Triple Threat

by Camryn King

  “Good morning. My name is Matthew Hernandez. As all of you know I’m here on behalf of my client, Pete Graham, who has been falsely and maliciously accused of the heinous crime of murder, of which he is completely innocent. My client had a brief and casual relationship with the deceased, Ms. Leigh Jackson, but upon meeting and becoming engaged to the lovely Melissa Beckford,”—he motioned to her—“who is now his wife, he promptly ended the relationship with Ms. Jackson. She was quite distraught about the breakup and shortly thereafter was discovered unresponsive in her apartment. The police who arrived on the scene at that time noticed an open bottle of pills, later determined to be opioids, and an empty bottle of wine. It was determined that Ms. Jackson’s death was due to an overdose at her own hands.

  “We are extremely disappointed in Judge Oppenheimer and the prosecutor’s office for cluttering an already overflowing judicial system in this state with this frivolous yet extremely serious accusation and charge. We look forward to our day in court where my client, Pete Graham, and by extension his nephew, Christian Graham, whose life is also being disrupted by these malicious charges, will be fully and totally exonerated, after which we will seek judicial retribution and punishment for those responsible for disrupting the lives of these upstanding, taxpaying citizens. Thank you very much for listening and for understanding that because this is an ongoing case there will be no questions answered at this time.”

  Christian finished watching and then scrolled the internet for comments. For the most part, the press was kind, and overwhelmingly on his and his uncle’s side. Meanwhile Mallory Knight was being vilified and blackballed after being fired from New York News. He leaned over and looked out the window, thinking it was a toss-up as to who would finally be vindicated. Her or his uncle?

  31

  Three weeks ago, Pamela Johnson boarded an Amtrak train on her way to St. Louis. Today, Mallory Knight returned on a late-night flight, ready to reclaim her spot in the Big Apple. She knew there might be reporters, that she might have to fight and claw past them on the way to the train. Mallory was ready, and up for the fight. After almost two years of climbing uphill someone had believed her and looked at the proof. Pete Graham had been indicted. The nation would learn the truth about how Leigh died. Mallory couldn’t imagine what it may have been like for Leigh in those final moments. However it ended, nothing the media threw at Mallory could come close as a match. They had a question? She had an answer. Mallory could all but hear the Rocky sound track as she walked up the jetway.

  I’m back, you doubting motherfuckers. Bring it on!

  The return was anticlimactic. There were no cameras, microphones, or reporters. No one hid in the bushes or waited on the sidewalk in front of her Brooklyn brownstone. There were no glances of recognition or finger pointing. Mallory was relieved yet also strangely disappointed, like she had been spoiling for a fight and reached the playground only to find there was no one to punch. Later Mallory would realize she shouldn’t have been worried. She hadn’t seen someone watching, but someone had seen her. They’d tipped the press. By the next morning, that had all changed.

  Mallory stepped out her front door dressed in a black power suit, a white button-down shirt, and pumps. She was on her way to a meeting with an attorney and a publicist, experts she’d need to handle the media attack she expected, an attack that met her at the front door.

  “Mallory! Over here!”

  “Mallory Knight!”

  “Time for a couple of questions?”

  “Ms. Knight! Any comment on Pete Graham’s arrest?”

  She turned on her heel and held up her hands. “I know how much you all want the story. As a fellow reporter, I truly do.” This bought a few chuckles from the half dozen or so gathered around her. “I’m on my way to a meeting, after which I’ll be issuing a public statement. Until then I have no comment. Sorry, guys. Thanks.”

  Subway-riding Mallory instead hailed a cab and while riding to Manhattan made arrangements with Ava to stay at her house until the hoopla calmed down. When she returned to Brooklyn a couple hours later, the door opened even before she could knock, with both Sam and Ava peeking their head around it.

  “Hey, bitches!” They enjoyed a group hug and a few tears. When they disbanded, Mallory really looked at Sam for the first time and got a shock.

  “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

  “Yes,” Sam said, her smile angelic as she rubbed her stomach. “Almost five months.”

  “Five! I’ve only been gone one, and you weren’t pregnant when I left.”

  Ava laughed. “Not that we knew of, but the last time you saw this chick she was four months along.”

  “And you didn’t tell anybody?”

  “I didn’t know,” Sam replied. “No morning sickness. No sore breasts. My period’s always been irregular, so that wasn’t new.”

  “Then what was the tip-off?”

  “Annual doctor visit.”

  “Do you know what you’re having?”

  “No. We want to be surprised, but we’re hoping to give Joey a little sister.”

  “Ahh. I’ll get to be an auntie once again.”

  For the next hour or so the friends shared girl talk, a break that Mallory relished from the murder investigation. The reprieve was over all too soon, however, as after leaving a second message Barbara returned her call.

  “Sorry I didn’t call earlier,” Barbara said. “We were out of town at a meeting where my husband was made a bishop. It’s been a rather busy time since then. But I did get your message and appreciate your prayers.”

  “There is still something I’d like to discuss with you, Barbara.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a rather delicate subject that I’d like to share in person if I could. I’m in Brooklyn right now and could come over any time. Now or whenever would be convenient for you.”

