Wrong Chance (29 page)

“Who's Leon's wife?”

The fact that Aspen wasn't taking any notes told Scenario that Aspen already had the answers to her line of questioning. Aspen just wanted to see if her answers would match.

“Ex-wife,” Scenario said. “Jazz Smith.”

Aspen handed Scenario a copy of the photo she and Hakeem had gotten from Mrs. Africa Taylor. Scenario stared at herself ten years ago. Stared at Chance, Leon, Anderson, and her best friend, Jazz. She was cautious not to show Aspen or Detective Scott any emotion. Careful not to give them a questionable body language reading.

Aspen said, “Three people in that photo were murdered by the Hieroglyphic Hacker. One of which is lying on your desk as we speak. Chance and Cashmaire Fox are missing, and you're friends with Jazz Smith.”

“Associates. I wouldn't have slept with Leon if she was a friend. I stopped because it looked like we could be friends.”

“How long have you known Leon and Jazz?”

“I met Jazz a little after I moved back to Cleveland. About five months ago at her book signing. Met Leon two months after that indirectly through Jazz.”

“Do you know any of the other people in the picture? Ever indirectly meet them or seen them—alive—anywhere other than in that picture?”

“No, why would I? Furthermore, I would have been forthcoming with that information at the previous crime scenes like I am now about Leon. I am an officer of the court, Detective Skye. Your line of questioning is implicative and it's pissing me off. Let's not forget we play ball on the same side of the fence.”

Aspen considered County Prosecutor Scenario Davenport. “Relax. I mean no harm. What was the beef between you and Leon about?”

“He wanted to continue seeing me. He was upset that I wouldn't take or return his calls or make any effort to pursue a relationship with him. It was so embarrassing. He accused me in public of being a lesbian, of wanting to be with Jazz instead of him.”

“Is there any truth to that?”

“Are you asking for the investigation or for yourself, Detective Skye?”

Aspen rolled her eyes. “Then what happened?”

“I promised to call Leon when I got off work so I could diplomatically end the confrontation. He walked me back to the Justice Center's lobby. I went to work and I assumed he left.”

“What time was that?”

“Lunchtime.”

“Did you speak with him last night as promised?”

“No. I had no intentions of doing so in the first place.”

“You didn't come into work this morning. Why?”

“Because I didn't feel like it, Detective. One of the luxuries that comes with my job is my hours are flexible.”

“Where were you last night between eleven p.m. and four a.m.?”

“At home in bed.”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“My rabbit is battery-operated so no. But my doorman knows what time I came in the building yesterday and left this morning.” Scenario leaned forward. “My turn to ask a question. Has the message on Leon's body been translated yet?”

“Yeah,” Aspen said. “Law 37: Create Compelling Spectacles. Does that mean anything to you?”

“No,” Scenario lied.

Aspen turned the TV on and pushed Play on the DVD player. “This is footage from the surveillance camera outside your office last night at eleven fifteen.”

Detective Scott put his hat on his head and faced the screen. They watched Scenario wave at someone and then go inside the county attorney's office.

Aspen said, “That's a bad-ass outfit you were wearing.”

“That's not me.”

“The night janitor says he spoke to you.”

“He spoke to someone pretending to be me. That isn't me.”

“We're keeping this out of the press until we figure this one out.”

“Smartest thing you've said since I showed up. The killer is making us look like clowns.”

“For your sake, Ms. Davenport, I hope you're right.”

“For your sake,” Detective Scott repeated Aspen's words.

As Jazz wheeled her BMW X6 down Lakeshore Boulevard she wondered why Cash left without saying goodbye.

“This ain't cool,” Jaden said.

“If it'll make you feel any better, Jaden, I'm not comfortable with this either.” Jazz knew she had to try this, even if nothing came of it. She turned onto Spring Bank Lane, the stretch of road that had changed her life last October. This time, though, she drove under the speed limit and her hands shook.

Jaden looked as if he'd seen a ghost. He held on to the basketball like it would jump out his lap.

