Wrong Chance (14 page)

“Have them available for a briefing before the press conference this afternoon. Any official statements made to the public in regards to the Hieroglyphic Hacker from this day forward will be examined by me first.”

“Not a problem, Ms. Davenport.”

Scenario forgot her manners and hung up without warning. She took in her view for a moment—loving how her life was coming together—then swiveled her chair to face Jazz leaning against the doorjamb. Jazz wore a trendy pair of jeans, sunglasses, and a New York Knicks ball cap.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Scenario said, thinking of how the Knicks had the worst season ever.

“Thought you might need a dose of your best friend, considering everything that's going on.”

“Who would ever think that I'd make county prosecutor by default? That's a big responsibility I'm not sure I can handle.” Then: “I was perfectly fine with
Assistant
County Prosecutor Scenario Davenport.”

“Let's go somewhere,” Jazz said, “and talk. You had breakfast?”

“If you consider a banana protein shake breakfast,” Scenario said, thinking of how convicting a case like the Hieroglyphic Hacker's would put her career on easy street.

“Come have breakfast with Jaden and me.”

Jaden
?
Scenario thought and shot to her feet. “Where's Jaden?”

Jazz glanced somewhere down the hallway. “He's sitting down there by the elevators spinning that darn basketball on his finger.”

Scenario slipped into her suit jacket before Jazz could say another word and headed for the door. “Where are we having breakfast?”

“Jaden is crazy about Benihana. His dad always took him there.”

A
hibachi grill sizzled their French toast golden brown. The grill sat inches from their table. The chef, a pudgy man with a unibrow, juggled a trio of eggs.

Jaden watched with something close to amazement. That pleased Jazz. Suddenly, the chef cracked each egg in midair with a Santoku knife. The yolks fell to the grill as the chef expertly caught the shells in his smock pocket. Jaden skinned and grinned as the chef entertained them with the preparation of the gourmet meal. Jazz was happy to see Jaden smile.

Scenario snapped her fingers and cleared her throat. “At some point this has to stop. It's worrying me, Jazz.”

Reluctantly, Jazz took her attention off Jaden and put it on Scenario. “Girl, I'm good. One thing I know is we can't have testimony without being tested by adversity.”

Scenario sighed.

“Everything will work itself out,” Jazz said.

“Have you even tried getting back on your grind and write?” Scenario said as the chef diced green peppers, mushrooms, and onions.

“Yeah right,” Jaden said. “She's too busy bugging the heck out of me all day.”

“No one asked you anything, Jaden. Hasn't anyone ever told you
to stay out of grown folks' conversations?” Jazz peeped the chef ear hustling and trying to make heads or tails of their dialogue. To Scenario, she said, “I'll get things on track.”

“We all fall on our face; it's how we get back up that's important. You haven't gotten up since the accident.”

Jazz thought back to the day she watched the paramedics peel Scenario off the hood of her car. She frowned, hating that she was responsible for changing the course of all their lives.

“Everyone has something they need to lay to rest,” Scenario said. “That's what I had to do with Cashmaire Fox; it was the only way for me to move forward.” Then: “I was watching
Ghost Whisperer.”

“A sitcom, Scenario? Really?”

Scenario rolled her eyes and turned up the corner of her mouth. “You of all people know that art imitates life.”

“Whatever.”

“There's a lot of truth in entertainment and you know it,” Scenario said. “Anyway. Jennifer Love Hewitt's character said something that resonated: if you want to lay your ghost to rest, you should revisit the scene of the accident since it changed your life so much. It'll help you let it go.”

“I'm ready to go,” Jaden said.

Jazz said with a brow raised above the frame of her glasses, “But…but we haven't eaten yet.”

“Now! I'm ready to go now!” He pounded his fists on the table so hard that Scenario jumped. He scooted his chair away from the table and stormed out of the restaurant.

“Jaden, wait a minute.” Jazz took off behind him, as she heard Scenario say “Sorry” to the bewildered chef.

