by K. C. Turner
Grabbing her chest trying to breath, Sam finally broke and screamed at him, “You stupid son of a bitch! She didn’t deserve you!” She smacked him across the face and met his shock with malevolence in her gaze. “I sent Pam that text. I met her down at the docks and told her what a worthless, piece of shit wife she was. I followed her and Damian for months while you sat around and gave two shits. She couldn’t even admit what a whore she was. Kept telling me it was none of my business and pushing me to get out of her way. And now she can rot in hell!”
Brandon grabbed Sam’s flailing arms trying to stave off the attack. Martinez quickly circled the table, managing to get her hands behind her so he could cuff her. As he secured the handcuffs, Brandon slid against the wall to the other side of the room, bewildered, as she was escorted out.
Martinez walked her out of the interview room towards the station door as he recited the charges against her. “Miss Samantha Brown, you’re under arrest for assault. You’re also under arrest for the murder of Pamela DeFranco. You have the right to remain silent...”
Every extremity of Brandon’s was frozen. He stood against the wall as she screamed back to him, “I sacrificed everything for you!”
Martinez led Sam through the door and down the hall to the first available holding cell. Removing the cuffs from her and shutting the cell door behind him he looked at her frail frame and shook his head in disbelief. “Sit tight. You’ve got nothing but time now.”
Sam wrung her wrists as if the cuffs were too tight and she glared in his direction, her under eyes smeared with mascara. Sitting down on the metal bench she grunted, “I need to make a phone call.” He walked away without responding. She jumped up from her seated position and ran to the cell bars, grabbing onto them with both of her hands. “I need to make a phone call!”
He continued walking away. When he reached the door to the lobby he heard an ear-piercing scream. Attempting to ignore it, he returned to the interview room. Brandon was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. “Mr. DeFranco?” He looked up, disoriented. His face was flush and his eyes appeared red. Sitting down across from him, Martinez was sincere. “I’m sorry, Mr. DeFranco. I don’t think either one of us was expecting that.”
Masking his inner turmoil with a deceptive calmness Brandon asked, “Am I okay to leave?”
Understanding he needed some time after the unfolding of recent events, Martinez nodded to him. “I hope you realize I’m going to need you to answer some questions in the near future.”
Before walking out the door, Brandon turned to him. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’ll have my full cooperation.”
Reaching into his pocket to grab his phone, Martinez dialed Elizabeth. She answered immediately. “Hola, guapo.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “Aye, me Beleza Blanca. I have news for you.”
“Let me guess; you’re waiting naked for me with wine and pizza?”
“Oh how I wish! I got one better for ya. Well, kinda. I made an arrest in Pam DeFranco’s murder.”
“Wow, seriously?”
“Serious as a heart attack baby doll. Samantha Brown is being processed as we speak,” he said proudly. “You can go ahead and call the family. Let them know we still have some unanswered questions, so they can be filled in on all the details beginning of next week. But the arraignment should be first thing tomorrow morning.”
Her voice showed her bewilderment. “Samantha Brown? Wha-aat?”
“Yeah, crazy story. I’ll tell you all about it tonight over wine and pizza?”
“Yummy. I can’t wait. You’re meeting me and China at the courthouse later this afternoon right?”
“Four o’clock, right? I’ll be waiting for you.” His voice turned seductive. “Then after that, we can head to your house and get down to real business.”
“Bring your handcuffs, Detective.”
His eyes brightened and his eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. “¡Ay, caramba! No hay problema, seniorita.”
Elizabeth pushed the foam container to the other side of the picnic table and grabbed her belly. “Oh my God. I can’t believe you talked me into eating that. Those were the best BBQ ribs I’ve ever had in my life. I think I’m going to vomit; I ate too much.”
He smiled at her satisfaction. “At least it’s Friday and you don’t have too much time left at the office. Just make sure you rest up before tonight.” Biting his bottom lip he smiled.
Flickering her eyebrows at him she assured him, “My nap is already planned.” She looked around the park before turning her gaze to the lake in front of them. “I never even knew this little gem was here.”
Taking the last bite of coleslaw, he closed the lid on his container and wiped his mouth with his napkin. Well, it used to be until the city kicked him out for not having a permit. I had to call in a favor for a friend.” Hearing footsteps on the grass behind them, Martinez turned around to see Miles approaching. “Speak of the dirty devil.”
“Sup, Martinez?” He stood there with his hands in the pockets of his baggy jean shorts, his Dallas Cowboy’s jersey hanging loosely over them. “I guess white folk like BBQ after all?”
