When Rain Falls (19 page)

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Authors: Tyora M. Moody

BOOK: When Rain Falls
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Chapter Thirty-seven
It was Monday morning, and Darnell's sometime partner sat like stone in the passenger seat. After his conversation with Candace at his aunt's home, Darnell figured if Frank was going to confide in someone, his partner would have been a good start. If Brunson knew something that would hurt his partner's reputation or Candace, he might keep quiet about it. Didn't make sense if it was a clue to who murdered his partner, but people made strange choices.
With the captain's help, Darnell managed to convince Brunson to join him for some good old-fashioned foot patrol to trace Pamela's steps. With the shoddy evidence, they needed to find witnesses. Whoever killed Pamela had been careful enough not leave any evidence that traced back to them. Not only that, they had taken the murder weapon with them.
They needed a miracle at this point. The last person Darnell wanted to come face-to-face with again was Judge Coleman.
Darnell cleared his throat. “Anything new on Pamela's court cases? You've been studying them night and day. Captain's breathing down our throats for a suspect.”
“Why are you asking me, hotshot? Seems like you have your short list of suspects already.”
Darnell gripped the steering wheel, trying to keep his anger in check. “You got a problem with me still wanting to keep an eye on Mitch Harris and his wife? Both of them have motive.”
His partner argued, “Airtight alibis pretty much kill the motive fantasy. They had plenty of folks to verify they never left that place. So, why are you still wasting time? It's a wonder how you got this position.”
Darnell went by his gut. It had never failed him in the past. “What's that supposed to mean? You got something on your mind, Brunson?”
“Nope.”
He wanted to take his hands off of the wheel and lay into the old man. The man always shut him out, treating him like some rookie. “If you want a new partner, all you have to do is request it.”
“What makes you think I haven't?” Brunson's blue eyes sliced into him. No one else in the department would be thrilled about a partner exchange. Even though he grew up in this area, Darnell had managed to become an outsider.
Always the black sheep. Even when he was trying to do right. What was that about?
Brunson dug in more. “Can't help it if you just wormed your way into a detective position meant for somebody else!”
All right, old man, that's enough.
He burst out, “You trying to say I'm not qualified?” Good thing he was driving. Or maybe not a good thing. He slammed on the brakes just in time. Arguing with Brunson, he almost plowed into a car that had braked to make a right turn.
Brunson yelled, “Look at you. You are too cocky. Careless. Coming in like you got it all together. We could have caught the perp from the last case if you had done your homework and used your head. We got rules here, Jackson.”
Darnell concentrated on the street before answering. “Look, I know you're not trying to put some blame on me. The evidence wasn't there.” Darnell clenched his fist tighter around the steering wheel. He wanted to solve cases. Catch the bad guy. Give people closure. That was what he lived for.
Brunson wasn't finished. “You are going to really dig a hole for yourself. There's politics here. You don't just go up to folks and throw your weight around. This ain't the movies.”
Darnell pulled into the parking space and cut the engine off. “I am doing my job, Brunson. Out in L.A., there wasn't no movie set on the street. So what if I rattled somebody's cage? How are you going to find out the truth if you don't?”
“Whatever.”
“Whatever? How about you tell me this? If you got it all together, how come you don't seem have a clue about who killed your partner?”
Brunson turned beet red. “Where do you get off?”
“No, where do you get off? You want to sit there telling me I'm all high and mighty. Do you know Candace doesn't trust the department to find her best friend's killer because you failed her before? Did you know that?”
“We tried to—”
“Tell me something, Brunson. Were you like this to Frank? Could he depend on his partner to have his back or stab him in the back?”
Darnell leaped out of the car and slammed the door.
Lord, forgive me
. That didn't turn out great at all. Fat chance Brunson was going to talk to him now. He didn't care. The old man had started with him first. This had been the same old routine ever since he was assigned to Brunson as a partner. Yeah, yeah, Brunson had seniority, but Darnell had to look at cases the way he knew how.
Right then, he had to talk to somebody who might have seen Pamela hours before she died. He needed a witness. Like a week ago.
This case would be closed. With or without Brunson's partnership.
He walked into the coffee shop, the same coffee shop where he'd seen Candace talking to Hillary Green late last week. It was hopping with mid-morning stragglers desperate for caffeine. So much had happened since that conversation.
For one, he'd gotten to know Candace, and he hated to admit it, but his aunt Beulah's obvious setup had come right on time. He had an urgency to find out what had happened not only to Pamela, but to the famous detective Frank Johnson as well.
Why? He wasn't too sure of his motives. But one thing he knew, there was something about being able to leave the past behind that made all the difference in the world. He'd recognized that the more he talked to Candace.
When he moved from L.A., his whole plan was to move closer to home, forget Jennifer and the divorce. Start fresh and let God be his guide. Let it go and go with the flow.
Despite his venting on Brunson a while ago, he knew he was going in the right direction. Just wasn't too sure where it would all end up. His turn came at the counter. “Regular medium coffee.”