Outside of Benihana Jazz found Jaden standing next to her BMW X6. “What happened in there?”

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“Jaden, I'm talking to you.”

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“What is going on with you?”

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

Scenario came out the restaurant as the BMW's engine started. Its lights flashed and the horn blew.

“I. Said. I'm. Ready. To. Go.”
Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

O
utside the coroner's office, Aspen handed Hakeem his suit jacket. “He tortured him, Hakeem. The Hieroglyphic Hacker questioned Mr. Doe and stabbed him for the answers.”

“What about those answers were important enough to kill over?”

“That's what we have to find out.”

“He used the tools of his trade to murder John Doe with.” Hakeem stroked his chin. “We're looking for a doctor. He's smart.”

“Extremely. And he's a fucking psychopath.” Then: “A dangerous combination.”

“You have a psychological fingerprint worked up on this nut yet?”

“I got a little something-something put together,” she said, straddling the motorcycle. “It's a preliminary profile based on the information we have.”

Hakeem said nothing. Translation:
Drop it on him.

“Definitely a male, white. More than likely he's in his early to mid-thirties. We can reasonably conclude that he's very detailed-oriented from the mastery of the hieroglyphics. He's antisocial and shuns public attention. That's why he keeps things personal between himself and the police, flaunting his intelligence by writing on the victims in brilliant codes instead of sending simple letters to the press. He's an egocentric who's prone to boredom and wields superficial charm. He spends a lot of his private time thinking,
planning, which is why he hasn't been caught. According to Mr. Doe, the Hieroglyphic Hacker isn't sexually motivated, so he's a sadistic murderer, who lacks remorse, which probably means his choice of music ranges from rock to heavy metal. The sadistic nature of his murders suggest his aim is to inflict the pain on his victim that he feels himself. A transference. A punishment. It's like he's saying, ‘see how
it
feels.' And now we know he's been educated in the medical field.”

“I wanna know what
it
is and
what
Mr. Doe told him.” He fell silent until his Palm Treo rang.

“Communicate.”

“Detective Eubanks, Tony Adams here.” Tony was the head crime scene technician.

“What you got for me, Tony?” Hakeem said, watching Aspen pucker her pouty lips in the motorcycle's mirror and gloss them. She had no idea how much of a distraction she was.

“The shoe prints were made by a Vans sneaker, size nine. The distance in the stride between the left and the right shoe prints makes the killer approximately five-nine, five-ten inches tall.”

“Assuming our unsub made the prints.” Hakeem never validated a point without conclusive proof.

“Yes, assuming.”

“Give me some good news on the latents.”

“We're still running them, Detective Eubanks.” Tony sounded disappointed. “There are hundreds of them. Probably every Jew in Cleveland Heights has a set of prints in that place. The ones I can positively identify right now are Mr. and Mrs. Williams', which were located in the appropriate areas consistent with their job description.”

And their story, Hakeem thought. “Thanks, Tony. Call me when you get anything.”

“Okay, Detective Eubanks.”

“Anything, Tony. I don't care how small. I wanna nail this guy.” Hakeem ended the call and the phone rang right back. “Communicate.”

“Marcus Jefferson didn't make it,” Sergeant Morris said. “Died twenty minutes ago.”

“Sorry to hear that, sir. I know the two of you were friends.”

Aspen mouthed the word
Jefferson?
And Hakeem nodded.

“Be in the Homicide Unit by two,” Sergeant Morris said. “Since you yapped your gums, the mayor, chief, and the ACP are trying their hand at damage control with a press conference this evening. You and Aspen need to brief them.”

“Okay, Sergeant. See you later.” Hakeem hung up, then filled Aspen in.

Aspen said, “Scenario Davenport is worried. With Marcus gone, she ultimately knows that this case will be up to her when we bring this guy in.”

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“I'm an optimist. Davenport wants to be briefed to test the legality of what we have.”