Standing to greet him properly, Martinez said. “Indeed, my friend,” and solidified it with a fist pump. He turned to Elizabeth introducing her. “Miles, this is Elizabeth Strong. Liz, I give you Miles Murphy.”
Stroking his chin and nodding his head while he grinned, he looked her up and down. “That’s what’s up, lil’ sista.”
Martinez scowled and clenched his teeth causing his cheek to twitch.
Stepping back Miles dropped his hand from his chin. “Oooh, it’s like that? I gotchu. My o-po-lo-gies.” He offered his fist. “Nice-to-meet-you, Miss-Strong.”
Elizabeth giggled and pumped his fist. “It’s nice to meet you, Miles.”
He dropped his hand and began waving it in front of him. “Hey now, I’m the Medicine Man. Whatever your ailment-”
With censure in his tone, Martinez quickly corrected him. “It’s Miles, Liz. Just Miles.”
Backing up, he understood. “I gotchu, okay. I’m just gon’ wait over here.”
Giving him a nod, Martinez told Elizabeth, “I gotta take care of this and then I have to head out to Mansfield. I’m glad the arraignment went well this morning. Now you can take a little break.” He grabbed her hand.
Letting a deep breath out, she had an air of calm and confidence, which he liked. “Sort of. Next week I need to begin preparing the family for trial.”
“For right now just chill” His tone had a degree of warmth and concern. “You know, I am really proud of you for going to court yesterday and how well you handled yourself. You did the right thing.”
Her eyes like sapphire, peered up at him. “Thank you for lunch. For everything.”
Kissing her on the forehead, he promised, “We’ll pick this up later tonight. Okay?” Then he watched her as she left.
Miles walked up next to him. “Da-yum! Marti-nez, you da man.”
Scratching his five-o’clock shadow he said, “Watch it, Miles.” The two of them continued to watch Elizabeth walk to her car across the street. She turned back, her blonde hair gleaming in the sun. She smiled at them and waved. “Wave to her, Miles.” He obliged with an out of character, Steve Urkle smile and wave. Once she was in her car, Martinez asked him, “What do you got for me?”
“Ma-aaaan this shit be tight! I ain’t even playin’ wit you.” He planted his fist in the palm of his other hand.
Frustrated, Martinez placed his hands in his front pockets, titled his head in disbelief and said, “Come on, Miles.”
“Look, bro, I’m serious. You know how hard it is to find a mole?” His arms moved in waves as he explained. “You start goin’ down one tunnel and it jus’ lead to another. This shit go wa-aay back. But my sources tell me, it started somewheres in the county’s beloved drug-task-force.” His tone and facial expression set off an alarm.
Martinez stiffened and shifted his
mahogany eyes to Miles.
Tightening his lips together, he muttered, “Mmm hmm. Ima need some time.” Walking away from Martinez, Miles turned his attention away from him to avoid a fallout. “Ay, yo, Mr. Henry!” He pointed at Martinez. “You owe him a lunch, my man!” Then he strutted to his tricked out Cadillac, without giving Martinez a second glance.
Arriving in Mansfield just after two o’clock, Martinez rolled onto the prison grounds. He checked in with the guard, who directed him to the release gate. Circling around the prison, he drove down the long road to the gate and parked off to the side, waiting as he repeatedly checked his dash for the time. Within ten minutes, he heard the sound of the alarm indicating the oversized double steel door to the prison was opening. “Right on time,” he said aloud to himself. He exited the vehicle and stood on the passenger side, leaning against the door and propping one foot up under his butt with his arms crossed, his chest protruding overtop of them.
A guard stood on either side as one of them gave directions to the prisoner standing in between them. A military green colored bag was strapped around his shoulder. He walked forward until ordered to halt. The guards walked to meet him a few feet from behind before the steel doors shut behind them. Again, the guard gave him instructions. He pushed a red button the size of his hand and the huge fenced gate lined with barbed wire clanged open as the one syllable alarm sound again.
Once the gate was fully opened, the guard ordered him to step to the yellow line three feet in front of him and remain there until advised he was no longer under the instruction of Mansfield Corrections. After the alarm sounded again, the gate closed behind him and the guard said, “Inmate number 34621, you are no longer under the control of Mansfield Correctional. You are free to leave the premises and reminded to report to your parole officer within 72 hours of your departure.” And the guards proceeded back to the double steel doors entering the prison.
