A Dead Man Speaks

by Lisa Jones Johnson

  “Congratulations.” Margie walked in front of me. She wasn’t smiling. “I heard you got your killer.”

  “Yeah…right.”

  “Well you should be happy. At least you’re vindicated as a cop. That is what this was all about wasn’t it, proving that you still had it?”

  I didn’t need this now. “Margie, I’m sorry I ran out without saying anything…I know I should’ve called you before…but right now I really can’t deal with it…okay? Please.”

  She looked like she was about to say something, but instead, she just bent down and kissed me on the cheek, whispering, “Just call me when you’re ready.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Detective Bob

  I was turning and tossing. The headache wouldn’t go away, and I couldn’t sleep. For once it was quiet outside, but that wasn’t helping ’cause the noises in my head just wouldn’t let up. I climbed out of bed, walked over to the window, and tapped nervously on the glass. I glanced over at my clock—2 a.m. Four more hours till I had to get up, and I hadn’t gotten a second of rest since I turned in. My clothes were lying on the chair where I’d tossed them.

  I don’t know exactly why I decided to go in the station at two o’ clock in the morning, except that it had been so easy to pick up my shirt, pull it over my head, step into the pants, and just leave. I looked around at the empty desks. The night duty sergeant was sipping some coffee. A couple of other cops milled around; but, thankfully, nobody who knew me. Maybe I could get my head together and look around, see if something popped out at me, without every eye in the place on me.

  I didn’t give a shit what the captain said, I was determined to find the real shooter. I owed myself that much. And I owed Clive more. I knew deep down that he didn’t send me the woman he loved so I could put her behind bars.

  Somebody had tossed a newspaper on my desk. I picked it up casually. The usual murder and mayhem on the front page. I flipped through it, skimming the articles. A big picture of the governor, that asshole, smiling. I stopped and looked closer at the picture. A Japanese businessman and next to him with his arm around the guy’s shoulder was—Holy Shit!—Jack Simmons.

  I jumped down to the article reading: “Jack Simmons, managing director at Bender & Grace and long time friend and supporter of the Governor, has just formed an international business council to promote ties between the U.S. and Japanese business communities. In his speech to the newly formed commission, Simmons said, ‘The future of American business lies in working with our friends and neighbors in the Japanese financial community. I firmly believe that by identifying our common interests and goals, we will all prosper.’ The Governor cited the importance of the international business community for the continued growth of New York State and pledged his full support to the new commission.”

  So those were “the people” the captain had been talking about who wanted everything settled so fast! Simmons and the Japanese were in bed with the Governor, so if Clive, the designated bag man, decided he didn’t want to play their game anymore, you just get rid of him quickly. Andy Haven slides in at the top making it business as usual.

  Find a convenient suspect to pin the rap on, who better than the jealous mistress, then case closed and everybody goes home with nobody upsetting the real apple cart. And I played right into their hands. No wonder the captain had let me go on the wild goose chase for Laurel. He’d been told to do it. I bet he didn’t even know how deep this thing really went. My guess was that he had his orders to get the case closed quickly, and he was smart enough not to get too curious. Shit. And Laurel Davenport served up to them, no questions asked.

  And no peace for Clive or me. My hands had started to shake. The newspaper fell to the ground. I tried to pick it up, but I couldn’t. My hands were shaking too much. The room was closing in on me. All the noise had stopped, and everything had gotten black.

  I was floating in this thick murky darkness: no sound, no touch, just darkness and this feeling of oppression and hopelessness. I knew that I was feeling the place where Clive was, the desperation that he was feeling, like he’d never get out, never know the truth, or see light again. Fear crept around the edges of my mind. Subtly at first, then overwhelming me. Paralyzing my thoughts. I tried to speak. But nothing. I tried to reason my way out of this place, but received fear and a feeling of losing myself slowly. The essence of me drained out of my body until…

  “Yo, Greene!” Somebody shook me hard, and the brightness of day flooded into me. “You okay, buddy?”

