Death, Deceit & Some Smooth Jazz

by Claudia Mair Burney

  He rested his arms on my shoulders. “Bell,” he said calmly, “stop being difficult.”

  “I’m not being difficult. I just want to help, and I feel like you’re not telling me something important.”

  “You did help. You brainstormed and came up with some good stuff.”

  I sighed and lowered my head.

  He stepped closer and rubbed the back of my neck. Pulled me into a hug, touching his forehead to mine. “I failed Kate.” His voice grew husky. “But I’ll be lost if anything happened to you. And I mean that literally.”

  Well, when he put it that way…“Okay, Jazz.”

  He held me away from him and gave me a long, searching look. “Really?”

  “Yes,” I said, pouting.

  “Don’t look so pitiful. You’re supposed to like this whole ‘protect the woman you love’ thing.”

  A smile I didn’t intend to give him slipped out. “I do like it. Especially the love part. Say that again.”

  “That would be redundant. Now be a good girl and stay clear of me until I get this mess straightened out.”

  I looked at him, uncertain.

  “We can do this, Bell. You didn’t seem to have a problem with not seeing me this past month.”

  “But we just got married.” I put my hands on his hips and pulled him close.

  “Don’t start no stuff,Miss Brown.”

  “That’sMrs. Brown.”

  “Stop teasing me, minx.”

  “Don’t call me minx.”

  “Move those hands, Dr. Brown.”

  I obeyed. Reluctantly.

  He gave me a deliciously naughty grin. “Now, let’s go to bed.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can tell you need more sleep. I picked your pocket when I pulled your coat out of the closet. I’ve got your car keys. You are frighteningly easy to victimize.”

  “I don’t believe you!” I fished around in my jacket pocket. No keys.

  Jazz reached into the front pocket of his jeans and then dangled the keys to my Love Bug in front of me. “You’re not going anywhere until you get some sleep,wife. ”

  So that was what he meant when he’d saidmaybe he’d see me out. I hit him. “I’m not your wife, you big primate. Give me my keys.”

  “I’ll show you to the guest bedroom. And be glad we’ve got religion over here. Otherwise I might be tempted to do my husbandly duties,Mrs. Brown.”

  Honestly!

  Later, I was glad he made me stay. Once my head hit the pillow in that cozy guest room, with the red-clay-colored walls and the red Moroccan and Turkish tapestries piled on the bed, I slept more peacefully than the dead, holding in my arms a hand-sewn rag doll Addie had made.

  Give me a break. I could have filled my arms with someone else.

  A little after 11P.M. , I crawled out of bed. I padded into the living room and saw no sign of Mom and Dad. Jazz snoozed on the sofa, still sitting up, with a remote control in his hand, the colored lights from the television flickering across his face. Dear Lord, how fine was he? He took my breath away.How did I ever turn your head?

  I eased myself onto the sofa beside him, my desire to leave dissipating as I studied his magnificent frame. He looked more tired than usual tonight. More vulnerable.

  The eleven o’clock news blared on, Jazz being the top story, but only Jazz.I guess the mystery woman in the little yellow Beetle isn’t newsworthy. Thank you, Jesus. I put my hand lightly on Jazz’s knee. “I’m so sorry for your trouble, baby.”

  I didn’t know if he’d awakened when I sat down, or if my gentle touch had stirred him, but he curved his arm around me. “What was that song you told me your great-grandmother used to sing to you about trouble?”

  “‘I’m So Glad (Trouble Don’t Last Always).’ She favored Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers singing it.”

  “Trust her.”

  I nestled close to him and closed my eyes, Ma Brown’s image invading my consciousness. Her spirit seemed to lean inside of mine, as heavy with hope and sorrow as the blues. Or a Negro spiritual. I heard her singing in my soul:

  Well you know, I’m so glad

  I know that trouble don’t last always

  I know that trouble don’t last always

  I know that trouble don’t last always

  Oh my Lord, I wonder, what shall I do

  Oh my Lord, I wonder what shall I do.

  A heavy sigh escaped my lips.My Lord. What shall I do, indeed?

  chapter ten

  APPARENTLY,it’s virtually impossible to get information out of homicide detectives when they don’t really want to give you any.