Using his foot to push himself away from the vehicle, Martinez dressed in his blue polo and jeans, his badge gleaming from his black belt, stately walked towards the prisoner. Once he was two feet within his reach, he tapped an envelope in his hand as he said, “Well, well, well. Don’t know how you did it, but you did it. Gotta hand it to you Robinson, you’re smarter than you look.”
Steve was clean-shaven, dark hair cropped short enough to leave his curls, and dressed in a silky black shirt with grey dress slacks. He slightly titled his head back, thickening the muscles in his neck, glaring down his nose at Martinez. “You here for a reason?”
Pulling his standard issue Oakleys off his face, he met Steve’s gaze with authority. “You’re bag doesn’t really match your outfit, Robinson. You have plans tonight?”
“Matter of fact, I do. Been a long six years. I have some catching up to do. So unless you’re here to give me a ride...” Before he could finish, a black four-door BMW with custom wheels slowly inched towards them.
Tipping the envelope towards him, Martinez waited for Steve to grab it and said, “Mr. Steven Robinson, you have been served.”
There was a hardening of his eyes as he glanced from the envelope back to Martinez. His lips puckered with annoyance as he tossed the envelope over his shoulder without opening it.
Holding his ground and his gaze he said, “I really don’t think you want a ticket for littering, just being released and all.”
Pulling his bag from his shoulder he held it tightly to his side and replied, “You have my new address, I’m sure. Send me a bill.”
Martinez placed his sunglasses back on his face and flicked his chin with his thumb before turning away.
Steve opened the passenger side back door to the Beamer, flung his bag onto the seat and turned back grinning mischievously as he stated, “Hey, be sure to tell Lizzy I said hello.”
Opening the car door to his Impala, Martinez confidently said, “I’ll be seeing you around, Robinson.”
Girls’ night on Fridays at Chip’s was Elizabeth’s favorite. She was able to get her Black Jack on and visit her friend Donny DeLuca in order to de-stress a little while China perused the horny rich men looking for a no-strings-attached kinda lady.
Chip’s was banging like any other Friday night, especially during tourist season. After enjoying the amusement park for the day, many of the tourists and locals alike took their evening partying straight to the casino; not only for gambling but also for the live bands and dancing.
As the rest of the players waited impatiently for Elizabeth to make a decision, she was scanning the establishment. Donny gave her a concerned look. “Aye, doll, you okay,” he asked.
Snapping out of her daze, she turned back to the table. “I’m so sorry.” Glancing down at her cards, she held a four of spades and five of diamonds. She looked at the cards on the table and back to the dealer’s hand. Donny currently held a two and his hole card. She nodded and smiled. “Hit me.” The players to her left, stood where they were.
Donny flipped over his card, which was a jack of hearts. He dealt himself another. Ten of spades. Shaking his head in disappointment, he dished out the winnings to the players including Elizabeth.
Taking a deep breath she sighed.
Glancing up at her between dealing cards, Donny asked, “Yo, Liz, what’s gotchu so down, doll? It’s Friday and you’re on a winning streak. Dat detective being good to ya?”
She loved the sound of his Jersey accent blended with the sympathy in his voice. Shaking off her anxiety and getting her head back in the game she replied, “I’m fine. Thanks, Donny. There’s just a weird vibe tonight and I can’t put my finger on it.” Scanning her eyes across the room again, she waited to spot someone staring at her. You’re just being paranoid, Liz. Chill out.
On the other side of the casino where the high rollers congregated, Danielle DuPont slid from her office and glided across the room in her sleek black, backless dress; her long red hair pulled into a bun and her bangs hanging slightly over her eyebrows to accentuate her green eyes. With Michelle Gardner awaiting trial for attempting to set up her husband, Richard, for hiring someone to kill her, Danielle officially took her place as the manager of the entire establishment.
She hammed it up with all the gentleman who were running exorbitant tabs as if they had nothing to lose and smiled flirtatiously through her red lips as they complimented her and asked her to forward their appreciations of the hospitality to Richard.
Being close to midnight, she walked up to one of the bars and asked the bartender for her usual glass of Chardonnay. As her drink was set down in front of her, she felt a presence in the seat next to her. A nicely built man sat down with his face turned away from her. “Oh, I’m so sorry, let me order you a drink?”
Steve turned towards her, his voice firm, and said, “By all means, Jenny...”
Although her demeanor remained placid, panic was rioting within her. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin and boldly met his gaze.
“...Oh, wait. It’s Danielle now, right? Been a long, long time since I’ve had the pleasure. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Other books by K.C. Turner:
Strong Motive (An Elizabeth Strong Mystery Book 1)
Strong Conviction (An Elizabeth Strong Mystery Book 3)
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