Death, Deceit & Some Smooth Jazz

by Claudia Mair Burney

  “I had on a really cute dress.”

  Archie said, unsmiling, “I’d say that’s a very sexy dress you had on.”

  I hadn’t said “sexy.”

  Archie went on, “Seriously, how’d you get in?”

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  Archie gave me a crooked grin. “It’s nothing like that, Dr. Brown. I’m just asking a few routine questions.”

  “I really am a forensic psychologist. I got inside the scene of the crime because Jazz invited me to take a look.”

  “Are you a profiler?”

  “It would be unethical if I said profiling is an area of expertise for me, but I do work with criminals every day.” I added, like an idiot, just because he was cute, “And I watchBody of Evidence: From the Case Files of Dayle Hinman on television all the time. She’s a profiler. That’s gotta count——like extra credit or something.” My face burned as soon as that came out of my mouth. Honestly, I’m a train wreck when I talk to good-looking men——at least at first.

  Both he and Maguire looked unimpressed.

  Maguire leaned toward me. “Let’s be straight with each other, Dr. Amanda, huh? Both of us want something. You want your boyfriend cleared. I want my killer apprehended.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend, Maguire.”

  “Maybe we can help each other.”

  Detective Bozo didn’t seem to get that I worked with cops every day, and I knew the good-cop routine when I saw it. “I’d really like for us to helpJazz, Detective Maguire.”

  He put the horrible briefcase on the floor. Leaned toward my chair. “Are you his lover?”

  “Absolutely not,” I answered too quickly.

  My response must have piqued Archie’s attention. “Do you want to be?” he asked.

  “I don’t see how any answer to that question could be pertinent to your investigation, Officer.”

  “Carly is worried about you.”

  Score one for the IAD guy. He smiled. I planned my sister’s death.

  “I don’t blame her, Amanda,” he added.

  So now I’m just Amanda again?Oh, he was smooth. But he’d underestimated me. I could play buddy-buddy, too, with both of them. Maguire first. I eased back in my chair. Stretched my spine out to lengthen my posture to my full height——minuscule though it was. “What time did Kate call the police,Bobby ?”

  “We’re talking minutes,Mandy. It had to be minutes before she died.”

  “Don’t call me Mandy. How many minutes?”

  “She called at nine-oh-nine, Amanda.”

  “He’d have to take a rocket to get to my house by nine-thirty.”

  Archie, his demeanor as cold as marble, said, “Maybe you got your time wrong.”

  “Maybe you got your prime suspect wrong. What did she say when she called?”

  “She said he’d beaten her. Again.”

  My eye twitched. Archie noticed, I was certain. A hint of a smile curved the corners of his mouth upward a tiny bit. Score another one for IAD. I tucked that painful piece of information inside.

  This time Maguire studied me for a long time. He knew Archie had unnerved me. He jumped all over my vulnerable state. “How could anybody other than Jazz get to her so fast? What do you make of that, Dayle Hinman wannabe?”

  “Wouldn’t that beyour job to make something of it, or are you a homicide detective wannabe?”

  Maguire threw his head back and laughed with gusto. “I can see why Jazzy is in love with you. You’re a card.”

  A wild card. He had no idea. “What makes you think Jazz is in love with me?”

  “He protected you like a man in love.”

  “You’ve spoken to him?”

  “He turned himself in last night.” He and Archie seemed to watch for my reaction. I tried my best to give them a poker face.

  “Did he confess?” I asked.

  “What do you think?” Maguire asked.

  “I think you need to look for more suspects. When is his arraignment?”

  Maguire shrugged. “This afternoon, maybe.”

  “That’s fast,” I said. “Do you think he’ll bond out?”

  Archie answered, “I hope not. For your sake.”

  “You don’t think the man Maguire said protected me would harm me, do you, Archie?”

  “Maguire said he protected you. I didn’t. If you ask me, he protected himself.”

  As much as I wanted to know the specifics, I didn’t ask. I shot Maguire a look. “What did you mean when you said he protected me?”

  Again Maguire leered at me. “I meant just what I said, Mandy. I know you were with him last night, but that information didn’t come from him.”

