He would not have believed it if he had not seen it for himself. A judge lay on the ground with a bullet in his gut and Dre had confessed to shooting him. Yet, he was sitting in the back of a police cruiser, uncuffed, holding his woman and being treated like a victim, not a suspect. Was this how the other half lived?
The car door opened and a female officer stuck her head inside. “I’m Officer Dickson. How’s she doing?”
“Not good,” Dre said.
He had already explained that Cornell had been stalking Angela and had assaulted her twice. He told them that Angela and Cornell had been wrestling over the gun when he arrived on the scene and rushed to her aid. As the three of them struggled for control of the gun, it went off. Dre said he was pretty sure that he was the one who pulled the trigger.
Another cop approached and pulled Officer Dickson aside.
Dre desperately needed Angela to stop crying so they could get their stories straight.
“Angela, we need to—”
A male officer opened the driver’s door and got behind the wheel while Officer Dickson rode shotgun. She looked back at them through a screen that stretched the width of the car. “We need you two to go down to the station so we can go over what happened, okay?”
Were they actually asking for permission? This shit was too weird. Dre nodded. “Sure.”
As the cruiser drove away, Dre saw a coroner’s van pull up, giving him the answer to the question he’d been too afraid to ask. This was now a murder case, which meant that he and Angela were murder suspects.
Dre held Angela closer. Her sobs had turned into dry hiccups and his shirt was soaking wet from her tears. He needed to hear her version of events. If their stories didn’t match, that would present a major problem.
He grazed his cheek along the top of her head. When he looked up, his eyes met the driver’s in the rearview mirror. The cop’s gaze telegraphed malice and distrust. Now this was the kind of pig he was used to dealing with. Dre finally turned away and stared out of the window.
A half an hour later, they pulled into a police substation. The female officer pried Angela from Dre’s arms and led her away. Dre was taken down a separate hallway and placed in an interrogation room that smelled badly of body odor. Yeah, this was more like it.
Dre had sat alone in the room for forty-five minutes before he started to get antsy. He figured they were questioning Angela first, which made him even more uptight.
When two detectives eventually entered the room, one black, one Asian, Dre immediately sensed that his special treatment had ended. He could see the cynicism in their macho body language. The black cop, a balding, heavyset guy, was carrying a thin manila folder.
Neither cop bothered to introduce himself. “Looks like you’re picking in some pretty high cotton, my brother,” the black cop began.
Dre wasn’t sure what the guy was getting at, so he said nothing. When a cop—black or white—began an interrogation by addressing you as brother, you were no doubt in trouble.
“Are you and that prosecutor an item?”
“I didn’t get your names,” Dre said.
“Forgive us for being rude,” the Asian cop cut in. He had badly scarred skin and spoke with a noticeable accent. Dre assumed he was Korean. “I’m Detective Martin Tao and this is my buddy, Detective Dwayne Davis. What’s up with you and that prosecutor?”
Dre formed a teepee with his fingertips and rested his elbows on the table. “We’re friends,” he finally said.
“Close friends?” Detective Davis asked, taking a seat across from him.
“Yeah.”
“How close?”
“Close,” Dre said.
Detective Davis looked at his partner. “You know, we were just wondering. Do you think she’s seen this?” He opened the folder and pulled out a stapled document. He dangled it between two fingers, waving it back and forth. “Does she know her close friend is a convicted drug dealer who should still be locked up, but caught a break because the state doesn’t have enough prison space to hold all of its scum?”
Dre flexed his fingers. These clowns were straight out of some bad sitcom. “She knows.”
Suspicious glances ricocheted between the two detectives. They had apparently assumed she didn’t.
Detective Davis moved his chair closer to the table. “This really has nothing to do with the case, but I was just wondering.” He paused and smiled up at his partner. “I’ve never had any prosecutor pussy. What’s it like?”
Detective Tao burst out laughing, pressing his fist to his mouth.
Dre grew even more heated, but knew there was no place to safely channel his rage. The smart part of him wanted to try to reason with these bozos. Tell them there was no need for the disrespect. But instead, he decided to give back what he got.
“Actually, it’s pretty nice.” He smiled and stroked his goatee. “You outta try it some time. But I suspect you couldn’t even pay a hooker to screw your fat ass. Don’t cops have a weight requirement?”
Detective Davis charged across the table, stopping when his nose was only an inch from Dre’s.
Dre never moved a muscle.
Detective Tao grabbed his partner by the shoulder and pulled him back into the chair.
“I read the account you gave at the scene,” Detective Tao said, his mannerism more professional now. “Tell us what happened. How’d that judge end up dead?”
Dre knew he should ask for an attorney, but if he did, that would only make them think he had something to hide. That innocent until proven guilty bullshit was just that. He directed his attention solely to Detective Tao, leaving Detective Davis to seethe.
“Angela had broken up with him and he couldn’t handle it. He attacked her in her office and—”
“When?”
“A week ago.”
“Did she report it?”
“No?”
“Why not?”