Jazz took a deep breath. “Relax,” she said to Jaden as she parked five feet away from where Cash was thrown through the windshield. Everything will be all right.” She was really trying to convince herself while putting on airs of strength and confidence for Jaden's benefit.

Beneath the cheap sunglasses and drab clothing, her gaze was unreadable. Her body language didn't communicate. How could she have been so careless? Cash had told her a million times about her reckless driving. She even had the cigarette burns on her thighs from when Leon disciplined her for bringing home speeding ticket after speeding ticket.

She opened the car door.

“Don't go.” Jaden's voice was as shaky as her hands. “Trust me.”

She whispered, “I have to. I really have to.” She climbed out the car and left Jaden where he sat. When she ran her hand over the deep dent in a curb-side light pole, the tears stinging her eyes lost their grip. In the crevices of the twisted metal was blue paint that transferred from her Mercedes's front end on impact. The pole lost its erect posture from the force of the collision. Now it leaned over like a tired old lady in desperate need of a cane.

Buank. Buank. Buank. Buank.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“I think you should turn around,” Jaden said.

She looked over her shoulder and found Chance Fox standing there with a Marlboro behind his ear. The morning sun shined on his bald head. He wore camouflage cargo shorts, a Creed T-shirt, Skechers sneakers, and he reeked of a marijuana and alcohol concoction. The look in his ice-blue eyes said it all. Jazz was in the vicinity of death. Her skin crawled. She'd seen this look before, the night she looked up at Leon from the grave he forced her to dig at gunpoint.

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“I always keep my word. It's a bad habit of mine.”

Jazz stepped back. “You never gave me your word on anything.” Even putting space between them didn't make her feel comfortable.

“Told you we shouldn't have come here,” Jaden said. “Let's get out of here.”

“You're a riot.” Chance laughed, and then turned serious. “I friggin' told you that I better not find out you knew Cash had AIS. I found out. Now let's finish this.”

“Come on, Jaden,” Jazz said, “we're leaving.”

Chance held up her car keys and then lifted his shirt, showing
off the shiny butt of his gun. “You're leaving with me, and I'm gonna enjoy cutting up that sexy body of yours.”

“This way,” Jaden said and took off running up the driveway.

Jazz was right on his heels.

“Nice. Real nice, you ass ache,” Chance said to himself and went after her.

K
eebler wagged her tail with excitement when Jaden burst through the kitchen door. “Hey, Keebler, girl,” he said as Jazz hurried to close the door and lock it.

“I don't think so, missy.” Chance rammed the door open, knocking Jazz backward.

“Get 'em, Keebler.” Jaden pointed to the threat. “Get 'em, girl.”

Keebler showed her loyalty and attacked.

Jaden led Jazz deeper into the interior of the house.

•  •  •

Chance leapt onto the island in the center of the kitchen in one motion and armed himself with two Tiffany skillets from the overhead rack. Had he reacted a second later he would have experienced Keebler's bone-crushing bite. That was a pain he wanted no part of. Keebler circled the island Chance was stranded on. The growl in her chest rumbled like thunder, warning Chance that lightning was preparing to strike.

“Tried to nibble on old Chance, did you?”

Keebler bared her teeth, then barked to let him know she wasn't fucking around. Chance studied her. Bulging muscles. Beautiful brindle coat. Massive chest. Huge head.

“You're an impressive beast,” Chance said. “Dammit, I'd like to
shake Detective Eubanks' hand. But unfortunately, your master's at work trying to catch me.”

Keebler circled her prey.

“Gee whiz, poochie. You don't really wanna get a taste of the fantastic Chancester, do you?” He reached out to her, testing her temperament.

She snapped at him like an emotional bitch, then barked the roar of six angry dogs.

“Well, that's just swell, isn't it? See, poochie pooch, now we have ourselves a problem since you're hell-bent on this biting thing. We have to come to a compromise here because I refuse to hurt a beautiful animal like you. It goes against everything the Chancester believes in.” He assessed the kitchen for an escape. “But on the other hand, poochie pooch, that bitch you somehow let get by you, I have to hurt her very bad for taking away my inalienable human right to a family. And now you're in my way. So what are we gonna do about that, poochie pooch?” Chance looked at the skillets and shook his head with disappointment. “I can't win with these. They're no match against you.” He looked at the door and knew he couldn't make it. “We're spending too much time here. I can't let her get away, poochie. Letting her live is not an option.”