  Carly!

  “It would have been in his best interest to use you as an alibi. He refused to mention you. Sounds like love to me, Mandy.”

  “It doesn’t sound like that to Archie. And don’t call me Mandy, Maguire.”

  Archie fired another question at me: “What did Jazz say when he got here?”

  Another change in direction. These two were trying to work me like the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, a personality evaluation tool we used at the jail. Were they kidding? I administered the test three times a week. They’d have to work a little harder to break me down.

  “Jazz said, ‘Hold still.’”

  “‘Hold still’?”

  “A vicious animal was attacking me.”

  “Is that where you got those scratches on your hands?”

  “Yes. And speaking of scratches, Jazz didn’t have any onhis hands. He would have if he’d choked her to death.”

  “I found the scratches on your boyfriend’s face interesting.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Did he act unusual?”

  “How long do you think those candles were burning, Archie?”

  He look flustered. “What?”

  “The candles? On that fabulous bed. See, I’m a woman. A woman you insist is into Jazz, and I don’t mean the music. One of the first things I noticed when I walked into that place, which I’d never been inside before, was the bed. Those candles. They weren’t burned down very far. Like they hadn’t been lit long. Don’t you think that’s odd?” I leaned forward in my chair toward Archie. “Kate was alive when Jazz left his loft. I’ll bet she lit those candles when Jazz left. If she called you at nine after, she was breathing when he was on the road. I’m his alibi. Jeff Gordon couldn’t get here that fast.”

  Archie pulled his cool back together just that fast. “Did he seem agitated?”

  Still leaning forward in my chair, I gave him my most earnest expression——the one I used when I was trying to get my mother to give me something from her boutique at the wholesale price. “She was strangled. Hand-strangled. That’s a very personal way to kill someone. The murderer had to get his hands dirty, so to speak, and most likely scratched.”

  Archie pelted me with questions: “Did he seem contrite? Irritated? Strange in any way?”

  “If you and Maguire think he’s my boyfriend, why would he need to put her in his bed, especially if he suspected she’d called the police and they were on the way? How did they get in the house without a warrant, anyway? No way you could have gotten a warrant for a mere domestic-dispute call, even if the alleged perp was a cop.”

  Archie’s Adam’s apple bobbed. Ha! I’d unnerved him. Or he was thirsty. Man, he was hard to read.

  Maguire answered this time. “The door was open when our uniforms got there.”

  On Mr. Lock All Three Locks’s loft? “Open as in unlocked, or open as in wide open?”

  He sighed, running a hand through his greasy, thinning hair. “Wide open.”

  I shook my head. “C’mon, Maguire! You can’t tell me you believe a seasoned homicide detective——a lieutenant in the city of Detroit——would leave his door wide open, with a dead woman in his bed, visible from said door.”

  “People do funny things when they’re hyped up.”

  “
That’s not funny, Detective. That’s insane.”

  “So is brutally murdering a woman,” Archie said.

  “You’re right. Which leads me back to my first point. Maybe Jazz didn’t do it. If my timing is correct, he wasn’t even home to do it.”

  Maguire yawned. Stretched. Burped. He finally got around to asking, “Did you look at the clock even once the whole time he was with you?”

  “No, but——”

  “You could have been off on the time.”

  True. I had been stressed. I easily could have taken a longer shower than I’d realized, but I didn’t think so. “I’d bet, on everything I’ve ever known about people, that he wouldn’t have put her in his bed like that.”

  Maguire raised those question-mark eyebrows. “Because that’s where you belong?”

  “You’re the one who said you think he loves me.”

  “And you’re the one who said he ain’t sleeping with you. Men do things. Things they don’t want their pretty, churchgoing girlfriends to know about.”

  “Maybe they do, but there are things he wouldn’t have done.”

  Archie stood. Our time was up. “I wouldn’t call that irrefutable evidence, Amanda.”

  I stood, too. As sincerely as I could, I said to Archie, “I’m not going to deny what you already know. Jazz and I care about each other, but we didn’t work out.” I needed an ally. I hadn’t impressed these two, and frankly, either of them would do. I went for Archie first. “You’re a cop’s cop. You know how hard it is to have a good, stable relationship with a cop.”

