He kissed her and placed his arms around her. “I thought you didn’t have to be to work until eight.”
“I don’t. But it’s my first day.”
“Yeah, and since I know your ass I figured you’d be early as hell. But I thought you’d leave a half-hour early and I’d have time to do what I do.” Makayla laughed. “But a full hour early? That’s a tad excessive, young lady.”
“That’s me,” Makayla said cheerfully as she loved the warmth of his arms around her.
“No time for a quickie?”
She shook her head. “No time.”
Then Brent’s look turned serious. “Don’t allow them to steal your joy,” he said. “That D.A.’s office is a closed society. They don’t like outsiders in any way, shape, or form. Not all of them are going to welcome you with open arms.”
Makayla nodded. “I know.”
“Be yourself,” Brent said, “and they’ll come around. And if they don’t? Fuck-em.”
Makayla laughed. “I don’t know if that’s possible since I have to work with those people. But I get your point.”
Brent smiled too, but he couldn’t release her and let her go. He didn’t know what was happening to him, but ever since he asked her to marry him, he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. It was a strange, different feeling for him, especially since she’d been out of his sight for days, sometimes months on end, during almost all of their relationship. And the idea that those heifers downtown would give her a hard time, as he knew they would, concerned him mightily. He almost had the urge to go to work with her just to remind them that she belonged to him and mistreating her was the same as mistreating him. But he knew Makayla would see right through that trick and hate him for it. He, instead, placed a hand on the side of her lovely face. “Nervous?” he asked her.
She wasn’t going to lie to him. “Little bit. First days are never easy. But I’ll get through it.”
“That’s my lady,” he said, kissed her and hugged her again. But before he let her go he turned her toward her car door and squeezed her ass out of view of any nosy neighbors.
Makayla smiled. “Uh, I like that,” she said.
Then Brent playfully gave her a hard pinch.
“Ooh!” She pushed him. “I don’t like that!”
He laughed. “Give’em hell, Harriett,” he said, prompting her to laugh too. And he let her go.
But when Brent made it back to his truck, and answered his ringing cell phone, all smiles were gone.
“We’ve got a bad one, Chief.” It was Eddie Rivers.
Brent sat behind his steering wheel and watched as Makayla drove away. He had a strange feeling. As if a part of his heart was driving away too.
“Hate to bother you this early,” Eddie added. “But I knew you would want to know.”
“Tell me,” Brent said.
“We found a kid, he can’t be no more than ten or eleven, sitting beside a dead body, Chief. A butchered dead body.”
This surprised Brent. His town was no utopia. They had their share of crime. Maybe more than their share. But mysteriously brutal murders remained a rare occurrence. “Was the child hurt?”
“No, sir. Physically he appears fine. We have him here at the station.”
“Where did you find him?”
“At Quick Hit,” Eddie said, and then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, at the Super Fin motel. And he wasn’t just there, either. He was sitting there with a blood-stained knife in his hand.”
Brent was even more surprised. “I didn’t see that coming,” he said. “Did the kid admit guilt?”
“He’s admitting nothing. He won’t talk to anybody. And we have no witnesses so far.”
A possible kid murderer. That would be a first, not only for Brent, but for the town. This could get out of hand. “I’m on my way,” he said. Then added: “Call my brother Tony. He’s a shrink. We may need him on this.”
“Will do,” Eddie said. “What about Child Protective Services? Should I call them too?”
“Not yet,” Brent quickly said. “If this kid killed that man, I need to find out why. CPS shows up with their child’s rights agenda, we may never get the full story. What about surveillance cameras at the motel? Secure any footage now.”
“There is none to secure,” Eddie said. “I already tried. The cameras don’t work there and haven’t worked there for years.”
“Terrific.”
“It’s a hooker motel, boss. The owner knows his guests don’t want to be filmed. So he accommodates them.”
Brent exhaled. “Keep the kid with you and keep everybody else out. Until I can talk to him.”
