The man stared at him, his eyes searing. Davis couldn’t help but think that he’d be dead twice over if looks were capable of murder. His eyes shifted back to Ginger, who suddenly rose from her seat to stand on four-inch stilettos. As she pulled her black bomber jacket closed, Davis took note of the gun tucked into the waistband of her knit slacks.
“I want answers,” Balducci snapped.
Davis snapped back. “So do I! She was my friend.”
The tension in the room was stifling, the energy thick with anger and fear. Davis was suddenly grateful when the room door swung open, his parents passing through the entrance. The moment was even more awkward as they all stood there looking at each other.
Judith moved first. “Alexander, we weren’t expecting to see you here,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him.
Alexander hugged her back. “I just wanted to check on Davis. To make sure he was well.”
“We appreciate that. His doctor says they should be releasing him soon.”
“That’s a good thing,” Alexander noted.
Judith moved to Davis’s side, leaning to kiss her son’s cheek. “You okay?” she questioned, her eyes seeming to say more.
He nodded. “I’m fine. Mr. Balducci and his friend were just leaving.” He turned to look at the man. “I appreciate you stopping by, sir.”
Balducci shook his head, attitude washing over his expression. “I came for answers, son, and I’m not leaving until I get them,” he said, shaking his head from side to side. “I’m sure you can appreciate the importance of that.”
“I do, sir,” Davis answered. “But I can’t help you. I honestly don’t know anything.”
Jerome shook his head. Rage seeped from his eyes, his ire rising with a vengeance. “You’re out of line, Alexander,” he growled, fighting to keep his tone low and even.
Balducci snarled. “I’m out of line? I’m out of line? I want answers. My daughter is dead! My sources in the police department say your son had something to do with it and you’re trying to cover it up.”
“Your sources don’t know what the hell they’re talking about and the FBI investigation will prove that.”
The two men stood toe-to-toe, looking like two bulls ready to lock horns. It was a side of his father Davis didn’t ever remember seeing.
“Enough!” Judith snapped. “You’re not each other’s enemy. You have the same goal. You want to get to the truth. You’d be better served working with each other than against each other. Now enough. This is not the time or the place.”
There was a moment of pause as the two men continued to appraise each other. It was only when Alexander took a step back that Jerome visibly released the weight holding him hostage where he stood. He rolled his shoulders forward and then back, leaning his head from one side to the other. He moved to Judith’s side, easing an arm around his wife’s waist. “We appreciate your concern for our son, but you need to stay away. When I know something concrete, I’ll let you know,” he said sternly.
Balducci narrowed his gaze on the man. His jaw was tight, his lips pursed. He looked older than he had the last time he and Davis had been in a room together. Davis could see the hurt in his eyes and suddenly realized the pain Balducci had to be feeling was probably greater than his own. He had lost his daughter before the two could have forged a relationship with one another. Davis couldn’t begin to fathom the guilt he had to be feeling.
Davis inhaled, a deep gust of air lining his lungs. “How’s Emilio?” he asked, changing the subject.
Alexander finally shifted his gaze from Jerome to Davis. “My grandson will be fine. He’ll want for nothing. Ginger has been taking good care of him.”
Davis shot Ginger another look. She had eased closer to the door. He instinctively knew that had anything jumped off between his father and her employer, she would have been in the wind, out the door before anyone could have blinked. He sensed that, despite her loyalty to her employer, she wasn’t willing to make all Balducci’s battles hers.
“You know we’re here if you need us,” Judith said softly.
Balducci nodded. “There will be a memorial service for Gaia on Monday. I’ll have Ginger send you the details,” he concluded. As he moved toward the door, Davis called his name.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t kill Gaia. And I swear, I don’t know who did or why. I just know it wasn’t me. She was my friend and I loved her.”
There was a moment of pause as Balducci stood reflecting on his comment. Then, with one last nod, he was out the door.
Davis closed his eyes in a moment of brief respite, still feeling little was well in his small world.
* * *
Sticky notes covered the one bare wall in Neema’s bedroom. She had tried to make sense of her scribblings most of the night, hoping to piece together who might have killed Gaia and how Davis figured into her murder. Deciphering what little he had told her and what her source at the police department had shared, she had a sizeable puzzle with a lot of missing pieces. Knowing the FBI had stepped in to head the investigation meant her window of discovery had narrowed substantially.
What she did know was that Davis was their prime suspect and the Feds’ efforts to talk with him had been thwarted by his attorney brother. His family was running serious interference and she knew the FBI had yet to formally interrogate him. She also knew a witness claimed to have heard the gunshots after Davis had arrived on site and entered the building. That witness was Neema’s first stop of the day. She hoped a casual conversation with the woman would shed some light on what had happened, and perhaps point Neema in the right direction.
Neema was determined to help clear Davis’s name. She knew he was innocent and she was determined to get to the truth and clear him as a suspect before things really got out of hand and he was charged.