Keebler bared her teeth.

“You're forcing me to go against my morals.”

Keebler jumped onto the opposite end of the island and faced Chance. Chance thought, if it was that easy, why did poochie pooch taunt him so long? She hunched her shoulders and lifted the hairs between her shoulder blades.

Chance shrugged a
have it your way.
“So this is what it comes to?”

Keebler attacked. Chance raised his gun and fired as her teeth connected with his skin. Keebler fell off the island and yelped like
a woman giving birth when the nine-millimeter slug tore into her chest.

“God, please forgive me for what I've done.” He stroked Keebler. “God, please don't let her die.” Chance crossed himself with an imaginary crucifix. “Poochie pooch, I'm gonna make that bitch hurt really bad for this. I swear.” He went after Jazz with tears burning his eyes.

“K
eebler,” Hakeem yelled, stepping out of the bathroom, “what are you making all that noise for?” He was bare-chested and wearing a pair of drawstring pajama pants. “Shut up or I won't take you for a car ride today. It's too early, Keebler, and I didn't sleep a wink.”

He figured she must be barking at someone on the lake. She always acted a fool anytime a fisherman's boat or a jet skier wandered too close to their boat dock or shoreline backyard. He yawned and stretched then headed to his bedroom to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling awhile longer.

But Hakeem froze midway down the hallway.

All traces of fatigue vanished when he heard heavy breathing behind him. He spun around prepared to fight for his life. The person he saw standing at the mouth of the hall was the very object of his hate.

“Help me,” Jazz said, trying to catch her breath. “Please help me, Mr. Eubanks.”

“How did you get in my house?” Then: “There's no way Keebler would have let you pass her. What did you do to Keebler?” A second later he yelled, “Keebler!”

“Don't let him kill me. Please.”

“I don't know who leaked information to you about the case,
but I'm off it. I will do nothing to help you. Now get out of my house.”

Jazz pointed. “He's downstairs.”

Hakeem started toward her. “Who?”

“Chance Fox, the Hieroglyphic Hacker.” She put her arms around him and cried. “Please don't let him hurt me. I'm so sorry.”

Hakeem didn't hug her back. His nerve endings were irritated. A million times he told himself that he hated this woman. That he wanted her to feel as much pain as he had. But now that she was crying on his chest, he was certain it wasn't hate that he harbored. He was just pissed and didn't know how to forgive her. Now here she was frightened to death. The way she trembled made him feel bad for all the foul things he openly said about her but didn't really mean; for all the terrible things he focused so much energy wishing would happen to her but really didn't want to happen. She didn't deserve that from him.

She balled. “I'm sorry.”

He put his arms around her. “I know. I know, it was an accident.”

A gun went off downstairs.

Jazz flinched. He held her tighter. Keebler yelped.

“Dudette,” Chance yelled from downstairs, “don't make me come up there and get you.”

Hakeem lifted her sunglasses and looked deep into her eyes. “It'll be all right,” he whispered.

“You got this screwy puzzle all wrong,” Chance yelled. “Don't hide from me. I'm not the person you gotta run from. We're buds. It's Cashmaire you gotta concern yourself with. She killed them all. I swear. I only followed you here to warn you that she's coming for you.” Then: “You got your ears on up there?”

A tear rolled from the corner of her eye. “You don't know how sorry I am. Please forgive me and help me.”

Hakeem put a finger to her lips to shush her, then led her to the nearest bedroom. He whispered, “Lock yourself in and don't come out. Call the police and tell them you're in my house and I need backup.”

“Jazz, you cunt. I searched everywhere down here. Now I know you're up there. You're unraveling my friggin' patience. Stop hiding. You're only getting me madder.” He started stomping up the stairs.