When Rain Falls (13 page)

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Authors: Tyora M. Moody

BOOK: When Rain Falls
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Chapter Twenty-three
Memories of walking to the principal's office flooded Darnell's mind as he knocked on the captain's door. For as long as he could remember, even when he tried to do the right thing, he'd manage to stir up trouble. Up until now the captain had been Darnell's greatest ally, since he'd approved his transfer from L.A. But Darnell's “in your face” style of investigation might have finally pushed his superior officer over the edge.
“Come in.” Captain Ransom's voice boomed through the door.
Darnell took a deep breath and opened the door.
“Sit down, Jackson.” The captain rustled through some paperwork on his desk.
Darnell sat and then rubbed his hands together. He started tapping his foot but grabbed his knee to still his leg.
“So, did you get what you needed from Mitch Harris's wife?”
Darnell cleared his throat. “Well, I found out where the photos came from.” Hopefully, that little piece of information would help ease the reprimand coming his way.
“Really? So, she knew about her husband's affair?”
“She admitted to hiring the photographer.”
“And this same guy delivered the photos to your reporter friend? By the way, that Serena Manchester better not step foot into this station anymore. I would hope I don't have to remind you her news story resulted in a suspect walking away a few months back.”
“No, you don't, sir.” His colleagues already despised him for obtaining the coveted detective position. They couldn't help but rub in his mistake whenever the chance arose. After a few dates with Serena, he'd managed to reveal a critical piece of information one night, during a casual conversation. He should have known better. A reporter was always looking for a story.
The captain continued. “I'm glad she saw fit to bring you the photos, but nothing better leave this department to jeopardize this case.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Ransom sat back in his chair and stared at him. The walls in the small office appeared to be closing in on Darnell. He rubbed his hand across his head and waited. The captain heaved a deep sigh. “So, what's your take, since you decided to stir up trouble? Just how did you end up at the Harris home?”
“I've got something else to show you.” Darnell walked over to the VCR on the shelf across from the captain's desk. He pulled out the tape he acquired from the art gallery, slipped it in, and pressed PLAY. On the screen, he observed again how Yvonne confronted Pamela. Pamela's face clearly looked surprised, then confused.
“Whoa,” the captain commented. “Did she just reach out and slap her? Where were all the other people in this place?”
Darnell stopped the video. “Yeah, I thought that, too. There are a lot of corners and secluded areas in the gallery. This particular area was in the back, away from the main event in the lobby area. Nobody heard a thing. Most of the folks in attendance say Mitch and Yvonne were seen mingling with the crowd until the event ended around midnight.”
“Didn't Candace mention she used her phone that night?”
“Yes. I have the area mapped out where her signal was picked up. Pamela remained in the downtown area, near the gallery, for some time before heading home. It is quite possible either Mitch or Yvonne left the gallery. Still, it wouldn't have been easy to follow her home, kill her, and then return to the downtown area.”
The captain put his hands behind his head. “We need to track down the places she might have visited and determine if she met up with anyone. There's a possibility we could find who the last person was that talked to Pamela before her death.”
Darnell agreed. “That's where we are now.”
“Well, get to it.”
Darnell rose from the chair. “Yes, sir.” He turned to head toward the door.
“Jackson.” The captain leaned forward, his chair squealing.
He should have known he wouldn't get off the hook that easily. Darnell looked back at his boss. “Yes?”
The captain glared at him. “You are on thin ice here. Mitch Harris is threatening to bring harassment charges against you.”
“What I—”
“Save it. I know he's blowing hot air. He's a lawyer, for crying out loud. I'd advise you not to be questioning any high-profile people unless you have your facts straight. Understood?”
Darnell didn't answer.
Not missing a beat, the captain added, “If you can't follow orders, you can push papers, or better yet, I will make sure you take some time off. Without pay.”
This case was looking bleaker and bleaker by the minute.
As he neared his desk, Darnell could hear his phone ringing. Just as he picked up the receiver, the caller hung up.
Whatever.
If it was important, they'd call back.
Some facts were gelling for him.
