by Camryn King
Mallory led the detective over to a couch and sat down on the chair beside it. She leaned forward, hungry for information. She was praying this nearly two-year-long journey was nearing an end.
“What’s happened?”
“Your hard work paid off. I laid out what you sent me and turned over what I’d collected the day of her death. No one could argue against the evidence. Some of the information was gained illegally and in its present state can’t be used during the trial, but it points the officers in the right direction.”
“These officers, who are they?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and don’t worry. There are officers in that precinct who for the right amount of money could shape the case for the highest bidder. This team isn’t one of them. It’s why I went to them and personally presented the evidence. These guys don’t give a shit about Graham and his celebrity. They are bulldogs for justice who won’t stop until they get an indictment.”
“How long will that take?”
“Considering the judge who’s hearing it? Not long. You’ve gathered enough information for probable cause. Someone could be charged as little as a week.”
“Pete Graham, you mean.” Wang nodded. “For?”
“Murder, in the first degree. Turns out there were two types of evidence on the bottle you sent to Baltimore. The DNA on the rim was verified as belonging to Christian, but his DNA was not on anything found in Leigh’s apartment. Where it gets interesting is that there were two sets of fingerprints on the bottle. We don’t have his prints on file but it’s assumed that one set belonged to Christian. The second set lined up with the evidence I’d collected.”
“Which was?”
“The two wineglasses in Leigh’s apartment. After the officers left I bagged them and took them with me.”
“Oh my gosh, that was genius!”
Wang nodded. “I thought so. Pete Graham’s prints were on file. They’re a perfect match.”
Mallory fell against the chair. Could this really be happening? The moment felt surreal.
He reached out his hand. “Good work, detective.”
“Thank you, boss.”
“If I ever stop rolling solo and need a partner, I’ll give you a call.”
“I don’t think so. After this murder case is over, I’m hanging up my badge.”
* * *
Mallory pulled up to a BBQ joint off Martin Luther King Boulevard. She was there to grab lunch and pick up Danny. He’d warned her the place was a hole in the wall but the ribs were the best ones she’d ever eat. About the first part, at least, he hadn’t lied. Thankfully she didn’t have long to ponder about how clean the kitchen was. Danny came out carrying a large grease-stained sack and two cans of cola. She unlocked the car. He hopped in, and so did a smell that immediately made her mouth water.
“If those ribs are as good as they smell, I’m already in love.”
“Girl, one bite and you’ll want to marry these bones.”
Mallory laughed hard for the first time in ages.
“Where are we going? You’re not going to be able to eat these and drive.”
“Somewhere private, where we can talk.”
Danny gave her a look. “I know about what. Go up to the light and make a left.”
“Only just met me, yet know me so well?”
“Uh-huh.”
Mallory’s phone rang. Ava. She ignored it, turned off the ringer, and took the phone off the dash. She wanted to talk to her friends now but hoped to have much more to share when the meeting with Danny was over.
Ten minutes later, Mallory pulled into a memorial park. It was a wide-open space with the St. Louis Arch in the background. She was wary at first, but Danny directed her to a spot away from the more touristy area. She rolled down the windows and turned off the car. Danny handed her a paper plate bending under the weight of the food heaped on top of it. For the next several minutes the two exchanged little conversation, focused on spicy baked beans, chunky coleslaw, and meat that fell off of the bone. Danny unabashedly licked his fingers. Mallory followed suit. It was the most relaxed the two had ever been around each other. She hoped the quiet camaraderie would continue. To get a man who lived by the code of the streets to cooperate with the law, she would need it.
She reached into her purse, pulled out two twenties, and laid then on Danny’s jeans-clad leg.
“What’s this?”
“You pick the spot. I buy the lunch. Remember?”
“You don’t have to do that. And it didn’t cost forty dollars.”
“It could have, and I still would have paid it. You were right. Those ribs were everything.”
Danny continued to smile, but his eyes narrowed. “I’m getting the feeling this may be more than payment for ribs. This might be more like a bribe.”
“Moi?” Mallory batted her lashes and feigned innocence. “I don’t plan to bribe you. But I do have news.”
“Pete Graham. I saw it. First degree murder.”
“When?”
“Just now. On a TV in the rib shack. It interrupted the channel they had it on. Today’s breaking news.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when you got in the car?”
“Wanted to see what you already knew. If that was the reason you brought me here. Obviously not, based on your reaction.”
“I knew the indictment had been handed down. They’ve got some pretty solid evidence.”
“Like what?”
“Fingerprints for one. That found Pete’s on items collected at the crime scene. But it’s far from an airtight case.”
“What do you want me to do about it?”
“Testify. I have a confession.”
“What?”
“No one else knows about it,” she lied, “so don’t get upset. But I had to do it.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Mallory?”
“The other night when we were talking, I taped the conversation.”
“Bitch! Are you crazy?”
“Danny, calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. What the fuck did you tape me for?”
“Habit, mostly. But also to have proof that I wasn’t crazy, if only for myself. Which is all it can be, since I didn’t tell you beforehand. Recordings made without the other person’s knowledge are not admissible in court. There’s nothing I can do with the tape, Danny. But there’s a lot you can do with the information on that tape.
