When Rain Falls (15 page)

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Authors: Tyora M. Moody

BOOK: When Rain Falls
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Chapter Twenty-seven
What was wrong with her? Ever since talking to Darnell, she'd been thinking about him. Probably because she shouldn't have said what she said. Candace could still picture the confused look on his face when she said she wanted to trust him. Darnell was really doing his job.
Wait a minute.
Why was she calling him by his first name, anyway?
Let's get this straight. Detective Jackson has a job to do
.
To help find Pamela's killer
. Sure, she was disappointed the detective wasn't able to tie either Harris to Pamela's death. The more she thought about it, the more she felt a deep tightening in her stomach. Suppose they never found Pamela's killer?
Being a defense lawyer didn't always bring the most pleasant clients. The same way Pamela hadn't inquired about the salon's clients, Candace hadn't asked questions about Pamela's clients. Of course, the salon dealt with older ladies and working-class moms, as opposed to the shady characters that Pamela represented in the courtroom. She exhaled.
“Honey, you okay?”
Candace found Mrs. Roberts staring at her in the salon mirror. “I've just got a lot on my mind.” She went back to parting the older woman's hair and then turned to grab another roller from the cart. It'd been exactly one week since the news broke about Pamela's death. She'd been doing Mrs. Roberts's hair at this time last week.
“I can imagine you miss your friend something terrible. Are you sure you shouldn't be taking time off?”
“No.” She'd taken enough time off. After Frank's death, it took months for Candace to return to the salon. Beulah and Tangie had run the place in her absence. She needed to stay busy. Pamela wouldn't want her to go back to that state of depression again.
“Sugar, I tell you, I've lost so many good friends along the way. That's the price of getting old. You and your friend ... still young things. Such a shame.”
Candace bit her lip and sniffed. She'd lost people she loved all the time. What was the point? “I'm fine, Mrs. Roberts. By the way, how was your trip to New York? I thought you were supposed to be there this week.”
Mrs. Roberts sighed. “Things didn't work out. It was best for me to stick around.” Mrs. Roberts remained quiet. Candace appreciated knowing the reason for the older woman's sadness. She'd been so caught up in her life; it was easy to miss the world of hurt others were in, also.
As they say, the devil is busy.
“Your granddaughter again, Mrs. Roberts?”
“I'm afraid so. She's had a troubled life.”
“Mmm, I know about that.”
“Yes, I know you do. Hard growing up without your mother.”
“Yes, ma'am. Makes me question everything I do with Rachel and Daniel. Most of the time I think I get it twisted.”
“Sugar, parenting don't come with manuals. We got to go on what we were given.”
Candace added the last roller to her client's hair.
“Candace, you know we don't understand why God does the things He does, but He has a plan. We just have to trust Him.”
Candace nodded and smiled politely. But did God really hear her? What if she had prayed more often for Pamela's protection? What if she had prayed harder for her husband? So many questions. “Mrs. Roberts, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, honey, go ahead.”
“How do you know God really hears you when you pray?”
“Oh my. I'm an old woman. Even I struggle from time to time.” Mrs. Roberts shook her head. “The only thing I can tell you is we're all going to have rain fall in our lives and the Lord will answer in due season.”
“What do you mean?”
“When rain falls, especially when it's heavy, you know the last thing you want is to be caught in the downpour. You can't always see your way through the storm. Oh, but after the rain stops, the sun shines. There is a sense of newness, hope. We have to hold fast to that hope.”
Candace pinned the last roller in place.
“Candace?”
“Yes, ma'am?”
“I know I can ramble, but I want you to not lose hope. Faith is the evidence of things hoped for and not seen. We have to trust God, even through the tragedies that beset us.”
“Thank you. You always say just the right things. Let's get you under the dryer.” She walked Mrs. Roberts over and adjusted the settings. Before she walked away, her client reached for her arm.
“Candace, I mean it. Don't you keep trying to be strong by yourself. You have to give it all to God. Even if you don't understand.” The older woman gave a pointed look.
Lean not unto your own understanding.