  I looked up into Scoffo’s eyes. Silently thanking God for pulling me back from that place of darkness. Disoriented, I realized that a lot of time must’ve passed because it was light outside. Glancing at my watch, I could barely read the dial—7:30. Scoffo shoved a cup of coffee in my hand.

  “What’d you fall asleep here all night or something?”

  “Yeah, I must’ve…I don’t remember when…”

  He slapped me on the back saying, “What’d you tie one on, and then come here to sleep it off?” Grinning, he just shook his head. I smiled weakly. Why disagree with him? I sure as hell couldn’t tell him the truth.

  “Yeah, you caught me. That’s what happened.”

  “You’re too old for that, Greene!” He chuckled and wandered off.

  At my feet was the newspaper, right where it had dropped last night. I reached to pick it up.

  “Greene, somebody here to see you.”

  “At 7:30 in the morning?”

  “She said it’s important.”

  Damn. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to pull myself together, wondering who the hell it could be. Maybe Yolanda Calloway with more info. But as I looked up and saw the woman walking hesitantly toward me, I realized I recognized her face, but it wasn’t Yolanda.

  She edged into the chair, nervously clutching a large handbag saying, “Do you remember me, Detective?”

  “Yeah…but tell me anyway.”

  “I’m Dolly Hernandez. I work for Mrs. January.”

  “Right…right. I knew that. So what’s up, Miss Hernandez? How can I help you?”

  She stopped and took a deep breath. “Did you find out who killed Mr. January yet?”

  “Why…do you have some ideas?”

  Outta nowhere, she just broke down and started crying. Luckily there weren’t too many people in the place, ’cause I never woulda heard the end of it otherwise.

  “Hey…hey…what’s wrong???”

  She turned away from me, her face red and bloated. “I…I’m sorry…but yesterday I was cleaning up in Mrs. January’s room, I fixing her clothes. You know, ironing and putting the winter clothes in a trunk and taking out the summer ones like she always ask me to do, and…and…” She reached into her purse and took out a gun. Laying it gingerly on the table. “Do you think she killed him?”

  I looked at it, garden variety .45. I picked it up with a cloth, turning it over, no distinguishing marks. Two bullets still left in the chamber. “Where did you find this again?”

  “In her closet, way in the back, underneath some clothes.”

  “So it was hidden?” She nodded solemnly.

  “What makes you think that Mrs. January killed her husband with this? A lot of people have guns these days.”

  Her eyes got narrower, and she lowered her voice. “Because she said she wanted him dead. I heard her myself…”

  I took out my notebook. “Tell me about it. When did you hear her say that?”

  “It was last year. Her and Mr. January and the baby and me was in Jamaica. Her and Mr. January had a big fight and that’s what she said. I remember ’cause I heard her say to him, ‘I wish you were dead.’”

  “Wait, back up a little bit. How did the argument start? Tell me from the beginning.” I could tell she was nervous, and it looked like her eyes were beginning to tear up again. “You want some water first?”

  “No…thas’ okay…” She rocked back and forth in her seat as she talked, knotting her hands together.
“We was in Jamaica. They brought me to take care of the baby. I could tell from the start they wasn’t gettin’ long, Mr. and Mrs. January. They never really did. But this time it was real bad. Mr. January would leave in the morning, and then he wouldn’t usually come back ’til late at night. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Mrs. January, she was expecting a baby.”

  “Mrs. January was pregnant?”

  “Yes, sir. She was about three months then. I don’t really know how Mr. January felt about it ’cause he jus’ wasn’t around that much. Anyway, this day Mrs. January wasn’t feeling real good. And then she started gettin’ sick. I called the hotel and they sent a doctor. Everybody was lookin’ for Mr. January, but they couldn’t find him. They finally took her to the hospital.” She stopped and slowed down for a minute.

  “So what happened at the hospital?”