  Wednesday morning Jazz showed me no love when I tried to pry Christine’s last name, rank, and serial number out of him. Neither did Jack, despite my attempt to turn on a considerable amount of charm. Even Addie took their side——the traitor! Whatever happened to sistah-to-sistah solidarity?

  I thought I might have more luck with Detective Bobby Maguire; after all, he hadn’t totally shut me down at my apartment. So I headed down to his “house”——the Detroit police department.

  Honestly, I watch way too much television. The Detroit police department looked like every old-school police station you’d ever see on the tube——fromBarney Miller toNYPD Blue ——it had too little space, even less inspiration, and a bunch of crabby occupants. I came upon Maguire’s hulking figure, in that same terrible brown suit, hunched behind a desk that seemed like the Grinch’s heart: three sizes too small. He noticed me and motioned with his head for me to come over.

  “What?” he barked, probably unintentionally. “No pajamas? No sparkly shoes?”

  I’d caught Maguire in his ever present foul mood. He looked like he’d be willing to give up about as much information as I’d get from a stone gargoyle.

  “Have a seat,” he said, sighing deeply. He rustled around in a brown paper sack for some kind of food, which, judging by the impressive grease stain it created, would ensure his untimely death. Adding to that the fact that hunger just about guaranteed extra grumpiness, and I had a veritable recipe for him to not be willing to cooperate with me.

  “Whaddya want, Dr. Amanda?” he asked without any fanfare. From his sack, he pulled a hideous mound that vaguely resembled a sandwich. An unrecognizable meat product hung precariously off the bun, which appeared to be made of high-density foam——oldhigh-density foam. He examined it. Sighed. Rolled his eyes and took a bite.

  I watched with the morbid fascination of a looky-loo at a twelve-car pile-up, bodies strewn across the freeway.Dear God, he’s chewing it! He’s gonna swallow. Oh… I looked away.

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” I said between grimaces.

  “Whaddya wanna talk about, girl Columbo?” he said, forcing me to look back at him and the sandwich of doom.

  “I just wanted to ask you one more thing.”

  “Just one more thing. Like your television idol, right? Didn’t I tell you to step away from this?”

  “That was a command? I thought you’d merely made a helpful suggestion.”

  He took another bite of the abominable sandwich, ignoring me for a bit while he chewed, until finally: “What’s your question?”

  I had to force myself to focus, making a mental note to buy him a decent meal——soon. “It’s about Christine. I understand she and Kate had been known to fight.”

  “And where did that understanding come from?”

  “So they fought?”

  “Most couples fight.”

  “Like Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots? Most couples don’t punch each other’s heads off.”

  He chuckled at my mention of the toy. “Don’t you think I’ve talked to Chris?”

  “Did you pull phone records? Kate’s cell? Jazz’s phone? Christine’s?”

  “Lemme do my job without you checking up on me.”

  “What did Christine say?”

  “That’s police business.” He somehow managed to say that around a disgusting mouthful.

 
“Does she have an alibi for the night of the murder?”

  “Does Jazz have one?”

  “Yes. Me. Is she a suspect?”

  “Is Jazz a suspect? Toyou, girl Columbo? Because he’s the primary suspect tome. Did you talk to him yet? Did you ask your boyfriend if he killed his wife?”

  “Ex-wife. And as a matter of fact, I did ask him. He said no, just so we’re clear. Didn’t he tellyou he didn’t do it, Bobby? Anyway, I know Christine doesn’t work for the Detroit police anymore. Does she work for the Royal Oak police department?”

  Maguire reclined in his cheap vinyl office chair, which didn’t have a recline feature. The chair groaned in protest like only a pleather chair could. Honestly, did the man hug trees and not eat his animal friends? Did he have a moral objection toreal leather?

  He put the awful sandwich back in the sack. I almost made the sign of the cross out of gratefulness. I looked into his eyes. “You’re not going to tell me anything about her, are you?”

  “You don’t work for me, girl Columbo. You need to step away, like I said. You also need to think about choosing your boyfriends more carefully.”