He sat down and pulled out the envelope Serena had delivered to him earlier that morning. So much had happened since viewing the photos, but nothing really tangible. He spread the photos across his desk to study them. Someone had sent these to the reporter. Why? Was someone pointing a finger at Mitch? Was the real killer trying to set up Mitch? The man had a rock-solid alibi.
He picked up one photo. The photographer was by no means an amateur. He or she knew how to handle a camera. The images were sharp. Very professional.
Darnell let a word slip from his lips, one he hadn't used in sometime.
Forgive me, Lord, but, boy, did I screw up.
He should've pushed Yvonne Harris to tell him who she paid to take those photos.
Maybe he could convince the captain to let him confer with the DA. No doubt, he would need a subpoena to talk to Mrs. Harris again.
Chapter Twenty-four
Her body buzzed with a mixture of foreboding and fear. Candace tried to call Detective Jackson several times. The yellow envelope still sat at the bottom of her tote bag, taunting her. She'd stuck the bag in her bedroom, instead of leaving it in the living room, as usual. No way did she want either Rachel or Daniel to find the photos. Not that either one of them would go through her bag.
She walked into the kitchen and noticed the light blinking on the phone. There were voice messages. Most of the time she tended to ignore them.
Probably bill collectors.
She picked up the cordless and pressed through the caller ID numbers. North Valley High stood out.
Candace accessed the voice mail.
“Mrs. Johnson, this is Coach Starling. When you get this message, give me a call back on my cell number. I want to talk to you about Rachel. It's rather urgent.”
What did Rachel do now? Candace dialed the phone number.
“Hello?”
“Yes, Coach Starling, this is Candace Johnson. Rachel's mom.”
“Yes. I hope Rachel has already talked to you.”
“Um, no ... I just arrived home. Is there a problem?”
“Well, I hope that my decision doesn't seem too harsh, but I had to suspend Rachel from playing the next few games.”
“What? Did she do something?”
“Mrs. Johnson, I have strict policies about players who get in trouble outside of school, in particular legal trouble.”
“You mean the party? Rachel didn't participate in the drinking, and I'm handling that situation. She didn't get into any legal trouble.”
“Are you sure? It's my understanding that the young man she was with that night has a court date. This incident occurred at his home.”
“What young man?”
“Keith Freeman. He plays under Coach Calhoun. As coaches, we don't always see eye to eye. I've always felt my girls needed the discipline more than being pushed to be winners.”
“I understand. But ... basketball is important to Rachel. She's acted out a few times over this past year. But she's a good kid.”
“Yes, I know her father's death has affected her.”
“Then you remember Frank. You remember how he supported Rachel. Every game he had a chance to attend, he was there. Plus, we had another death this past week, a very close family friend.”
There was a pause on the phone. “Mrs. Johnson, I'm so sorry for your family's loss but ...”
“But?” Candace snapped. The only remaining peace offering she had with Rachel, basketball, was being taken away.
“This is hard. Mrs. Johnson, to be honest, Rachel has been acting out for some time now. I've repeatedly told her about her disrespectful behavior, the way she reacts to her teammates and her attitude about showing up for practices.”
The coach might as well have punched her. “This has been going on for a while now? How come no one told me?”
Coach Starling spoke softly. “This isn't the first time I've tried to contact you. Look, I think Rachel needs some help. I know you think basketball is important, but her head isn't in the game. She's a very angry young woman.”
“Thank you for letting me know,” Candace said, and then she hung up the phone.
Rachel had seemed to be an easygoing child until Frank's death. They all seemed to fall apart. Especially Rachel. Daddy's little girl.
Candace sank into the recliner. Once Rachel discovered basketball at age twelve, the girl lived to play the sport. She remembered how it surprised Frank that he would play ball more with his daughter than his son. At first he was a little squeamish about playing, but as Rachel's skills blossomed, being the proud daddy, he pushed her to play harder.
Daniel had reluctantly joined them on occasion. Like his mother, Daniel relished books. As a youngster, her baby boy wanted stories read to him each night before bed. After some time, he wanted to read the stories back to her. Candace knew he'd memorized the words, but she enjoyed the familiar stories that poured forth from her precocious child. Her creative boy genius had been a little harder to keep preoccupied. They were still in search of something for him to do besides playing video games all of the time.