He spread his hands, palms up. “He’s a judge. She was concerned about messin’ up his career.”
“They break up because of you?”
“No.”
“How’d you happen to come to her rescue?”
“After I found out he put his hands on her, I thought he might try something again, so I started followin’ her. Watchin’ out for her.”
“Sounds like a pretty convenient plan to get the guy out of the way, if you ask me,” said Detective Tao.
Dre wanted to pound the table, as well as the two detectives. “Why don’t you stop wastin’ my time and yours?”
“Was that your gun?” Detective Davis asked.
They were definitely messing with him now. They’d probably already run the serial number. “I’m an ex-con. I’m not allowed to carry a gun.”
“Whose was it?”
Dre assumed it belonged to Angela’s sister, but he wasn’t giving up any info. “Don’t know.”
They peppered him with a few more questions, then abruptly walked out. They came back twenty minutes later and told him he could leave. For now. Dre concluded that his story must have matched Angela’s.
He stood up. “Where can I find Angela?”
“She left,” Detective Tao informed him. “Her sister picked her up thirty minutes ago.”
A look of surprise blanketed Dre’s face. He saved her life and took a rap for her and she left him hangin’ without even a thank you?
“Guess you weren’t as close as you thought, huh?” Detective Davis taunted. “You need bus fare?”
CHAPTER 67
Becker was not used to having people disrespect him, but Erickson’s stepdaughter was a piece of work. Thank God he didn’t have a kid like her. This was all Claire’s fault. Loyalty was the first trait you taught your kids. Ashley had zilch.
Earlier that day, he had contacted Ashley by phone to ask if she might have some time to talk. She called him Erickson’s lackey and hung up in his face. Did she know who he was?
He called back an hour later and she hung up as soon as
she’d heard his voice. Now he had to get ugly, which was always tricky with a woman. They were emotional by nature, so you could never predict how they might respond.
Becker parked his Range Rover near Ashley’s apartment building and waited for her to arrive home. He didn’t have time for this crap, but this wasn’t a job he could trust to anybody else. He finally saw Ashley pull up in her Hyundai and start looking for a parking space. Ashley circled the block, then parked at the far end of the street, several cars behind him.
As she climbed out of her car carrying two shopping bags, Becker gazed at her in his rearview mirror. She wasn’t much to look at and he couldn’t remember seeing her crack a smile even once. Claire should’ve gotten the girl some braces. That would have helped tremendously. According to Erickson, she’d never even had a date. Becker shook his head. Still a virgin at twenty-four. That alone probably accounted for most of her hostility.
Becker actually understood why Ashley despised her stepfather so much. He never would have shipped off one of his kids to some boarding school to be raised by strangers. Becker existed for his wife and kids. Sometimes, he just enjoyed watching his children at play, awed by the young lives that he had produced in his own image.
Some of his law partners thought he was insane for having so many kids, but Becker prided himself on his reproductive skills. He had wisely chosen a wife who not only felt the same way, but had the genes to match. He couldn’t have put up with all that fertility testing crap some of his colleagues had to endure. He could look at Staci and she would end up pregnant. Real men could do that.
Just as Ashley walked past his SUV, Becker quietly opened the door. He had to be careful about how he approached her. Their conversation would be short and to the point. She was about thirty feet from the entrance to her building when he called out to her.
“Hello, Ashley,” Becker said pleasantly. “I need a few minutes of your time.”
She jerked around, startled by his presence. He walked up to her, stopping with only a couple yards between them.
“Get away from me or I’ll scream.” She took two steps backward as Becker moved closer.
Becker spread his hands. “Go for it. I’m not doing anything to you and anybody who hears you scream will be able to testify to that. Everybody thinks you’re nuts anyway. That will confirm it.”
She looked around as if to gauge how safe she was. The street was lined with cars, but there was no one else in sight.
“There’s something I need you to know,” Becker said. “You’re not going to get away with defaming Larry. I want you to stop spreading your lies.”
Her eyes spewed hatred, and Becker actually felt the loathing Erickson had been forced to endure.
“Get away from me! You’re just Larry’s paid gopher. Did he send you over here to threaten me?”
“He has no idea I’m here. This is all my doing. I’m not about to let my friend go down for a murder he didn’t commit. If you weren’t family, he would’ve already sued you for defamation.”
“He’s not my family,” she hissed.
“Just back off, okay?”
Ashley laughed. “He murders my mother and then sends you over here to threaten me. Both of you are incredible. You’re wasting your time. You don’t scare me.”
Becker could see that he didn’t. She was a pretty feisty young woman.
“Did you know that the police think that broker who sold your mother’s insurance policy may have had something to do with her death?”
“Larry killed my mother. You know it and I know it. That broker is just a convenient diversion.”
After receiving the news about Claire’s autopsy, Becker was still wrestling with the possibility that Ashley could be right.
“And just so you know,” Ashley continued, “my next call is going to be to the Washington Post.” She repositioned her grocery bags and stood toe-to-toe with him, as if daring him to touch her. He admired her moxie.