“Without you and the knowledge that Leigh was pregnant, and was trying to extort Pete for one million dollars, it will be hard to prove motive. The defense can claim they were dating, he ended it, and she was distraught over the breakup and his engagement. Is that really all right with you? That the man who killed one person and tried to kill you gets to live large with no repercussions while you stay in hiding and your son suffers?”
“You leave my son out of this.”
“I wish I could, Danny, but he’s right in the middle of it. I know about the attempted suicide.” Danny’s shoulders slumped. “You’re not the only one who took a bullet that night. Brandon took one, too. To the heart.”
Mallory poured her heart out, but she left Danny still not knowing whether or not he’d testify. It was time to make another call.
Mallory dialed Leigh’s mom, Barbara and got voicemail.
“Hello, Barbara. It’s Leigh’s friend, Mallory. I’m sure you’ve heard by now that there’s been an indictment in Leigh’s death. I have some very important information to share with you that’s also time sensitive, so if you return the call as soon as possible I’d really appreciate it.”
Mallory left her number.
“I can’t imagine the pain this development stirs up for your family. I’ll be . . . praying for you.”
Mallory hung up the phone, surprised at herself and how the message had ended. The words had seemed to come out of their own volition, seemingly appropriate given Barbara’s staunch faith. Mallory had never engaged in prayer, but that’s no
t what surprised her. It was more than the fact she’d said the words. Mallory meant them.
30
Atlanta was known for its strip clubs, and tonight following their victory against the Hawks, Christian, Pete, and a group of players were in a generous mood.
“Look at that ass!” Pete exclaimed, licking his lips as the dancer bent over and worked her muscles in a way that made her cheeks clap. He stuck a one-hundred-dollar bill in the glitter-lined crevice and slapped the rump he’d admired.
Christian was having twice the fun with a set of twin dancers. Twins were his guilty pleasure. After watching their acrobatic athleticism on the pole, he decided another, more personal show was in order. Twenty minutes later he and Pete left the club with an entourage of five exotic ladies ready to earn big dollars by dancing on poles outside the club. They reached the stretch limo Hummer with bottles of pricey bubbly and a box of condoms, figuring there was no need to wait to get the party started. They were so caught up in the moment that neither Christian nor Pete noticed the two suited men approaching them or the police cruiser discreetly parked at the end of the block.
The shorter of the two members of law enforcement stepped in front of Christian but looked to his left. “Pete Graham?”
“Yeah,” Pete responded, a hard dick and liquid courage cutting his patience short. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the officer who’s going to tell you that you’re under arrest,” he calmly replied, whipping out handcuffs and placing them on Pete before anyone else could react.
“Whoa, wait a minute, guys.” Christian was all smiles, his posture relaxed. The twins remained by his side, but the other girls scattered. “There’s got to be a mistake somewhere. This is my manager and my uncle. Hold on, officer. You’re arresting the wrong man!”
“Hey, Christian,” the other officer said, stepping forward. “Good game tonight. Sorry to have to end your evening on such a bad note. But there’s no mistake here. Your uncle’s under arrest. He’s been indicted for the murder of Leigh Jackson.”
The short officer took over, all business, as he had been from the start. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He began leading Pete away. “You have a right to an attorney. If you can’t afford it . . .”
“Get your hands off me! Where are you taking me?”
“Where are you taking him?” Christian repeated.
“To jail,” the stern one responded. “Where he’ll sit until Monday until the judge decides whether or not he’ll be granted bail.”
Judicially slapped sober, Christian dismissed the twins and called Nick, the name Pete called out before being placed in the cruiser. Nick called Matt Hernandez, one of the highest paid and most successful attorneys in the country. Matt pulled strings, and even though it was a weekend, Pete was out of jail and back in New York in less than twenty-four hours. In that time, a team had been gathered, and the next day, Sunday, Christian’s day off, they met at his penthouse.
The group presented a somber tableau—Christian, his dad, Corbin, Pete, Nick, Matt Hernandez, and Zoey, invited only to have the tools necessary to spin the story for the press. It was Christian’s first time seeing Pete since the limousine parting. He hated to ask him in front of everyone, but he had to know.
“Did you do it, Pete? Did you kill that girl?”
Pete’s head dropped. His expression remained crestfallen as he looked at Christian. “I can’t even believe you’d ask me that.”
“But I did. And what you just said is not an answer.”
“No, Christian. My arrest is the sole result of the reporter Mallory Knight’s sick imagination. She’s stirred up a hornet’s nest and the public’s interest, and now the NYPD feel obligated to conduct a witch hunt and satisfy a mob that’s out for blood. I didn’t do it.”
“But you dated her, though.”
“Not really. She was more like a late-night hookup, how do you call it?”
“Booty call?” Zoey interjected.
“Exactly. We had sex a few times. She wanted more. I didn’t. I ended it. End of story, okay?”
“Look, don’t get pissed at me. You’re the one who got indicted, but public opinion has us both convicted. Okay?”