  “What’s her last name, Maguire? That’s all I want to know.”

  “You said you only had one question, but you’ve asked four or five.”

  “You didn’t answer any of them.”

  He stretched again, and the chair screamed for mercy. “Come back in your pajamas and magic shiny shoes, and maybe we’ll talk pro to pro, but right now you need to go home unless you wanna have a little chat with IAD.”

  “I’ll find out, Bobby. How many detectives named Christine can there be in Southeast Michigan?”

  “Who said she’s still a cop?”

  “I just want a last name.”

  “You got a last name: Brown. Now go home.”

  I stood and thrust out my hand for Maguire to shake. I think it surprised him, but he took mine in his and shook it. He didn’t stand up, but a half smirk twisted across his lips. “I’m on it, Amanda.”

  “I hope so, Bobby.”

  “Let me do my job, and you go back to talking to the nutcases at the Washtenaw County Jail.”

  “Okay.” I turned to walk away.

  “Oh, Amanda?”

  I turned around, hoping he’d had a change of heart and, for the price of a smile, would tell me everything I wanted to know about the case. I grinned at him.

  “Call your mother.”

  Shoot! I didn’t check my messages. Of course Ma called.The last thing I needed was Sasha Brown stalking me. As soon as she caught me——and she would——I’d get the talk. On steroids.

  I truly hoped Maguire was on it, as he’d said. This case had to be a nightmare——not just for the people involved but also for the department.

  Speaking of the department, no sooner had I turned away from Maguire than I bumped right into Officer Archie IAD. “Excuse me,” I said.

  His hands cradled my elbows. His brown eyes, not warm and delicious like Jazz’s, studied mine. “Remember me?” he said. “From Internal Affairs?” He held me as if he and I were having an internal affair.

  I took a good look at him. He wasn’t as striking as Jazz, but he could certainly hold his own. Again I marveled at the Detroit police’s good-looking crew. They didn’t make them like that in Washtenaw County. I nodded to acknowledge him and stiffened like a board, hoping he’d catch my body language and let me go. “It’s nice to see you again, Officer.”

  His eyes flickered down past my unbuttoned coat to my conservative clothing, stopping at my unimpressive breasts. Appreciation shone in his eyes. Apparently, his version of sexy clothing was anything worn by a woman. I tried to wriggle away, which he allowed. “Do you have a moment? I’ve been looking for you,” he said. “Did you get my messages?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t. My cell phone battery died.”

  “You certainly can be elusive.”

  “I’ve been with friends,” I said. Honestly! Did everyone check on me?

  He caught my alarmed expression and gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll find you’re going to be quite popular in the next few weeks.”

  “I don’t doubt that I will be.”

  He touched the small of my back to lead me to a desk he must have pilfered from some poor, unsuspecting detective. I felt none of Jazz’s warmth in his gesture. He sat down behind the desk. “Why don’t you have a seat, Amanda,” he said. He didn’t pull out my chair for me.

  I seated myself in the metal folding chair by the desk. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me, Archie,” I said, “but I already told you and Detective Maguire all I have to offer.”

  “Why don’t you tell me all that youknow ?”

  Smart man.

  “I know Lieutenant Brown got to my apartment at around nine-thirtyP.M. How could he have killed a woman who was alive when he was on I-94, on his way to my apartment?”

  “You have no way to prove you were aware of the exact time he arrived.”

  For the first time in a long time, I hated that I rarely watched anything other than TiVoed shows I could view at my leisure. Nothing rooted me in time that night, other than leaving the pet store. “It took me nearly an hour to get to Jazz’s loft. I know it wasn’t that long after nine that he got to my place.”

  He smiled at me. “Those certainly weren’t business hours, were they, Amanda?”

  “I guess it depends on what his business with me was.”

  Another fake smile. “You’re a very good-looking woman, but I wouldn’t take you for his type.”

  I swallowed hard, and he noticed. I had on a plain navy blue suit. White high-collared blouse. He must have known that with my frumpy clothes,I wouldn’t take me for Jazz’s type, either. I pursed my lips. I didn’t care for how he and Bobby Maguire had conducted this investigation. Both were too focused on the wrong angles, and neither seemed to want to fight for his colleague. I ignored the comment about my type. “It’s possible that Jazz didn’t do it. How could he have gotten to my apartment so soon if he’d killed her after she made that phone call?”