  “They finally found Mr. January and he came to the hospital, but it was too late. She’d lost the baby…and it was there. I was standing outside her door. Mrs. January was crying, and she said to Mr. January that he was nothin’. She said he’d been out with some other woman while she was there. While their baby was dying. She told him. She said she hated him, and that she wished he was dead. I think she really wanted that baby, and she was real mad at Mr. January that she lost it.”

  “Was it his fault?”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t nobody’s fault. Them things happen sometimes, but Mrs. January blamed Mr. January. After that, she stopped really having anything to do with him.”

  “Do you really think that Mrs. January could have killed her husband?”

  Dolly looked away for a moment, timidly saying, “I think she really hated him. I don’t know…”

  “Dolly, was Mrs. January seeing anyone?”

  “You mean a man on the side?”

  “Yeah…somebody that Mr. January maybe didn’t know about?”

  “She got somebody. I don’t know exactly who, but he calls up to the house. I think he called one of the days you was over.” I remembered the phone call: Mrs. January quickly telling Dolly that she’d call him back, the odd look on Dolly’s face.

  “He calls a lot, especially since Mr. January died. She always takes his calls in private, closes the door…I know she got somebody…I ain’t no fool.”

  “So why didn’t you tell me all this when I first questioned you right after Mr. January’s death?”

  “Cause of the baby, just ’cause Mrs. January got somebody on the side, don’t mean she killed her husband. I didn’t want nothin’ to happen to that baby. She already lost her daddy. She needs her mama.”

  “But now you’ve changed your mind?”

  “Yeah…That was before I found the gun. I jus’ knew I couldn’t sleep at night if she was the one who did it, and I didn’t say nothin’.”

  My eyes followed Dolly Hernandez out of the room. I had told her not to say anything to Mrs. January. I’d send the gun down to ballistics to see if it matched the murder weapon. Until then I was just gonna have to sit tight.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Monique

  The last wave of the rainstorm that had ravaged the city hours before was finally beginning to subside. I turned over, looking at his side of the bed. Untouched, just like when he was here. I should have felt relieved. The nightmare that was my marriage was finally over and without the drawn out recriminations and bitterness of a divorce. Just over, in one night, one minute and he was gone.

  But was he really gone? Sometimes I felt as if he’s watching me, waiting for me to slip up, as if he knows the secret that I’m harboring. Damn him, always controlling, everyone else just a player in his world. But no more. I was going to live now and be free. I was going to cherish this freedom, these stolen fruits that were mine.

  “Mommy, I’m scared…”

  I looked up and saw my daughter standing hesitantly in the doorway. As if propelled by jet fuel, she ran into the room and jumped into my bed. I drew her close to me, kissing her baby face. “Don’t worry. Mommy’s here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

  She burrowed further into my lap as I stroked her hair. “Tell me a story, Mommy.”

  I smiled. “Okay…Well…once upon a time there was a beautiful princess who lived in a huge castle high on the hill. Everyone thought that she was happy because she lived in such a beautiful place and had anything that her heart desired, but she was really very sad because the one thing that she really wanted, she didn’t have…”

  Looking over at my daughter, I saw that she was sleeping soundly, the deep trusting sleep of a child. I drew her next to me and closed my eyes, wishing for that same sleep to capture and transport me to that world far away where wishes were reality.

  Ring, ring, ring, ring… I jumped up. Ariel was still sleeping. I looked at the clock—8 a.m. Damn, who was coming over at this time of morning on a Sunday? I gently untangled myself from Ariel.

  She rolled over and sleepily opened one eye. “Where you going, Mommy?”

  “Go back to sleep, honey. Somebody’s at the door. I’ll be right back.” Annoyed, I pulled on my robe and stumbled out of the bedroom, down the stairs. What was the use of having a doorman if people could just come in and bother you whenever they wanted? I looked out through the peephole and stopped. Two policeman were standing there. I opened the door. Detective Greene was with them.

  “Monique Raymond January?”

  “Yes…you know who I am, Detective. What do you want?”