“Will do,” Eddie said again, and Brent ended the call.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They watched Makayla as if they were watching an opponent. They were checking her out and sizing her up. Ira Stockton, the District Attorney for Jericho County, was showing her around the office. They started in what he called the Open Area, the place where assistant D.A.s sat with their clerical staff and worked on cases. Now he was showing her the file room, where all cases had to be stored. But the assistant D.A.s were still smarting about her selection to begin with.
“What makes her more qualified than any of us?” one attorney asked.
“She sleeps with the chief of police,” another attorney said. “That’s what.”
“She’s Brent Sinatra’s girl,” said another one.
“That’s what I said.”
“And I agree with you. That’s the only reason she’s the new deputy and we’re still the help. It’s because she’s Brent’s girl.”
“And he wants everybody to know it too. She gets to start out on third base, when we haven’t even made it up to bat.”
“But it’s not fair,” still another attorney said. “Ira should have promoted one of us. We work our asses off for this office, and they bring some girl in from Augusta, some girl half our age, and promote her over us? It’s not fair. In fact it’s wrong.”
“Now you’re talking,” said yet another attorney, the only African-American on staff. “Forget fairness. It’s just plain wrong. And if Ira thinks I’m going to hold hands with her and sing Kumbaya, he’s got another thought coming. I’ll sing with her alright. But the song won’t be Kumbaya. It’ll be more like Bye, Felicia!” And they all laughed.
One of them whispered to another one. “Who’s Felicia?” she asked.
And Makayla and her new boss heard it all. Voices traveled through the vent in the file room. But they continued discussing case filing. It wasn’t until they had left the room and began heading upstairs, did Ira broach the subject. “Don’t let them get you down,” he said.
Makayla nodded. “Don’t worry.”
“I’m sure the Chief schooled you on what to expect.”
“He did.”
“I told him I would hire you, but I also told him it wasn’t going to be a popular decision and he had to make you aware of that fact. People feel entitled when they work at a place for a long time. Some of these attorneys have been here longer than you’ve been born. They feel they should get the prize every time, not some outsider. You understand that, right?”
But Makayla was still trying to understand what he had just said to her. “What do you mean you told the Chief you would hire me?” she asked.
Ira looked at her. “He didn’t tell you?”
“He didn’t tell me what?”
“Before you applied for Deputy D.A., he came to me.”
Makayla was stunned. Before she applied? “And what did he say?” she asked.
“He asked me to hire you. That’s the bottom line. He wanted you in Jericho, this position seemed tailor fit for you. He wanted you hired. No ands, ifs, or buts about it.”
Makayla couldn’t believe it. Brent didn’t so much as hint at having any kind of conversation with Ira Stockton or anybody else about the job. He simply told her that a positon had opened up and he wanted her to apply for it. Since she was waiting for the ri
ght job opportunity to move to Jericho, she gladly applied. But he never mentioned, not once, that he had rigged it in her favor.
Ira saw her anguish. He smiled. “Don’t look like that,” he said. “You haven’t done anything wrong, forget those employees. You deserved the job. I knew your work when you were here four years ago working on reforming the D.A.s office. I knew you were more than qualified to do the job. The Chief did too. That wasn’t at issue. But I had every intention of promoting from within. I needed a heavy duty incentive to even consider promoting from outside.”
Makayla wasn’t even sure if she wanted to know this, but her natural inquisitiveness caused her to ask anyway. “What incentive did he give you?”
“He agreed to testify himself, rather than send one of his men, whenever I requested it.”
That didn’t sound like much of an incentive to Makayla. “And you consider that a big deal why?”
Ira smiled. “Unlike his father, Brent Sinatra is a very popular man in Jericho. The ladies love him, and the men respect him. They know, if he gets on that stand, he’s going to tell it to them straight. No b.s. from him. That’s a powerful tool to have in our arsenal. Especially during this election cycle. I’ll win reelection. My opponent is lame. But I still want to run on a record of victories, not defeats. Chief Sinatra is an excellent ally to help me rack up those victories. And hopefully, over time, you will be too. Now,” he said, “let me show you to your office.”