These words drifted into Candace's head.
“Candace.” Tangie yelled her name across the salon in a singsongy voice.
Candace patted Mrs. Roberts on the knee and then started toward the receptionist area.
She stopped midway.
The WYNC reporter Serena Manchester stood at the desk. This couldn't be a regular walk-in, although the woman's hair—more likely, weave—could use some shaping. Serena's dark brown hair with its honey blond highlights flowed as dazzlingly as Beyoncé's. But the hairstyle looked better on the popular singer, who was at least ten years younger than the reporter.
“Candace Johnson. You're the owner of this salon, correct?”
“What can I do for you, Ms. Manchester? Are you here to make an appointment?”
“You have a gorgeous salon. I would love to do a feature story in the future. Do you have time to talk?” Serena looked around, and then her eyes fell on Tangie, who was not hiding her eavesdropping.
Candace rolled her eyes at her stylist, who'd made a show of placing her head in both hands, looking back and forth between the reporter and Candace.
Serena scooted closer to Candace. “Can we talk in private?”
“Okay. I only have a moment before my next client. Follow me.” Candace wasn't sure where this was going, but figured she might as well entertain the reporter. She closed the door behind them. “So, Ms. Manchester, what can I help you with?”
“Serena, please. I've been told that Pamela Coleman was one of your clients. What can you tell me about her?”
Now she regretted letting the woman into her office. “Absolutely nothing.” Candace didn't want to do bodily harm to the woman. Winding up on the six o'clock news wasn't the type of publicity she wanted for the salon. “Ms. Manchester, I value my time, and if you came in here for some story, I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Wait.” Serena pulled a photo out of her purse and then showed it to Candace.
“How did you ...” She stopped. Darnell did say the reporter received the same photos she did.
Serena put the photo away. “Please, I started this conversation wrong. I know you two were friends, and I imagine you really want to find out who killed Ms. Coleman. I know how disappointed you have been with the police in the past.”
The latter part of the reporter's statement caused Candace to pause. She walked behind the desk and sat down. “You seem to have done your homework on me for some reason.”
“When I discovered your friendship with Pamela Coleman, I looked at our archives. You're the wife of Detective Frank Johnson. I'm so sorry for your losses.”
Candace watched the reporter and gripped the sides of her chair. She still wasn't quite sure where the woman was heading.
“I know the police have still not found the person responsible for your husband's death, so nailing the person who killed Pamela must be important to you. It is to me.”
“Really? Why is that, Ms. Manchester?”
“I suspect Pamela's employer had something to do with her demise. The police haven't made any arrests yet, but there is definitely a story there. I've been investigating.”
“I will consider answering your questions. I don't want my name quoted anywhere, nor do I want you dragging my friend's name through the mud.”
“Of course not. I will protect your privacy. Now, can you verify the relationship between Mitch and Pamela?”
Candace took a deep breath. “It wasn't Pamela's smartest move.”
“So, it's true. I wonder why the police haven't been able to bring Mitch Harris in yet.”
“He has a good alibi.”
Serena narrowed her eyes. “You're not buying it, are you?”
Candace looked at the reporter. This didn't feel right. Why did she let this woman in her office? “I think Darnell knows what he's doing. I trust an arrest will be made soon.”
Something changed in the woman's face. “Darnell. You mean Detective Jackson. You two on first-name basis, that's interesting. Well, you are probably familiar with most of the police department.”
What was that about? Candace tilted her head to the side. “Okay, I think we're finished here. I really need to get back out to the salon to prepare for the next customer.” She began to button her smock.
“One more question.”
“Ms. Manchester, I can't help you.”
“Actually, you might be able to help me with a lead. Didn't Mitch Harris represent your husband a few years back?”
This woman was really reaching for a story. “Yes. And for what reason are you bringing this up?”
That
was years ago.
“Just a thought. Such mystery around your husband's death. Now Pamela. The connection to Mitch Harris. I know it's far-fetched, but something about it gets my wheels turning. I don't want to take any more of your time, but I will be in touch. Take care. Once again, I'm so sorry.”