  And then Maguire. “This isn’t about me at all, Maguire. I’ll tell you why I’m not convinced Jazz is the man for this. He didn’t love or hate her enough to invest that much in her. He wouldn’t have thrown his life away for Kate. He didn’t have the passion to commit this crime of passion.”

  Maguire gathered his awful briefcase into his arms and stood with us. “You’re gonna hear from the lawyers soon.”

  Great. Lawyers, too. “From the DA’s office?”

  “You’ll probably hear from both defense and prosecution.” He glanced at Archie. “Internal Affairs is gonna want another crack at ya, too.”

  Archie gave him an annoyed look; I guessed he didn’t like Maguire speaking for him. He stepped closer to me. “Iwill be in contact.” He’d turned into bad cop again.He must be good in an interrogation room.

  Bobby Maguire, however, looked back at me with absolute honesty in his blue eyes. “I’ve seen people do worse than your boyfriend did——for less.” He fumbled with his briefcase and finally thrust out his hand for me to shake, which I did. “Step away from this, girl Columbo,” he said with a frown. “This ain’t television.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Bobby.”

  He nodded. “Please do, Amanda.”

  chapter eight

  ITOLD MYSELF TO BEa good girl and stay out of this, like Maguire had said. He was right. Carly was right. If I’d taken the time to consult Miss Mary Mack’s doctor, nurse, and lady with the alligator purse, I’m sure they’d have said the same thing. And they’d have been right. I had to face the facts. I was in love with Jazz Brown, and I couldn’t look at this case with any objectivity.

  But three hours after Maguire and Archie had left, I sat in the Love Bug, parked two houses down from the Palmer Park home of my pretend in-laws. I watched the paparazzi hovering around Jack and Addie’s home like buzzards. I deliberated whether I should go inside the artsy Tudor——a place I loved even more than my mentor Dr. Mason May’s office. I wanted to go inside. I wanted to see Dad Jack and Mom Addie. But I didn’t want drama from the press any more than they did.

  I can’t go in. I should go back home, gorge myself on abundant quantities of chocolate, and go to sleep——for about three weeks.

  I probably would have sat there ruminating for the next two days, but Jazz came outside, sealing my fate. Frankly, upon seeing him, I was inclined to not only go to him but to marry him, move in, and give him many sons.

  The press attacked him with questions before he even reached the sidewalk. I could hear the shouting from my car.

  Where on earth is he going, knowing they’re out here?

  He had to be having a really bad day, but the jeans that fit oh so right, and the caramel-colored turtleneck sweater——cashmere?——made me want to open my arms and say, “Come to Mama!”

  And speaking of “Come to Mama,” he was walking toward the Love Bug. The press trailed behind him like rats following the Pied Piper. All I could think was:My mother is going to kill me if she sees me on television looking like this. I’d put on a black knit itty-bitty T-shirt complete with a tiny front pocket. This sexy little number came from Carly. I wore it with a pair of hip-loving jeans stuffed into black suede cowboy boots I never wore because they made me feel wild and carefree, and most days I couldn’t handle that kind of freedom. A new black Stetson, with untamed black-and-white feathers across the brim, topped off the ensemble. I also wore my big silver hoops that shouted “diva.” Over everything, I wore a slimming leather jacket with a hint of western flava——to go with the hat and to finish out the look. Since I’d arrived in that getup, you would have thought I’d have known Jazz would be there.

  A flash of insight upset my precarious internal balance. I hadn’t gotten all tarted up hoping he’d be around, had I?

  I hated looking within. I avoided it as much as possible, because most of the time, I saw something unsavory that destroyed my wholesome self-image.

  Jazz reached the Love Bug, and I rolled down the window to fuss at him. “You should have a coat on. You’ll catch your death of pneumonia.”

  He looked at me incredulously. “Get out of the car, don’t say anything, and come with me.”

  I didn’t have the heart to give him a hard time.