Makayla followed him without comment, but she still felt some kind of way about it all. She knew she was qualified for the job. Overqualified if you asked Neal or any of her former colleagues at Justice. But she felt as if she had jumped the line. Now she really had to prove herself. Thanks to Brent’s interference, especially if her new coworkers knew about that interference, she was going to have to work, not doubly-hard as she had already planned, but triply-hard just to earn respect. Not as Brent’s girl. But as her own woman.
Brent’s truck stopped in the parking spot next to the flag pole just as a beat-up old 1970s Cadillac convertible, with its top down, drove up. Brent got out of his truck and shook his head, as his brother Tony stepped out of the Caddie. “Where do you find these old cars?” he asked.
“What are you talking about?” Tony asked, looking at his car. “This baby’s a classic. This is an Eldorado, man. They don’t even make’em anymore.”
“I see why,” Brent said, as he began heading toward the station entrance.
“I got it for a steal in my opinion,” Tony said as he followed Brent. “I only paid four hundred for it.”
“I see why,” Brent said again.
“Oh, what do you know? You drive a big, shiny truck and a fast sports car. But you know what they say about guys who have to have it big and fast? They say those guys are overcompensating. They say those guys have what you might call small plumbing.”
Brent laughed. Especially since Tony, as his brother, knew darn well that small was the last thing his plumbing was. “Say whatever you want,” he said, “but one thing’s for sure: whenever I fix a drain, they never get clogged again.”
Tony laughed. And they both walked into the station.
They headed for the interrogation room in the back of the squad room, but the desk sergeant stopped them.
“They’re upstairs, sir,” he said.
That surprised Brent. He understood the kid was a kid, but he was also a suspect. He should have been placed in Interrogation. “Thanks,” Brent said, and he and Tony reversed course and headed upstairs.
Eddie was sitting in front of Belma Finch’s desk when they arrived upstairs. He stood up.
“Hey, Belma-Bam,” Tony said with a smile. “Long time, no see.”
“No thanks to you,” Belma replied. “You used to call and check on me. Now you don’t bother.”
“He’s too busy with his beautiful new car,” Brent said. “It’s old and rusty and beat up as hell, but it’s beautiful to Tony.”
“Just like his women,” Eddie said, and Brent laughed.
“Very funny,” Tony responded. “At least the women I date have integrity. At least they have a moral core. Your women are just core,” he said to Eddie. “Hardcore.”
“Brother got jokes,” Eddie said. “I hear you.”
But Brent was already getting down to business. “Why isn’t the kid in Interrogation?” he asked Eddie.
Eddie glanced at Belma.
“Tell him,” she said. “Don’t wait until he sees him.”
Now Brent and Tony both were intrigued. “Tell me what?” Brent asked his second-in-command.
Eddie exhaled, and then let it out. “There’s a complication, Chief,” he said.
“Tell me,” Brent responded.
“When we found the kid at Super Fin, we found a slip of paper in his pocket. He had no ID on him, but he had this.” Eddie handed the slip of paper, which was now encased in a plastic bag, to Brent.
“What is it?” Tony asked, looking over his big brother’s shoulder.
Brent looked at the three words on the paper. When he saw his name, and Junior written next to it, his heart hammered against his chest.
“Shut up,” Tony said, when he saw those words too.
Brent looked at Eddie. “What the hell?”
“My reaction too, Chief. But that’s what he had on him. A slip of paper with Brent Sinatra, Jr. written on it.”
“He claims that’s his name?” Brent asked.
“He’s not claiming anything. Like I said, the kid won’t talk. Not even a little bit. Whatever happened in that motel room that led him to take a knife to that man has traumatized the shit out of him.”
Brent exhaled. Tony looked at him. “Is it possible, Brent?” he asked him.