“Sure. That will be two dollars.”
He handed two single dollar bills over to the cash register attendant and then glanced at the name tag. “Jasmine. You're just the girl I wanted to see.”
The short-haired girl gazed at him, a little startled. “Oh.” She reminded him of a younger version of Halle Berry, fuller lips, though. Her hair was black right now, but there were streaks of burgundy at the tips, standing straight up on her head.
He raised his badge. “I'm Detective Jackson. I came in here last week to talk to your coworkers. You've been kind of hard to reach at home. I was wondering if you can answer a few questions.”
She looked around. “It's kind of busy right now.”
“It'll only take a minute. Please.”
“Okay.” Jasmine pointed to the end of the counter. “Let's go over here.”
Darnell grabbed his coffee cup and went to where the girl stood, looking around. “Are you nervous about something, Jasmine?”
“No. Look, I just don't like cops much. My brothers tend to get into trouble a lot. I have reasons to not always trust a badge.”
Been there and done that. When Darnell was a young man, just the folks he hung out with and how he dressed made him an automatic target for cops. “I can promise you this has nothing to do with your brothers.” He pulled out a photo of Pamela. “This woman ... I'm trying to find out if she might have been in here about two Thursdays ago.”
Jasmine reached for the photo. “That's the lawyer that was killed. Wow, she sure was pretty to be a lawyer.”
“When you worked your shift a few Thursdays ago, do you remember seeing her?”
“Yes. There's always a lot of folks. Usually, the same people come in here on Thursday. They come in and talk over lots of coffee. So, I remember her because she had on this fancy dress.”
Darnell's heart rate increased.
Could it be?
“Are you sure? Did she come in by herself?”
“I didn't take her order, but, yeah, I think she came in by herself. But ...”
“What else can you tell me?”
“I think she sat down by herself, but someone came to join her. It was a man.”
Bingo.
“Can you describe him?”
The girl frowned and shook her head. “I didn't really see his face. They were sitting in a booth at the back.”
“Could you tell if he was young or old? How about his body build?”
After a few moments, the girl answered, “Young. He was kind of dressed up, too. You know, in a suit. His hair was black, really shiny. That's all I can remember.”
“How long did they stay?”
“Well, I lost track of time. A lot of folks came in for coffee. Some really needed some. Kind of drunk, you know. But I remember, before she left, she was alone. I waved to her.”
“Okay, this has been very helpful, Jasmine. Thanks a lot.”
“No problem. I hope you find out who did this. Sounds like she was a good lawyer. I want to be a lawyer someday myself.”
Darnell smiled. “That's awesome. You keep that goal in mind. Anything can happen.”
Outside the coffee shop, his mind started spinning. The girl had given a sketchy description, but he needed to really nail something down. Darnell entered the coffee shop again. “Jasmine?”
She turned around. “Yeah?”
“Do you think you can come down to the police department and take a look at some photos? It might jiggle your memory. Maybe you did see his face.”
“Okay. I'm off this afternoon.”
“Good. Ask for Detective Jackson when you get there.”
On the way out, as he returned to the car, the sun shone brightly enough for him to pull out his shades. It could have been the sun, but he felt like he was in a sauna all of sudden.
He couldn't stand liars.
And there was a certain person on his list whom he might have to uncross. Jasmine might not be able to verify this person Pamela had talked to that night, but Darnell wasn't going to let that stop him from talking to Avante Lafayette again.
The man didn't tell the truth, and Darnell wanted to know why.
Chapter Thirty-eight
She had plenty of errands to accomplish this morning. After she dropped the kids off, Candace planned to do some shopping. Buy some real food for a change. Beulah's home cooking the day before had set her in the mood to do a little cooking herself. A long time ago, when she first started running the salon, she'd fix food on Sundays and Mondays, enough to be heated up throughout the week. Seemed like a good idea.
With so much on her mind, she decided to delay her shopping for a bit and run another errand. It bothered her not knowing what happened to Pamela between the time she left the art gallery and the time she returned home. It seemed strange that Pamela didn't go straight home, especially after a long day at work, and then having to attend the reception. Was she set up by someone?
Candace got out of the car, looking both ways before crossing the street. The art gallery was one of a few establishments added to downtown to entice working professionals as well as the elite. Several restaurants, antique shops, and designer clothing stores lined the street. It wasn't too far from her salon, only a couple of blocks. The location was by far more upscale than the strip mall that housed her salon, a veterinarian, and a few other medical practices.
She walked up to the wooden double doors, both fitted with stained glass. This was probably a crazy idea. The place couldn't be open. It was only a little after nine thirty in the morning. She grabbed the gold doorknob, anyway. Candace shrank back in surprise as the door swung inward nice and easy.
Candace stepped into the foyer. Up ahead a guard looked up. When she drew closer, the man stood. His face had deep wrinkles, and his eyes were huge behind his thick brown glasses. White, kinky hair puffed out from under the cap. “Can I help you, miss?”