Christian got up and paced. “I know you guys hate Mallory Knight, and I don’t like her much either right now. But I can’t understand why, out of all of the men in New York, all the athletes even, she chose me to connect to her best friend’s murder and what she gave to police convincing enough for them to arrest you.”
Matt held up his hands. “Guys, guys. All of those are good questions but not important. The question for the courts isn’t whether or not he did it, but whether it can be proven. That’s why I’m here. To disprove every piece of evidence the prosecution presents. To delay and discover and postpone this case until we drain the state’s pockets and the interest dies down.”
“Why go through all that if Pete’s innocent?” Corbin asked. “I’d much rather have my name cleared than break the court’s bank.”
“To send a message,” Matt responded. “Let the world know that any time you bring a Graham to court, it’s going to cost you. And at the end of the day we’re still going to win.”
After being somewhat assured that the egregious mistake that was Pete’s arrest would be successfully resolved, a very worried Corbin left to update his equally concerned wife about his brother. Pete and Matt went into another room to strategize. Nick left with instructions to find out any and everything he could on Mallory Knight and Leigh Jackson. Christian, drained and sore from last night’s brutal two-point loss to the Boston Celtics, prepared to go to the training center for some much-needed therapy. He gathered his things and walked toward the elevator.
Zoey fell in step beside him. “You got a minute?”
“What does it look like?”
Zoey didn’t answer, just got into the elevator, too. “I wanted to ask you something, away from the group.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you believe him?”
Christian wanted to answer quickly, decisively. He wanted to feel from the pit of his gut that there was no way that his uncle could even be involved in something so nefarious, let alone commit the act himself. He wanted to, but something wouldn’t let him. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on but couldn’t let go.
“I want to,” he finally replied, as the elevator reached the luxury living building’s lobby and they stepped out into it. Christian waved at the doorman but stayed by the elevator. “What about you?”
“I want to,” she parroted, looking him in the eye with an expression that said she wanted to, but didn’t.
“What makes you hesitate?”
“He’s not being totally honest.”
The doorman took a few steps toward them. “Excuse me, sir. But should I have your car brought around, Mr. Graham?”
Christian didn’t look over. “In a minute,” he said. And then to Zoey: “How do you mean? He admitted to knowing her, and them having sex.”
“They dated, Christian, for at least six months. He was seeing her and Melissa at the same time.”
“How do you know?”
Zoey sighed, shoved her hands in her jeans pockets.
“Unh unh. Don’t get quiet on me now.”
“I feel badly breaking a confidence. I said that I wouldn’t.”
“What do you know, Zoey? Speak. Now!” It was spoken soft and low, yet with deadly force.
Zoey looked around. “Let’s go into one of the meeting rooms.” Christian nodded curtly and led her down a short hall.
Zoey followed him into the room and shut the door. “Okay. A few months ago, Pete went to Emma and—”
“Emma? At the center?”
Zoey nodded. “He wanted to borrow money that he said he’d pay back from the proceeds of this year’s gala. A lot of money.”
“What’s a lot?”
“A million dollars.”
“What?”
“He told Emma it was for a project happening overseas. Said that you knew about it but insisted rather forcefully that you not be bothered”—she used air quotes—“with the details. Wanted her to transfer the money into an account the foundation had never used before. She hesitated. He pressed her, seemed almost desperate to get the money right away and adamant that you not know about it. Emma was suspicious. Troubled by his actions and concerned about his demeanor. So much so that she reached out to me.”
“And you went to him.”
“Yep.”
“And?”
“He was angry at first, threatened to get Emma fired. When I told him that wasn’t going to happen, he changed his demeanor and acted as though the whole thing was no big deal. Said he’d gone to Atlantic City and gambled up a huge debt but had since paid it off. I asked him where he’d gambled, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
Christian’s eyes narrowed. “Around what time did this happen again?”
“Beginning of the year. Just before the gala at Mandarin.”
Right around the time that Danny got shot and then disappeared.
“Any of that make sense to you?”
Christian looked at his watch, answered her question with a sigh. “I gotta go.”
“Yeah, me too. Pete and Matt are probably looking for me.” Christian raised a brow. “Tomorrow’s press conference.”
“Oh. Right.” He pulled her into a hug. “Thanks for pulling me out of the dark, and letting me know what happened.”
“You’re not angry that I didn’t do it sooner?”
“You promised you wouldn’t. I understand.”
“Are you going to confront him?”
“I don’t know, but the more I learn about that girl’s murder, the more I want to know the truth.”
The next morning, Christian boarded the team plane for Miami and watched the press conference on satellite TV. Pete looked impressive in a tailored navy suit, his boyish handsomeness coming through even on the serious occasion. His wife, Melissa, was by his side, having eschewed her tight miniskirt, deep-vee top, and stiletto uniform for a conservative wraparound dress in patriotic red, white, and blue. Zoey stood next to her, the consummate professional with her black skirt, white button-down, and blond hair in a bun. But the star of the hour was clearly Matt Hernandez, charismatically handsome, poised, and commanding as he stepped up to the microphone.