Thirty minutes later, Neema was searching out a parking space on the street across from Davis’s office. The witness, a young woman named Eloise Harper, lived four doors down. Ms. Harper was fairly new to the Chicago area, having moved from Miami the previous year. Ms. Harper had an arrest record; she’d been charged twice with solicitation. She was currently employed as a dancer in a local strip joint called The Gentlemen’s Club. If nothing else, Neema figured a conversation with the woman would be colorful.
She had just parallel parked and was gathering a notebook, pen and her purse from the passenger seat when she saw them. The woman she’d identified as Eloise was in deep conversation with Alexander Balducci’s assistant, Ginger. The young woman’s flaming red hair was like a neon light cascading down her back. Her expensive designer attire and stiletto heels also made her stand out in the working-class neighborhood.
Neema reached for the digital camera she always kept close, aiming it toward Eloise’s front door. When the two women were in frame and focused, Neema snapped the shot. Once, twice, and a third time, taking photos until both women had gone their separate ways. There had been an exchange of cash and then Eloise had climbed into a yellow taxicab, carrying enough luggage for someone to assume that she was moving. The conversation Neema had hoped to have with Eloise suddenly became more critical. Clearly, there was more to the story than Neema could begin to imagine.
As she sat weighing her options, deciding where to turn next, there was a knock on her front passenger window. As she turned to see who it was, Mingus Black peered through the window, gesturing for her to unlock the door. Neema’s stomach was suddenly in her throat and she began to shake. He knocked a second time and, bracing herself, Neema disengaged the lock.
Sliding into the passenger seat, Davis’s brother tossed her a look. “Hey.”
“Hi,” she responded, her voice squeaking awkwardly.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“You could, but my brother knows I
’m here and why. Can you say the same for yourself?”
Neema sighed.
“What’s your end game, Neema?”
“It’s not what you think.”
“Then what is it? Because I’ll be damned if you’re going to hurt my brother.”
“I would never purposely hurt Davis. I care about him.”
“He would care about you, too, if he knew the truth. But since he doesn’t, we don’t truly know how he feels, do we?”
Neema shot him a look but didn’t bother to answer the question. She suddenly felt as if her worst nightmare had come to fruition.
Mingus continued. “I have to assume you’re working him, hoping to get a story for your newspaper. I’m told you’re one of their star reporters.”
“That’s not...it isn’t... I wasn’t....” she stammered, suddenly ashamed and embarrassed. Hearing him call her out felt like a bomb dropping, but there was no hole for her to fall into and hide. She took another breath to collect her thoughts, then made an earnest effort to explain herself.
“I’m not writing a story on Davis. The day he met Mr. Balducci at my father’s restaurant, I saw them exchange cash and I thought he might be a dirty politician. That was a story I thought I could get behind—our beloved alderman on the take. But as I got to know your brother, and the more time I spent with him, I realized there was no possible no way he could be involved in any criminal enterprise. He has too much integrity to put himself in that kind of position.”
“And you’re here now because...?”
“Because I want to help. I want to help clear his name. I know he wouldn’t hurt Gaia and I want to help prove that.”
Mingus sat staring at her, his countenance making her nervous. She kept talking. “Davis has become very important to me. I believe he and I could have something very special together. I plan to tell him the truth. I never intended to keep my secret for as long as I have. I just never seem to be able find the right time.”
He gave her a look, dismissing her comment with the blink of his eye. His expression spoke volumes, shouting loudly through the space.
“That’s the excuse I’ve been using,” she concluded. “The truth is I’m a coward and I’ve just been too scared. I didn’t want your brother to break up with me when we really just found our rhythm.”
Mingus gave her a nod. “Tell him. Or I will.”
“I promise. I’ll tell him before the week is out.”
“You might not have until the end of the week. Don’t take too much time.”
Neema closed her eyes, opening then again as she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mingus.”
“Don’t thank me. I’m not doing this for you. Davis trusts you. I don’t. I’m just giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
Neema nodded her understanding, nothing else left for her to say.
Mingus looked at his watch but made no effort to move. They both sat and watched as two meticulously dressed investigators exited a black SUV and made their way to the front door of the alderman’s office. A uniformed police officer stood waiting to let them inside.
“You need to do a better job of being inconspicuous,” Mingus said matter-of-factly. “I saw you a mile away.”
“You only saw me because you were looking.”
“That, too,” he said, chuckling. There was another moment of pause before he spoke again. “My kid brother is a good man. He likes you. He likes you a lot. He’s not going to take this lightly, so you need to be prepared. But understand, if you’re lying to me and you hurt him, I’m going to be the least of your problems. Vaughan and Simone will destroy you.”
“I appreciate the warning, but I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize my relationship with your brother. He means too much to me,” Neema said.
Mingus nodded, reaching for the door handle.
“Before you go, I have something I think you should see,” she said. She passed him her camera.