“I didn't know this place would be open.”
“Well, we're not really open just yet. Usually not open 'til the lunch hour. Didn't you see the sign on the door?”
“No.” She'd missed it. Must be pretty small. “Do you mind if I look around before the crowd comes?”
“You interested in buying something?”
“No.” She considered the guard. “My friend ... passed away a few weeks ago. She was here a few hours before she died. I just wanted to look around.”
The man's eyes blinked behind his glasses. “Wouldn't be that woman all over the news?”
She nodded.
“I'm sorry, miss.”
Candace asked, “Were you here that night?”
“For a little while. I didn't stay the whole night. Mr. Lafayette was the one who locked up the place. Guess he wanted to kind of hang around afterward. He's really proud of this place. I'm proud of him, too.”
“So, you know him well?”
“Oh yeah, I was friends with his dad. Came up here a few years ago, looking for a place to say. That old Katrina wiped me out.”
“Wow, you're from New Orleans.” He was the second person she'd met from New Orleans in the past few weeks. That storm really displaced a lot of people.
The guard rocked back and forth on his heels to a rhythm. “Sure am. Used to play the horn. Still do sometimes but don't remember the tunes as much these days. I tell you what, you go on through there. Take your time.”
“Thank you, Mr...”
“Calvin St. Martin. That's the name. Yours?”
“Candace. Candace Johnson.”
“Candace. I like that name. Did you know it means ‘queen'?”
“No, I never knew that.”
“Well, I'm mighty happy to be in your presence, Queen Candace.”
“Thank you, sir.” She curtsied.
Very sweet old man.
There were a few steps up into the gallery. She stood, soaking in the magnitude of the exhibits. What struck her first was the intensity of the painting in front of her. Red. Lots of red. She squinted her eyes and tried to make out what all the splashes of paint formed, if anything. If she turned her head to the side, it could be a person or just an angry red cloud. In the corner, a large letter
A
was scribbled.
Avante was an artist. She certainly wouldn't be purchasing any artwork. A little too bizarre for her. She paused at several paintings, not much impressed with any of them. Pamela had loved art. Her love came from Desiree, who used to paint. Candace could see why she would take Avante Lafayette on as a client. But she knew even these paintings weren't up to par for her friend's taste.
She crossed over to the other side of the gallery. Instead of paintings, there were now photos. Huge. Some were photos of only partial objects. Others were photos of people. Men, women, old and young. All were experiencing some type of duress. Their eyes mirrored her personal sorrows.
The largest photo, in the center, focused on the eyes only. Candace knew there was a message, but the immense size of the photo gave the whole exhibit an eerie feeling. What would Pamela say about this one? It creeped Candace out
.
She wanted to turn away, but something about those eyes caught her off guard. A familiarity, like she should know the person staring back at her.
“Do you like that one?”
She spun around.
There he was in the flesh. Avante Lafayette. His face in some ways seemed almost ratlike; his slanted eyes burned into hers. She straightened her back and inched away from the man. He'd snuck up on her. Not even one of his footsteps had disturbed her. “Is this all your work, Mr. Lafayette?”
“Yes. I don't remember you being at the reception. If you were, you would have heard my story.”
“No. I wasn't there.”
His eyes measured her up and down. She hadn't had a man scrutinize her quite so purposefully in some time. If Avante licked his lips, she was out of there.
“Well, it's a pleasure seeing you again. We met under not so nice circumstances. Still can't believe Ms. Coleman is gone.”
“How did you know her?” She already knew but wanted to hear what the man would say.
“I had to use her services recently. She was the best.” He stepped closer. “Since you missed the reception, I will tell you these photos are from my hometown. Taken right before and after Hurricane Katrina hit. I wanted to take photos for old time's sake but ended up taking so many just to document the travesty.”
“It was indeed. I'm sure many people have been touched by your exhibit.”
His mouth curved, not quite a smile. “I try my best to relay the truth in hope of justice.”
Candace turned her body slightly. “And this large one here. Who was the model?”
“I can't tell that.”
“No?”
“That one was taken just to show justice had been served.”
Justice.
Seemed like a strange response, but she didn't have time to form a question. A ringing broke her thoughts. She gratefully grabbed her phone. “I'm sorry. Thank you for letting me be in here and for sharing your work.”
He continued to gaze at her. She couldn't read what he was thinking. It was the same stare she'd seen before. At the funeral. She didn't consider herself a very pretty woman, so this attention from him seem unwarranted.
“No problem, Mrs. Johnson. Come back at any time.”
Outside the art gallery she breathed. She went straight to the car. Not until she was inside did she remember to look at the phone to see who'd called her. As she pressed the buttons, her body felt cold, despite the fact that she was sitting in a warm car. There was a slight chill in the gallery. She glanced over at the doors.
How did Avante Lafayette know to call her Mrs. Johnson? She purposely hadn't told him her name.

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