The standoff lasted a few more seconds, then Ashley turned on her heels and proceed to her apartment.
Becker felt a rush of intense satisfaction. The trip had gone extremely well. He knew that Ashley would do exactly what he asked her not to do and that was precisely the point of his trip. He hoped she did call the Washington Post. Her wild allegations on the front page of a national newspaper would prompt the White House to ask for Erickson’s immediate resignation.
Erickson had screwed him out of the chairmanship of the firm and apparently double-crossed him in their plot to dispose of Claire. Becker was now determined to ruin him professionally. The best part of it all was that he didn’t have to do a thing except sit back and let Ashley run amuck.
Becker was about to climb back into his SUV when a thought hit him, stopping him cold. He stood stock-still, letting the idea percolate.
Ashley despised her stepfather and wanted to destroy him. Ashley discovered her mother’s dead body. Ashley canceled the cremation and demanded an autopsy. Ashley had motive, means and opportunity. It made complete sense. Erickson had not killed Claire. Ashley killed her mother and was setting up Erickson to take the fall.
Becker actually smiled. The clever little cunt!
CHAPTER 68
Waverly and Britney managed to sneak down an alley in the back of her apartment without being spotted by the growing crowd of cops out front on Springpark Avenue. Waverly had parked a block away on Fairview, only because he couldn’t find a closer spot. Now he was glad.
“We going to your house?” Britney asked, once they were seated inside his Lexus.
“No. It’s not safe there.” Waverly turned right onto La Cienega, not exactly sure where they were going.
“I guess we’re on the run, huh?” Britney said.
Waverly turned and gave her a look. “This isn’t some game.”
Britney hunched her shoulders. “I’m just trying to keep the mood light, okay?”
Waverly kept his focus on the road.
“You have any decent music?” She leaned forward, popped open the glove compartment and rifled through it. “Where do you keep your CDs? You do have some, don’t you?”
Waverly needed silence to think clearly. He wanted to tell her to shut up, but didn’t want to hurt her feelings.
Britney spotted a compartment between the seats and opened it. She grabbed a stack of CDs and started flipping through them. “Yep, should’ve guessed it. Nothing but old school R&B. You’re very predictable.”
“Do you remember what I told you back at your place?” Waverly asked.
Britney nodded.
“Then what do you have to be so happy about? Someone is definitely trying to kill me and maybe you, too.”
“Actually, I’m trying not to think about it.” He noticed her knee bouncing up and down, which told him that maybe she really was rattled by everything that had happened.
Britney slipped in The Best of Al Green into the CD player and pulled a pack of gum from her purse. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.”
“Have you figured out where we’re going yet?”
“Yeah. You got a credit card?”
“I have several,” Britney said with pride.
“We’re going to the Marriott near the airport on Century. I need you to check in. For all I know, the police are looking for me. I can’t risk using my credit cards. I’ll make sure you get your money back. We just need a place to hide out until I can figure something out.”
She lifted her eyebrows seductively and puckered her lips. “The Marriott, huh? One room or two?”
“One,” Waverly said. “With double beds.”
She feigned disappointment. “Does your wife know we’re spending the night together?”
“I never said anything about spending the night together. I just need a place to chill for a minute. As soon as I put a plan together, we’re splitting up. Is there someplace I can take you where you’ll be safe?”
“The safest place for me to be is with you.” She reach
ed over and placed a hand on his thigh. “I think you could use my company. You seem a little tense.”
This was a distraction he didn’t need. “Cut it out.”
Britney smiled at him. “Say that like you mean it.”
Waverly grabbed her hand and tossed it back into her lap.
She smiled, then winked. “No big deal. We can finish up another time. When you’re not busy driving.”
Less than twenty minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of the Marriott and valet parked. As Britney registered, Waverly lingered in the lobby, scanning the place to ensure they weren’t being watched. Once Britney had checked in, he met her at the elevators.
“We’re on four,” she said, pushing the elevator button. “Unfortunately, they were out of rooms with double beds, so we’re stuck with a king. Something about a big convention in town.” She gave him another wink as the elevator doors opened. They exited on the fourth floor and Waverly followed her down the hallway and into their room. He immediately locked the door, then fell onto the bed, exhausted.
Britney checked out the room, then started opening the drawers of the cabinet that held the TV. “I can’t believe they don’t even have a minibar. I’m calling room service. I need a drink.”
“No alcohol,” Waverly said. “We both need a clear head.”
“Party pooper.” She grabbed the TV remote and started channel surfing.
“Wait!” Waverly shot off the bed. “Go back to that last station.”
“What?”
“That newscaster just said the name of that prosecutor who’s after me. Go back. Hurry up!”
Britney switched back and they both zeroed in on the television screen.
“That’s my apartment building!” Britney said, pointing.
A reporter live at the scene was recapping the shooting of Superior Court Judge Cornell Waters, III. A picture of Angela Evans and a mug shot of a man identified as Andre Thomas, filled the screen. When the report ended, Britney turned to Waverly, wide-eyed.
Buying Time Page 26