Candace watched the door close. Speechless. How in the world did that woman manage to turn her already upside-down world even more topsy-turvy? She just came in here and tried to connect Frank's and Pamela's deaths.
Pure craziness.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Swish
. Darnell reached up, grabbed the ball, and then held it close to his body as he came back down. He dribbled the ball, aware of the young man in his pathway, ready to snatch it from his hands. He swerved to the right, did a three-sixty turn, and went for the basket. The ball fell through the netting with ease.
Not bad for an old dude. Forty wasn't old to him, but his playmates were barely men. Not even a sign of peach fuzz in this group.
His opponent retrieved the ball and bounced it between his legs. Darnell lifted his hands to block him. In rhythm, he ran with the other player. He couldn't let him get the basket.
“Auuughh!” He crashed to the floor, pain ripping into his side. Okay, maybe this wasn't a good idea, he thought.
“You a'right, man?” The youngster leaned over him, flashing a gold tooth, bling embedded in the center.
“I'm cool.” He grabbed the hand extended toward him and stood up.
I better sit the next set out
, he thought.
The three young men laughed as he limped over to the bleachers. Man, he hoped he hadn't revived an old injury. Pain shot up through his knees as he sat down on the hard bleacher. He'd sit for a while to give his body time to recoup. As soon as his bottom made contact with the wood, it didn't take long for his mind to wander. Too much to think about. Taking time away from the Coleman case was the whole reason why he'd decided to play ball today.
Still smarting from the tongue-lashing the captain gave him a few days ago, Darnell tried to map out possible paths Pamela took that night before heading home. There were a few possibilities. The coffee shop, a definite possibility. He'd been trying to reach the employee named Jasmine. He hoped she could recall seeing Pamela and knew if anyone had joined her.
They were also missing something crucial.
Like the murder weapon.
The killer had made sure to take it away from the crime scene. How did someone come in, bash someone in the head, and leave no trace of evidence? No fingerprints or fibers? Somebody who knew forensics pretty well. Man, these days anybody could get ideas from television shows like
CSI
.
“Detective?”
Darnell looked up, surprised to see the tall figure looming above him.
“Judge Coleman.” He shot up off of the bleachers, sending a burst of pain through his thigh. He hoped the judge didn't mistake his grimace for something else.
“You're kind of up in age to be out there playing with them young cats, don't you think?” The judge grinned, but his eyes were serious.
“Got to do something to stay young. Plus, this game keeps these guys out of trouble on a Saturday afternoon.”
“I've heard. Why don't you sit back down, Detective?” The judge climbed up a couple of bleachers and sat down. “Reverend Freeman has spoken to me about what a good job you are doing with the boys' basketball team. We need men like you to be mentors.”
“Thank you, sir.” Even though they were inside a large facility, Darnell felt the air being sucked out of him. The judge wasn't here to commend him about his volunteer work.
“How's the case going?”
“We have a few leads. Still looking into them. Forensics still has some things to process from the car.”
“Mmm, thought you might have had an arrest by now.”
Yeah, you and me both.
Darnell took a breath and rubbed his head. “My partner is going through Pamela's cases. Still checking on any disgruntled clients.”
“Well, there can't be many, son.” Judge Coleman frowned. “My daughter was one of the best defense lawyers money could buy in this town. Rarely lost a case. You should know prosecution didn't like meeting up with her in the courtroom.”
Darnell could hear the pride and sadness mixed in the judge's voice. Pamela had been a real-life female Perry Mason in her own right. Many innocent persons—and criminals, for that matter—would miss her services. “Sir, since you are a judge, right offhand do you know of any particular cases that might have stressed Pamela in some way?”
“No. Girl didn't show stress. Took things head-on like a man sometimes. Guess she learned a lot from an old codger like me.”
“And her employer, Mitch Harris.”
Judge Coleman turned and faced Darnell. “Yes, she did. Mitch was a protégé of mine. He's another one who didn't lose often.” The judge reached inside his pocket and pulled out a folded newspaper. He unfolded it. “You know anything about this?”