  “We have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of your husband Clive January…”

  The blood rushed from my fingers to my head. I felt like I couldn’t stand up. I tried to speak, “Are you…crazy?”

  The policemen were taking out handcuffs. I backed away from the door, but they were coming closer to me. “Mrs. January, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If…” One of them grabbed my arm, shoving a handcuff over it.

  I cried out, “Get the hell away from me!”

  A scream, more chilling than I’d ever heard, cut through me as my child tottered forward, clinging to the bottom of my robe, sobbing, “Let go of my mommy!”

  It was too late. They were thrusting me out of the door. Someone grabbed Ariel, and I don’t remember anything else.

  * * *

  “Tell me again where you were the night of the murder, Mrs. January?”

  I looked into Detective Greene’s eyes, and I hated him. I hated everything that he stood for. Suspicion and jealousy. I knew that was why I was here. He was jealous of me and everything that I had. I’d known it from the beginning. He’d been dying to throw me in jail. He hated the fact that I had money and more than he could ever dream of.

  “You know, Mrs. January. You’re not making it any easier on yourself by not saying anything.”

  “Monique, just answer the question.” My lawyer touched my arm gently.

  I looked at him, wondering if he was secretly in league with this detective. “I told you when you asked me months ago. I went to the movies with some friends, and then I decided to go for a drive. I came back in around midnight.”

  The detective circled around me, shoving his fat hands into his pockets. “Yes that is what you told us on…” he flipped through a notebook, “…March 12, but what you didn’t tell us was that this drive that you went on was out to the Hamptons. In fact, you told us that you’d just driven around Manhattan because you couldn’t sleep. But we’ve since found out that you stopped in a gas station on the LIE around 10:30 p.m. Now the doorman is saying that he doesn’t really remember when he saw you come in. Your husband’s time of death was between 11 p.m. and midnight, so tell me again, Mrs. January, where you were at that time?”

  I was silent. How much longer could I continue this? They’d find out sooner or later. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t subject my child to the humiliation. The detective reached into a file and took out something. He laid i
t on the table in front of me. “Mrs. January, have you ever seen this gun before?”

  “No.”

  “Our tests have confirmed that it’s the murder weapon. And your housekeeper Dolly Hernandez said that she found it in your closet.”

  “She’s lying!” I pounded the table.

  “Why would she lie, Mrs. January?”

  “I don’t know, but she is. I’ve never seen this gun before. I’ve never even used a gun!”

  The detective looked as if he didn’t believe a word that I was saying. I shouted out desperately, “How do you know she didn’t do it? Maybe she put the gun there!”

  “Sorry, Mrs. January, but we already checked out her alibi. She was with her boyfriend and some other folks in some kind of club all night. About a dozen eyewitnesses confirmed that she was there. Which leads us back to my original question. Where were you on the night of the murder between 11 p.m. and midnight?”

  My lawyer tugged at my sleeve, whispering that I shouldn’t say anything else. He cleared his throat and turned to the detective. “I’ve advised my client not to say anything else on the grounds that it may incriminate her.”

  As they led me away, I saw her, the woman who had taken my husband from me before I even knew him. Trying to avoid my eyes, she looked away. But for one minute, our eyes met, and I felt as if she had done penance for her love for Clive, and now I was doing mine for my hatred of him. And the circle was complete.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  John

  “Oh my God! John, did you see this?”

  I raised an eyebrow warily. My wife was always getting excited about something that more often than not turned out to be of little or no importance.

  “John, look at this!” She thrust the newspaper in my face. “It’s Monique January, Steve’s daughter, they’ve accused her of killing her husband!”

  I felt like my breakfast was about to come up. I grabbed the paper, barely able to read it: “Monique January, wife of well known Wall Street arbitrageur Clive January, has been charged with his murder… The DA’s office has filed first-degree murder charges against Mrs. January.” Everything was surging forward. The furtive calls, the clandestine meetings, my life of the past year…all starting on that day in Jamaica…