“Which is nothing but a preliminary profile.”

Aspen smiled. “It's a start. I'm going to the station and have Tony run Mr. Doe's prints. And I have a hunch I want to follow.”

“A hunch?”

“Yeah, I'll hip you on later.”

“While you're doing that,” Hakeem said, “I'll check out the Williamses' story, then I'll go pay an old friend a visit.”

A
nderson smiled his bucked-and gapped-tooth smile. “My friends are a little thrown off like everyone else, but they're cool. Jazz, you'll like them. Trust me,” he said as they walked the narrow dormitory hallway toward Apartment 619. “While I take my insulin, you make yourself comfortable.”

“You don't know how happy I am to finally be away from the country. I swear to God the State of Maryland doesn't ever have to worry about Jazz Smith again.” Jazz was a slender beauty, all legs and charisma. By all definitions, she was considered a dainty dime. She wore a pair of Guess jeans like a second layer of skin and a girly sweater under a fly leather coat. She stepped with confidence in a trendy pair of boots and a Baltimore Ravens skull cap.

“Sell one of your manuscripts and you can live anywhere in the world you want.”

“Think I really have what it takes to make it as an author?”

“Lil' cousin, you're gonna be a
New York Times
bestseller. They're gonna study your works in prestigious universities like they do Tolstoy, Hemingway, Dickens, and Dumas.”

“That would really be something.” She turned up the corners of her mouth into a gorgeous smile.

When they rounded the corner, the door of Apartment 619 was wide open. They entered as Yancee was saying, “That's not a good idea. If he finds out—”

“What's not a good idea?” Anderson said to his friends.

Yancee and Leon looked up. Jazz and Leon locked gazes, communicating something that only they understood.

Yancee was pissed. He said, “This fool wants to set Chance up with a girl who's kinda like a hermaphrodite. All for laughs because he's still hurt about Sahara.”

“There isn't such a thing as a hermaphrodite,” Anderson said. “It's a purely mythical creature from ancient literature. It was said to have a completely functional set of…It was supposed to have a dick and a pussy.”

“Yeah,” Jazz said, “the medical community adopted the fictional term ‘hermaphrodite' to describe a condition where a female has an abnormally large clitoris.”

“I don't know anything about any of that.” Yancee passed Jazz the article. “This is what I'm talking about.”

“Excuse me for being rude,” Anderson said. “This is my cousin Jazz Smith from Maryland. She's going to school here now. And you guys are looking at a world-famous author in the making.”

Jazz blushed. “Stop it. You're embarrassing me.”

“I'm Yancee.” He shook her tiny hand. “And this fool looking at you all goofy is Leon.”

Leon took her hand and held on to it, sensing a weakness within her. “Nice to meet you.” He looked at her with disgust. “I would be honored to show you around campus.”

Jazz blushed, mistaking Leon's gaze of disrespect for admiration. “I'd like that.”

“No way, Jose.” Anderson injected himself in the thigh with a dose of insulin. “She's my first cousin, Leon.”

“But I'm not your little cousin anymore, Anderson. I'm a grown woman.”

“Say no more.” Leon squeezed her hand harder than necessary, then reluctantly let it go, not convinced that he had established his dominance.

Jazz read the article aloud, getting comfortable with the group. When she finished, she closed the magazine. “Never heard of this.”

“Me neither,” Anderson said, looking at the cover of the magazine. “I'm in total agreement with Yancee. Hooking Chance up with someone like this is not a good idea, Leon. Did you forget that we all got a gay-bashing conviction because Chance started that fight in Best Steak House last semester?”

“It's none of my business, Leon,” Jazz said. “But you shouldn't play that type of trick on a person, especially someone who's averse to gays. Somebody could get hurt like that guy did on the
Jenny Jones Show
.”

“Talk some sense into him then,” Yancee said. “Keep that up and you're gonna fit right in.”

Leon said, “She-slash-he isn't gay, though.” Pissed that Jazz had challenged him.