  “You realize that your boss, Dr. Fox, doesn’t appreciate your involvement with Jazz Brown.”

  I didn’t appreciate Archie discussing me with my boss.

  Archie continued, “He didn’t approve of your work on the Vogel-Crawford case, which ended up with you being hurt badly.” I heard no hint of compassion in his voice. “He doesn’t want you involved in this case, either, which we both know is much more personal. Isn’t it?”

  I could see Archie’s brilliance. He knew how to get a girl’s attention, but I needed him to know I was no wimp, despite my poor choices at times.

  “What I do on my own time is my business, Officer.”

  “Dr. Fox feels differently. According to him, you ended up having to take three weeks off work because of your injuries. He also believes your credentials do not qualify you for the work you’ve done with our department. He doesn’t believe you have any business being involved with any of our cases.”

  “I didn’t work for the Detroit police department. I worked for Lieutenant Brown, privately, as an expert on cults and toxic churches, whichis my area of expertise. That has nothing to do with my job at the county jail.”

  “You don’t want toembarrass yourboss by dealing with a dangerous man, do you? Lieutenant Brown is all over the news.”

  “This is a conversation I’ll take up with Dr. Fox.”

  “I’m sure you would if he could find you. You didn’t go to work yesterday.”

  “I’m entitled to a day off.”

  “I’m sure you are, Dr. Brown. Were you with Jazz?”

  “I said I was with friends.”

  “The DA is looking for you. You’ll probably be called as a key witness in the prosecution’s case. You shouldn’t be talking to Lieutenant Brown.”

  “I haven’t heard from the DA as of yet. I can talk to whomever I want. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I r
eally have to be going.”

  I stood. He didn’t oppose me.

  “We’ll talk again, Amanda,” he said. “I’m not the enemy.”

  “According to the laws of this fine country we live in, a man is innocent until proven guilty. It would do you and Maguire well to keep that in mind.”

  “You are not a police officer, Amanda, nor, I assume, are you an expert on the laws of this country. It would doyou well to keep that in mind.”

  If I felt hopeful at all, it was only because I was sure of this: Jazz’s family believed he was innocent, and regardless of what was happening, he still had enough of his swagger to convince me that he felt confident the real killer was going to be found. I knew somehow that even if Archie IAD and Bobby Maguire dropped the ball, Jack Brown, and even Jazz, would see to it that someone picked it up. I also knew that despite the carnage of their failed marriage, Jazz believed Kate deserved justice. And Jazz did justice beautifully.

  These thoughts whirled around in my head as I walked away from Archie’s makeshift desk. I stopped in a small corridor and sat in a plastic chair, trying to think everything through. Why hadn’t Archie pressed me for more information? What was he up to? And had that been a hint from Maguire about Christine not being a cop? Or had it been a rabbit hole for me to fall into?

  I dug a notepad and pen out of my purse. I always recommended that clients in my private practice keep a pen and pad handy to write down dreams, questions, fleeting impressions, even full journal entries. I’d gotten out of the habit myself but had at last taken the initiative to toss those tools into my main purse——an excellent Birkin knockoff I had hustled off my mother.

  I jotted down Christine’s name with a big question mark beside it. I’d already tried to find her through directory assistance. No luck.

  I was saying a silent prayer for help when I noticed a tall twentysomething black woman with endless legs in black leather pants headed toward the exit. Those pants were topped by a classic white wraparound shirt. Perfectly executed cornrows crowned her head and flowed to her shoulders. Her bold silver-and-leather cord necklace and enormous silver hoops——much bigger than mine——made me break the commandment about not coveting. She carried a Coach Hamptons leather business tote, in mint condition, that would cost me half a month’s rent. If she lived in Detroit, it might have cost all of hers. I looked past all the things to covet and realized: she looked oddly familiar. Then very familiar. I realized to my delight that she was one of my youth-group babies from way back in the day. “Kalaya?”