But Rachel ... Basketball meant everything.
Candace braced herself and walked down the hallway to Rachel's room. They'd barely spoken to one another since the late-night incident. Of course, this wasn't unusual. But it still hurt.
Rachel's back faced the door. Candace tapped on the open door.
Her daughter turned around. Her hair was braided from the front, flowing out in a pile of kinky curls down her back.
“You got some time to talk?”
Rachel shrugged. “I guess.”
She entered the bedroom. A few years ago, back before their mother and daughter relationship turned turbulent, they'd painted Rachel's room a combination of pink and brown. Despite the hype look, her daughter seemed to like to pile up clothes everywhere in the room.
Candace pushed sneakers to the side and sat on the corner of Rachel's bed. “Been a rough few days. How are you doing?”
Rachel shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Don't you need to tell me something? I just talked to your coach.”
Rachel wouldn't lift her eyes. “Yeah, she called me in her office today. Said she needed to keep me on the bench for a while. She thinks I'm in some trouble.”
“I don't know what to tell you, but I can't tell your coach how to run her team. You've been playing under her since your sophomore year. You know how strict she can be.”
“But I can't be on the bench. Not now.” Her face was defiant and stubborn. “What's really not fair is nothing is going to happen to Keith.”
“Keith?”
Lord, I know I've been slack lately, but please help me handle this correctly.
This situation was something Candace had dreaded ever since she knew she was pregnant with a girl. Rachel smitten with some boy. Maybe this incident would show Rachel another side to puppy love.
Candace thought for a second. “Is this Keith Freeman, the son of Reverend Freeman?”
“Yes, he's the star center and has really been helping the boys' team this year. They haven't lost a game yet.” She pouted. “He's still getting to play this Friday.”
“Well, these are two different coaches. Once again, I can't—”
“Mom, it's not fair.” Rachel's eyes watered. “You know college reps are in the stands now. If I'm not out on the court, how will they see me?”
That was true. Rachel needed to deal with the consequences of her actions. But missing out on possible basketball scholarships was a terrible thing. Candace needed all the help she could get with having two kids in college in the near future. Frank's pension fund wasn't going to cut it. He was such a young man when he passed away, barely fifteen years on the force.
“I know I did a stupid thing the other night. Keith and I were only talking. Honestly.”
But what about next time?
There wouldn't be another opportunity. Candace wasn't having that. “I'm sorry. We are going to have to follow the coach on this one. Besides, Keith is in big trouble. He might be playing for now, but he has a court date. And besides that, your coach told me you've been taking things out on your teammates.”
“I don't mean to, Mom. Some of the girls just get on my nerves sometimes.”
“I get mad with people, too, but we can't take out our emotions on others. We need to find other ways to deal with them.”
You hypocrite.
Her earlier confrontation with Aunt Maggie sprang forth in her mind. Candace took a breath. “We've gone through a lot in this household. And we are going to get through it together.”
“What do you mean? Coach said something about counseling. I don't need to see no shrink.”
“Let's take one day at a time.” She arose from the bed. “By the way, you tell Keith I want to meet him.”
Rachel sat up and placed her feet on the floor. “You want to meet him? For what?”
Candace raised her finger. “Don't get smart! That should have been your first move, young lady.”
“But we're just friends.”
“Really?” Candace tilted her head to the side.
Rachel crossed her arms. “You wouldn't like anybody I like, anyway.”
“Excuse me.”
“I knew you would scare him off.”
Candace crossed her arms. “Is this the same fellow you were goo-goo eyes over after the funeral?”
“Stop making a big deal. We are just friends.”
“Friends. That's the second time you've said that. You snuck out of the house for just a friend, Rachel.”
Stony silence.
No need to keep this conversation going.
Girl, your momma is no fool, and you are far from being grown. Time to get a handle on things in this house.
Her kids were teenagers, but she had no intentions of losing them. Years ago she determined in her heart to be a different mother than the one she had.
Candace felt a distinct need to pray when she entered her bedroom. When she thought to pray, her pitiful prayers didn't seem to go anywhere. Fear crawled into her system, and she didn't understand why. But she knew God did. She sank to her knees beside the bed and prayed with the intent to find direction.

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