  “What is this about?”

  “It’s about Leigh and the trial coming up.”

  “We won’t be participating in that and please, call me Mrs. Jackson.”

  Mallory was physically taken aback. “Excuse me?”

  “Edward and I have talked about it and agreed to steer clear of that matter. Leigh is sleeping in the arms of Jehovah. Nothing that happens in the courts will change that fact.”

  “I must say your answer totally surprises me, Mrs. Jackson, and has caught me totally off guard. Of course, I respect whatever you and your husband decide. She was your daughter, after all. But I would still like to talk with you, even if your husband can’t be there. I believe the information is important, and as a woman and her mother, something you really ought to know.”

  “Very well then. The bishop has a meeting tomorrow at ten. I’ll be free for an hour. You can come over then.”

  Mallory actually made it to the block at 9:45, time enough to watch Bishop Edward back out of the driveway and head down the street. She felt a better chance of being heard without the stiff stepfather, hoped to appeal to Barbara’s instincts as a mother who after learning the whole story would demand justice for her child.

  Mallory drove up and parked in front of the home, went to the door and knocked softly. Barbara opened it, looking surprisingly light and happier than Mallory had ever seen her. Given her position over the phone, she shouldn’t have been surprised, but Barbara’s attitude, considering her daughter’s suicide had been reclassified as a murder, chafed Mallory’s sensibilities. She’d have to tread lightly.

  “Hello, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Mallory, come in.”

  “Thanks for agreeing to see me.”

  Mallory entered a room of browns and grays that looked comfortable but lacked personality.

  “Have a seat, there, on the couch. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “That would be great, thanks.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “However you’re making yours is fine with me.”

  Barbara returned shortly and joined her on the couch. �
�Now, Mallory, what do you have to tell me?”

  Mallory took a sip of the coffee before placing the cup on a saucer. “Mrs. Jackson, did you know that Leigh was seeing Pete Graham, the man who’s been charged with her murder?”

  “No, there was very little about Leigh’s personal life that I knew about, which, considering that we were opposed to her lifestyle, was probably best.” She looked pointedly at Mallory. “And probably best to remain that way.”

  “I hear you, Mrs. Jackson. I don’t know much about your religion but am aware that Leigh’s not being a part of it caused tension between you. What I have to share is difficult, and I’m not a mother, so I can’t speak personally, but as a daughter, the news I have is something I think you ought to know.”

  Mallory watched Barbara physically brace herself. She straightened her back and set down the cup. “All right. What is it?”

  “Leigh was pregnant, Mrs. Jackson, with Pete Graham’s baby. It appears she found out just after he got engaged to another woman who he’d been seeing at the same time as your daughter. He wanted her to have an abortion, but Leigh wouldn’t do it. She didn’t want to kill her unborn child. We believe that’s why he killed her.”

  “I see.” Barbara was silent for a long time, then reached for her coffee and took a sip. “Would you like more coffee?”

  More coffee? What? Am I being punked?

  “Coffee? No, Mrs. Jackson, I don’t want any more coffee. I’d like to know how what I just told you makes you feel. Leigh didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered. And she was pregnant with your grandchild.”

  “What proof do you have?”

  “Medical records. She was seeing an obstetrician with an office on Long Island, and was approximately eight weeks along.”

  Mallory watched Barbara swallow several times as if fighting back tears. She sighed deeply and looked out the window. Mallory imagined she saw nothing outside. She imagined she saw Leigh, and imagined her unborn baby. She hoped so, anyway. It would make her more receptive to what Mallory had to ask her.

  “The prosecutor’s office knows that the defense will deny this. Even with the medical records, they will say that the baby was by someone else, not Pete.”

  “Well, isn’t that possible? When a person engages in that type of behavior with multiple partners, isn’t it possible to not know the father of your child?”

  “Mrs. Jackson, Leigh was not like that. She flirted and liked to have a good time, but when it came to love, she was very selective, and in the time that I knew her not promiscuous at all. There is a way we can be positive about the father’s identity. We can have her body exhumed—”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It could be done very quietly, and respectfully.”

  “There is nothing respectful about what you’re proposing. I appreciate you were friends with my daughter and respect you doing what you deem necessary regarding her death. But the bishop and I do not share your position, nor that of the courts, and we are ruled by a higher judge.” She stood. “You’ve said what you came to say and finished your coffee. My husband will be returning soon. I wish you well.”

  Mallory mumbled a goodbye, too shocked to formulate a coherent sentence. She knew Barbara would be hesitant, expected to have to fight the stepfather. But that the mother of a daughter murdered for carrying someone’s child would adamantly refuse to seek justice . . . Barbara might not, but Mallory would, by any means necessary.

  Mallory returned to Ava’s house, settled into an oversized chair and reached for her tablet. While searching the law regarding exhumations and crime, she pondered. Since Barbara won’t consider exhuming the body, can I rob a grave?

  After an hour online, Mallory felt better. She reached for her phone and called Detective Wang.