Belma Finch, who was a family friend since Brent and Tony were children, looked too, with concern in her eyes. “Could that child be yours?”
Brent shook his head. “I don’t have any children,” he said. “There’s no chance.”
“Well now to be truthful about it, there’s always a chance,” Tony said. “You weren’t exactly Mister Responsible in bed when you were younger. And not just you. None of us were. Rubbers were nice, but they weren’t always employed.” Brent looked at him. “I’m just stating facts.”
“And here’s another fact,” Eddie said. “The kid? He’s biracial.”
“Half what?” Tony asked. “Black?”
“Why does he have to be half-black?” Belma asked. “Brent has dated Asian girls and Hispanic girls and Puerto Rican girls too.”
Tony smiled. Leave it to Belma to not realize that Puerto Ricans were “Hispanic” too. To Belma, they were a race onto themselves. “Yes, he’s dated all those groups you named,” Tony said. “But it’s all about predilection, my dear. And Brent here has a predilection for girls of the African-American persuasion.”
Belma looked confused.
“He prefers black girls,” Tony said bluntly. “And because of that preference, he’s had a lot of them. The fact that the kid’s biracial, then, may not narrow it down all that much.”
“You know an awful lot about Brent’s life,” Belma said. “That’s nosy where I come from.”
“That’s brotherly love and affection where I’m from,” Tony shot back.
“At least I’m not a radio therapist,” Belma said.
“At least I’m not a mean old lady,” Tony fired back.
“You may not be mean,” Belma said, “but the old lady part is debatable.”
Tony had to smile at that one. “You’re wicked. Make her stop, Brent,” he said playfully.
But Brent was still too shocked to mix it up with Tony or Belma or anybody else for that matter. A kid was in his office. A kid who just so happened to have his name in his pocket. A kid found next to a dead body, holding the murder weapon. He could hardly think straight. “You said the child has no ID on him at all?” he asked Eddie.
“None,” Eddie responded.
“What about the victim? The ma
n? Any ID on him?”
“Nothing on him either. It’s as if somebody, possibly the victim, wanted somebody to know that the kid belonged to you, and he wanted to keep his own identity as secret as possible.”
“So you suspect it’s a kidnapping?” Tony asked.
“Why not?” Eddie asked. “He snatches the kid, brings him to Jericho, holes up in a motel ready to call and ask for a ransom. Maybe he put that paper in the kid’s pocket because he was going to leave him in the motel after he collected his money, and he needed to make sure the kid was identified.”
“Why didn’t he use the child’s own ID?” Belma asked.
“Because maybe when the kidnapping went down,” Eddie said, “the kid didn’t have any ID on him.”
Belma nodded. It made sense to her.
But nothing made sense to Brent at this point. He looked at Belma. “Run the wires for any reports of a missing kid. Start on the east coast. If no kid matches the description, search west.”
“Yes, sir,” Belma responded, and fired up her computer.
“Make sure they’re running the victim’s prints,” Brent said to Eddie.
“You know how slow those guys are with the labs,” Eddie said. He pulled out his notepad to take notes. “But I’ll get on it.”
“Tell them I want it expedited,” Brent responded. “And check every database. If your theory is correct and he’s bold enough to kidnap somebody’s child, he’s probably not new to the criminal life. Kidnapping isn’t usually the stepladder to crime, it’s usually the pinnacle of their career.”
“What about Ira?” Eddie asked. “Want me to notify him?”
“No,” Brent said firmly. “No D.A. and no media. Not yet. Not until I . . . Not until we have a firmer grasp on what’s going on. We have forty-eight hours before we have to notify the D.A.”
“Yes, sir. And if you ask me, I think you and the kid should get DNA swabs while he’s in our custody. His mother, when we finally track her down, may not consent. And we don’t want to have to wait for a court order.”
Tony frowned. “A DNA test just because the child had Brent’s name, and that little Junior addition to the name, in his pocket?”
Brent Sinatra: All of Me Page 12