.  There was a knock on the door and I didn’t recognize the woman but when I opened the door, she introduced herself as Melanie’s sister.”

I stiffened.  “Shelly Barr?”

“Yeah, her.  She asked to come in and talk to me about Melanie.”

“And you let her in?”

She nodded.  “Sure, I did.  She seemed friendly enough at first but then I realized she had come to ream me out.”

“Ream you out?”

“She said she’d report me if I didn’t stop selling drugs to her sister.  I could tell she was deadly serious, and I had no doubt that she’d keep her word.  She started getting all religious on me; quoting some verse from the bible.  It really freaked me out.  Raul was there and he got a little freaked out, too.”

“So,” I said.  “What happened next?”

“I made a promise to stop selling the weed.”

“But you broke that promise.”

Jasmine shrugged.  “After she left, I called Melanie right away and told her that her sister threatened me.  I told her I had to stop selling her the joints.  But Melanie said not to worry, she’d straighten things out with her sister.”

“Did Shelly ever contact you again?”

“No.”

I looked at Carter and said, “When I spoke with Shelly yesterday, she didn’t mention anything about visiting Jasmine at her home.”

“Maybe she forgot,” he said.  “Or didn’t think it was important.”

“Or maybe she’s trying to hide something.” I turned back to Jasmine.  “Did you tell the police that Shelly Barr came to visit you?”

“No,” she said.  “Nobody ever asked me about it.”

I shrugged.  “Who knows? Maybe Shelly is one of those religious nuts with a warped sense of responsibility.  Like those people who bomb abortion clinics.  They think they’re doing God’s will.  Maybe Shelly decided to kill her sister because she smoked pot and wanted to frame you for dealing the drugs.”

Carter asked, “Shelly was never a suspect in the murder.  I bet the cops never thought to find out if she had an alibi for the night of April third.”

“There was no mention of Shelly in the police report,” I replied, “And Candice would have mentioned to me if her aunt was a person of interest.”

Carter said, “I guess we need to have another chat with Ms Barr.”

I made a face.  “I should give Candice a heads up.  She won’t be pleased if we start accusing her aunt of murdering her sister.”

“Candice needs to understand that our job is to follow leads,” he said, “even if it brings us to her own front door.”

Jasmine raised her hand to get our attention.  “Excuse me, but what are you talking about? Are you saying that Candice lives with her aunt? The same one who came to my house?”

“Yeah,” I said.  “After her mom died, she didn’t want to live with her step-dad anymore, so her aunt invited her to stay with her.”

Jasmine seemed confused.  “But that doesn’t make sense.  Why would Shelly come to my home, ask me to stop giving Melanie the joints, only to poison her a few weeks later?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” I said.  “But it’s worth looking into.”

Jasmine sighed, clearly on the verge of tears.  “I can’t stay in this place much longer, or I’ll go insane.  Do you have any idea how crazy people are in here? I mean, I’m talking bat shit crazy.  My cellmate stabbed her boyfriend because he flirted with a woman at a bar.  I mean, some of these women are hard core.  I don’t belong in this place.  And I miss Raul so much.  I feel sick to my stomach every day I can’t be with him.  He needs me right now.  I need to be at home, taking care of him.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.  “But we’ll do whatever we can to prove that someone else is involved but we can’t promise anything.  And, speaking of your husband, do you mind if we talk to him?”