  “Hello, Detective. Mallory Knight. I’ve got news.”

  “I’m fine, detective. Thanks for asking. And no, I’m not in the middle of anything. What can I do for you?”

  “Sorry about that. How are you? Busy?”

  He chuckled. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I visited Leigh’s mother earlier today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I felt she had a right to know that her daughter was pregnant when she died.”

  “That’s unfortunate.”

  “Yes, it was. I told her with the hopes that the news would make her amenable to having Leigh’s body exhumed so we could test the DNA of the unborn child. I couldn’t believe her actions, and you won’t either. After hearing that her daughter had more than likely been killed at the hands of the man who’d impregnated her, she calmly took a sip of coffee and asked if I wanted mine refreshed. Detective, you there?”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Mentioned the exhumation? Yes, I realize that now. It would have been better to give her a couple days to digest the fact that had Leigh lived, she would have been a grandmother.”

  “You shouldn’t have done any of it. Gone to the house. Mentioned the baby. Anything. By doing so you may have tipped the prosecution’s hand and allowed confidential information to become public.”

  “I didn’t tell the public, detective, I told Leigh’s mom. I revealed information obtained by putting my career and maybe even my freedom on the line. Information that the prosecution wouldn’t have if not for me regarding a case that is only because I forced it. And you helped,” she added into the prolonged lull.

  “When I told you that I was thinking about a partner, I wasn’t serious. I know Leigh was your friend. I know that you’re emotionally and professionally invested in this case. I stand behind what I said that day in St. Louis. The investigative work you did was stellar, award-worthy. You did the right thing in turning over that evidence to licensed investigators and the NYPD. But your job is over, Mallory. In order not to jeopardize this case and allow her killer to go free, you’ve got to back off and let the people who need to, including me, do our jobs.”

  “Fair enough. I apologize for overstepping my bounds.”

  “Accepted.”

  “What are you going to do now?”

  “Since you’ve already antagonized, excuse me, I mean spoken to the mother, and she was not receptive to having her daughter’s body exhumed, I’ll speak with the prosecutor’s office about seeking a court order. Given that our knowledge of the pregnancy was obtained illegally, it’s a touchy situation. We’re going to need real finesse and a stroke of luck to proceed.”

  “I might have the stroke you need.”

  “Mallory . . .”

  “I’m not going to do anything more than I’ve done already. I’m just saying there might be a way to have that evidence entered into the case.”

  “How?”

  “Not sure yet. Let me think about it and get back with you.”

  “You back to work yet?”

  “Not officially. No one will hire me. Living on my savings and 401(k) while I weigh my options and consider my next move.”

  “Maybe it should be to a community college and a criminal justice class.”

  “Thanks for the thought, but naw, teaching’s not my thing.”

  “Teaching? Are you kidding me? You need to—”

  “Reconsider? Nothing doing. Bye, Wang.”

  Mallory ended the call and scrolled for Danny’s number. She tapped on it and connected the call. It went to voicemail. She was not deterred. She scrolled down a little farther to Karen’s number. Her thumb was hovering over the button to connect it when she changed her mind, reached for her purse and jacket, and headed out the door. There was an old saying that the way to man’s heart was through his stomach. Mallory didn’t cook, and a heart wasn’t what she was after. She needed Danny to cooperate with prosecutors and agree to testify. Maybe the way to get that cooperation was through the mother of a son who idolized him.

  32

  The meeting with Karen went better than the one with Barbara. The former showing the kind of horrification at why and how Leigh had died that the latter
had not possessed. Mallory had considered what Detective Wang said about the importance of protecting the prosecution’s trump cards, but the rewards received from sharing the information with Karen had been well worth the risk. She was planning a trip to St. Louis so Danny could see his kids. While there she agreed to talk to him. Hopefully by next week he’d be willing to talk as well.

  That out of the way, Mallory secured lodging for the rest of the month and moved out of Ava’s apartment. Now tucked away in a spacious Airbnb with views of Jamaica Bay, Mallory tried to relax as she went through the personal items that had been left at her friend’s house in her rush to leave town. She turned on her cell phone. After a month unused, dings and vibrations suggested at least a dozen calls. She took a deep breath and began to scroll through the missed calls. One number jumped out at her right away. A call from a couple weeks ago and then several in the past few days. The multiple calls on the screen brought out mixed emotions. One of them was anger, to the point she started not to return the call. But curiosity won out, and she decided not to put it off and wait until tomorrow. It was just after eleven a.m. She dialed the office, Charlie’s direct line.

  “The dead have arisen,” he answered, his voice gruff and raspy.

  “Yeah, you tried to kill me, but I wouldn’t stay down.”

  “You were right, Mal. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize. I was wrong, too. I went against you and ran to a rival paper. You did what you had to, what any boss would have done under the circumstances.”

  “You’re an excellent investigator. Hell, you’ve got an award to prove it. Your gut instincts have rarely led you wrong. I should have listened to you.”

  “Yes, you should have. The good news is that somebody finally did.”

  “Didn’t you think it was Christian, though? I was blown away that it was the uncle.”