Mingus gave her a dismissive shake of his head. “I saw. I saw when she arrived.”
“Why is Ginger paying off the witness? Why do you think she’s here? What do you know about her?” Neema was suddenly firing off questions, her mind racing as she added yet another piece to the puzzle that didn’t make any sense.
“Just keep those photos safe,” Mingus answered, “they may come in handy. And if you find out anything else, you bring it to me first. No one else, and definitely not Davis! You don’t tell him anything that might put him at risk. Is that understood?”
Neema nodded as Mingus handed her a business card with his personal cell phone number printed on the back. With that, he eased out of the vehicle and headed back to his car.
Not needing to wait around, Neema started her engine and pulled onto the main thoroughfare. Something told her Eloise Harper was headed to the bus station and if she had any chance of catching up with her, she needed to hurry.
CHAPTER 11
Neema prayed until she pulled into the Greyhound bus station. If she got this wrong, she would miss her window of opportunity to ask the eyewitness a few questions. A quick call to a friend at Yellow Cab Chicago had pointed her to the terminal on Harrison Street. She knew she was taking a risk hoping that she was headed to the right place at the right time and that she’d be able to find the woman she was looking for. She prayed that everything would align in her favor, feeling like she was asking for the moon and the stars.
The rank scent of musty bodies, stale smoke and marijuana greeted her at the terminal door. She had to navigate her way past a gathering of homeless men and two prostitutes peddling their wares. Although the bus terminal was considered a boon for the city, its less than stellar atmosphere made for traveling hell. The floors were nasty, the bathrooms were filthy, there wasn’t enough seating and staff was sometimes less than helpful, bitter about having to work the job at all.
Neema could feel the frustration as an announcement came over the intercom system that the next bus to Miami would be delayed. Fatigue, weariness and ire danced in the raised voices and loud chatter. That’s when Neema saw her.
Eloise Harper was anorexic thin. She was leathered skin over thick bones, no ounce of tissue between the two. Her blond hair had been overbleached, the coloration and texture like dried straw. Her facial features were nondescript and she wore far too much makeup; the baby-blue eyeshadow, mauve blush and vibrant red lipstick garish. She was sitting near the USB charging station, her new iPhone juicing through a thin white cable.
Neema eased over and took the seat beside her. “Eloise, hello! I don’t mean to interrupt,” she said, “but I’m a reporter with the Chicago Tribune. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“A reporter?”
Neema nodded. “Yes, with the Chicago Tribune,” she repeated, passing the woman a business card. “My name’s Neema. Neema Kamau.”
“How’d you find me?” Eloise gave Neema a narrowed gaze, looking like she might bolt if pushed too hard.
“It’s what I do,” Neema said, giving her a smile. “I know you reported the shooting at Alderman Davis’s office. I’d like to know what you saw.”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Is that what Ginger told you to say?”
Eloise bristled, shifting nervously against the wooden bench. “You know Ginger?”
“We’re acquainted.”
“You work for her, too?”
Neema shook her head. “Not like that. Is that how you two know each other? You used to work together?”
“Something like that. I was living on the streets and she helped me get out of my situation. She got me some work, found me a bed and four walls, and made sure I ate. She’s good people.”
“You told the police that you heard gunshots after the alderman arrived. Where were you?”
“Headed to work. I dance. I was walking down to the
bus stop.”
“And you saw the alderman go into the building?”
“Yeah. Something like that.”
“Something like that?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Then you heard gunshots.”
“Yeah.”
“How many?”
Eloise shrugged. “Two, maybe three. I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Okay, two.”
“You didn’t hear the gunshots, did you, Eloise?”
“I said what I said.” Her tone was laced with attitude.
They suddenly announced the arrival of the next bus to Miami. Eloise stood, reaching for a carry-on and her purse.
“Are you going on vacation?”
“Something like that,” Eloise repeated as she turned toward the exit door.
“Can I have your cell phone number to call you?” Neema asked.
Eloise shook her head. “I have nothing else to say.”
“You’re not coming back, are you?”
“Look.” She tossed Neema one last glance. “I can’t help you. If you want answers, go talk to Ginger. This was her gig. I was just helping out an old friend.” And with that, Eloise Harper was gone.
* * *
Davis stood in the doorway of his mother’s office; he knew his hangdog expression had moved Judith to laugh. He’d been released from the hospital the day before and was going stir crazy trying to get the rest the doctors had said he needed.
“What did you do?” she questioned. “Because you look guilty of something.”
“I ate the last slice of chocolate cake.”
She laughed again. “You know your father had laid claim to that cake. He’s not going to be happy.”
“I thought maybe I could charm you into making another one,” he said as he moved into the room and dropped down onto an upholstered chair.
His mother leaned back in her seat. “I might be able to do that. But just for you.”
“I knew I was your favorite.”
“Mothers don’t have favorites.”
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2021 Page 84