  The throng before me reminded me of being in downtown Manhattan at lunchtime. People were everywhere, sucking me in to them. Jazz pulled me through the crowd, fielding the intrusive questions with his cold, hard gaze, but they kept pounding him. “Lieutenant Brown, who is she? Is she your girlfriend?”

  He finally maneuvered me into the house, locked the door, and gave me the same glare I’d gotten from Archie earlier. I shuddered. I’d had enough evil-eyed cops for one day. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “What are you doing here, Bell?”

  I wagged my finger at him. “You know, I won’t recommend they keep you on the welcome committee.”

  His eyes began to warm. “I’d probably welcome youvery warmly if I’d asked you to come. I seem to remember telling you we shouldn’t see each other right now.”

  “Oh, it’s okay for you to stop by unannounced after I told you to stay away, but I come here and it’s——”

  “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up now.”

  “You hate it when I’m right, don’t you? Where’s your coat?”

  “In my loft, with everything else I own.”

  He helped me out of my coat. Always a gentleman. Well, most of the time. His eyes scanned my body as closely as an MRI, and he plainly liked what he saw.

  I liked that he liked it.

  After he hung my leather jacket in the closet, his hand moved predictably to the small of my back, and the sparks preceding the fireworks started. I turned, and our eyes locked. A blush crept across his cheeks.

  “You feel it, too, don’t you, Jazz?”

  “Shut up. What are you trying to do to me, anyway? Coming here looking all fine.” He shook his head. “Let’s go into the living room.”

  I smiled.

  “You’re going to drive me crazy, woman.”

  “That’s okay. I’m a psychologist. I can help you with that.”

  In the living room, Jack and Addie swept me into hugs. Jack clapped my back. “Hey, baby. Thanks for coming.”

  He made me feel needed in their time of crisis. “Of course I’d be here, Dad,” I said, shooting Jazz a smug look.

  “I hope you’re praying,�
�� Addie said.

  “I sure am, Mom.”

  As usual, they looked fabulous. Like his gorgeous son, Jack had on a pair of jeans. Honestly. I seldom saw old-timers with Jack’s easy grace. Today he wore expensive Girbaud jeans with a circa-1980s multicolored sweater, which made him look like a white Bill Cosby as Heathcliff Huxtable. His Claire Huxtable had on one of the caftans she lounged around the house in, this one winter white with a meandering design stitched in gold thread. A matching head wrap covered her honey-blond Afro. The gold bling on her wrists and neck made me salivate.

  My folks.

  Just being in their home made my heart sigh. It was beginning to look a lot like Christmas at the Browns’. Seasonal touches mingled with the always present bohemian beauty. Angels and Santa Clauses——both black and white——stood a foot high on the hand-painted ceramic floor. The Mexican-inspired colored walls, and the African and Southern folk art that graced them, had been accented with boughs of holly and endless lengths of evergreen. Addie’s paintings, bold and evocative, had been scattered throughout. A humongous rubber tree, with branches stretched out like an invitation for a hug, stood looking stately in one of Addie’s ceramic pots on the floor. Those rubber-tree arms inspired me.

  I reached out to hug Mr. Unavailable, despite his resistance. I circled his waist and snuggled against him. He melted in my arms and whispered in my ear, “Wicked little minx. You know I can’t resist you.”

  I whispered back, “Maybe it’s not you who can’t resist someone.”

  Jack interrupted our little lovefest. “I’m glad you’re here, Bell. We can put our heads together and try to talk this thing through.”

  I got excited. Jazz had told me that he, his dad, and his mom would often brainstorm about cases, the way he and I had when we’d returned to the crime scene two days after Jonathan Vogel and Damon Crawford were murdered. I had so many questions, which Jazz and his father——two veteran cops——could help me work through, even though they couldn’t have had a bigger conflict of interest.

  Jack led us to the kitchen table. Crab cakes were frying. Heaven help me! How I loved that kitchen. More of the brightly colored tiles graced the floor and countertops. The furniture——warm woods with simple Quaker lines——complemented the jewel-toned window and a bright, multicolored batik table covering. Addie rubbed my back before I sat down at the table. “Want some crab cakes and corn on the cob, baby?”