The world around Darnell's head spun like he'd just been body slammed again. A photo of Mitch Harris standing with his arm around Pamela Coleman took up the featured spot. Next to it was the headline D
EFENSE
L
AWYER
M
ITCH
H
ARRIS
Q
UESTIONED
A
BOUT
H
IS
R
ELATIONSHIPTO
D
ECEASED
A
SSOCIATE.
This case was getting stranger by the minute. Darnell knew about the photos sent to Serena and Candace. How many copies of these photos had been delivered and to who else? “Sir, I did question Mitch Harris, but I can assure you the media knew nothing about it.”
“Are you sure?” Despite the young guys still shooting a ball a few feet from them, Darnell felt the intensity of the older man's anger. “Where did this picture come from? How dare someone smear my daughter like this? Mitch has been a family friend for years. There's nothing to be construed here.” The judge balled the paper up and threw it at Darnell. He stood and pointed his finger. “I want some real investigation into my daughter's death. I know you're from L.A., but this is the South. No time for entertainment, especially at the expense of me and my wife's loss.”
Darnell stood. “Sir, I'm doing my job. There are some things you obviously don't know about your daughter.”
“I know she doesn't deserve to be treated in death like this. She's not tabloid material.” The judge's voice boomed.
Darnell looked over at the boys, who had stopped in the middle of passing the ball to catch the commotion over his way. He swallowed. “Sir, I know you are upset, but can we talk about this someplace else?”
The elderly man looked over at the young men. He nodded.
Both men walked purposefully out into the hallway. Darnell made sure the gym door had closed before starting. “Judge Coleman, I know you were not into your daughter's social life, but I have very good sources that say Mitch Harris was involved with Pamela, including his own wife and Pamela's best friend.”
The judge's face contorted. “What? What are you saying?”
“I'm saying that photo was taken by someone hired by Yvonne Harris. This photo and several others have been distributed to various places the past few days.”
“Ha!” The judge threw his hands up. “Yvonne is an insecure woman, but what reason would she have to put her business out before the world like this? Yvonne loves Mitch.”
The judge had a point there. He really did need to get to the source of these photos. This confusing scenario was starting to smell like blackmail.
“You said Pamela's best friend told you some things. Are you talking about Candace?” the judge asked.
“Yes.”
“I should've known.”
Should've known what? Darnell didn't like the sound of this at all. He was still a tad bit upset over Candace's comment about not trusting him. Had she talked to Brunson or someone else on the police force? Sure, he was an outsider, but he did his job well.
The judge blew out a breath. “This is a lot for me to swallow. If you say Candace can verify some of this, then I need to rethink some things. I do know this. Candace is probably going to be as dogged as me in finding out the truth.”
“Why would that be? I mean, I know she was friends with your daughter a long time.”
“Middle school. I remember the day Pamela brought Candace to the house. Beautiful, quiet girl. Her mother was murdered, you know. She'd experienced more pain than most kids her age ever had or would. That's why it was such a shame when she lost Frank.”
Darnell reeled from the judge's statement. Candace's mom was murdered.
Man.
“You know I'm new in the department. I don't know much about Frank.”
“Oh, he was a good man. Good cop. There's a lot of mystery around his death, though.”
Darnell cocked his head. “You mean, his case is still open?”
“Yes. No one knows who Detective Frank Johnson was going to meet the night he was shot or why he went. Some neighbors heard the shots ring out. They found him in this abandoned house and called an ambulance. He stayed alive a few days and then passed away from complications. Candace stayed on the captain's case for months. Captain gave her family police protection. No one knew where to look. I remember Pamela tried to get in on the action, even asked me to see if I could motivate folks to find some suspects. Nothing.”
So, that's why Candace doesn't trust the police
. It wasn't just him. They'd already failed her. With no real leads for Pamela's murder, Candace could be despairing over never knowing how she lost two people in her life.
Not including the fact that she lost her mother to a violent crime.
Death was a cruel player.

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