by Debra Webb
Her heart launched into her throat. Her right hand moved instinctively toward her bag where her Glock was stashed. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the ones staring at her. At first all her brain registered was hoodie and African American. Then the familiar features of the face filtered through her apprehension.
Jerome Frazier.
Her fingers now tight around the Glock, Jess powered the window down a few inches. “Mr. Frazier, I was just going to drive by your home.”
“Are you trying to get me killed?” he demanded, clearly angry.
Her cell rang. Jess wasn’t about to let go of the Glock to grab the iPhone. This guy was pissed and she had no idea what he wanted just yet.
“We need to talk.” He hustled around to the other side of the car and waited for her to hit the unlock button.
Was he out of his mind?
Another vehicle eased up next to her.
What now? The air inside her Audi thickened until she could no longer draw it in.
The passenger side window of the other car powered down.
“You see this shit!” Frazier banged on the roof of her car again. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“Chief Harris, you okay?”
Officer Chad Cook stared expectantly at her from the driver’s seat of the other car. Before she could ask him what the hell was going on, he added, “I ran your license plate when Frazier approached your vehicle. I needed to know who he was meeting.”
Jerome Frazier’s face appeared in the passenger window of her car. “Why you got this dude following my ass? I ain’t done nothing!”
“Mr. Frazier and I are going to talk,” Jess told Cook. “You can pull over and give us a few minutes.”
Cook nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Jess hit the unlock button and allowed Frazier into her car.
She reached for calm once more. “What’s on your mind, Mr. Frazier?”
“Look, DeShawn, he’s my friend. But I ain’t dying for him ’cause he was too stupid to listen.”
“Is he in trouble?” More than she already knew.
Frazier shook his hooded head. “Not DeShawn. That crazy Mexican bitch that has him under a spell or something.”
“Nina?”
Frazier nodded. “She’s using DeShawn. She wants out of the life and he’s gonna get himself killed if he ain’t dead already.”
“What else can you tell me about her? Do you know her last name?”
“DeShawn said he had to keep her name a secret. Said she was in big trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“The name Salvadore Lopez mean anything to you?”
Jess shook her head, feigning ignorance. “Should it?”
Frazier looked around as if fearing someone besides Cook was watching him. “Look it up. You’ll get my meaning then. And tell your boy to stop dogging my ass. I don’t know where DeShawn is. Dead probably. But having five-oh hanging around me is gonna get me that way, too.”
“If you need our help, Jerome,” Jess offered, “we can help you.”
His gaze held hers in the darkening gloom for a long moment. “Just help my buddy DeShawn and we’ll be square.”
When Frazier had disappeared between the rows of houses, Jess told Officer Cook to call it a night. Frazier had given her all he knew and he was likely right about surveillance getting him the wrong kind of attention.
Jess started to pull away from the curb but movement at the window of the little white shack across the street snagged her attention.
The curtain dropped back into place and Jess drove away. She’d had enough of memory lane for one night.
14
Thursday, July 29, 10:05 a.m.
Jess adjusted her glasses and studied the latest updates to the case board as Harper finished the last entry beneath the official mug shot of one of Salvadore Lopez’s known associates. She had called him immediately after her meeting with Frazier last night. Harper had done his homework.
“Jose Munoz. Twenty-five,” Harper said when he’d snapped the top back on the marker and set it aside. “His criminal history began at age twelve and was highlighted by a manslaughter charge for which he did time in Mississippi. Released when he was twenty-one and headed west to find his calling, MS-13 under Lopez’s father. Rumor has it Munoz heard stories in prison and decided the Mara Salvatrucha was the life for him. He came to Birmingham eighteen months ago with Salvadore Lopez and serves as his segunda.”
“If Munoz is the second in command, he’ll know all about his boss’s activities.” Made sense to Jess. If there was no way to get to Lopez, Munoz would be the next best thing.
“Captain Allen has Lopez, Munoz, and their whole entourage under surveillance. Since there’s a joint task force between BPD, the FBI, ATF, and DEA as well, he’s not going to want us getting too close for fear we’ll screw up their plans.” Harper gestured to Lopez’s photo and then Munoz’s. “These dudes are the worst kind of news. In light of Simmons having disappeared one week ago tomorrow, I’m thinking we’re not likely to find him alive unless, as you pointed out, the girl is still MIA and is as important to Lopez as we suspect. That possibility might provide Simmons with a temporary stay of execution.”
“You’re suggesting that this multiagency task force will not allow the investigation into a missing person, dead or not, to jeopardize their ongoing investigation?” If she had a nickel for every time that technicality caused a stumbling block, she would be a very rich lady. No one appreciated another cop stumbling into their ongoing pet project.
Harper nodded. “That’s what I got from all Allen’s hedging this morning when I asked him about Lopez’s clique. He’s happy to give us a heads-up if he spots Simmons or learns intel on him, but otherwise, closing in on Lopez is not on the table at this time. Evidently there’s something bigger coming and they need to wait for that. Simmons is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things as far as they’re concerned.”
Hadn’t the ATF or anyone else learned their lesson yet? Murder trumped gunrunning and drugs. More than one federal agent had been murdered by the very weapons these agencies left on the street in hopes of making the bigger bust. Letting the bad guys get away with murder for the so-called greater good wasn’t on Jess’s agenda. If her missing young man was dead, someone was going to prison for murder—no matter who had bigger plans for him.
“I would think that if Allen has this entourage under surveillance”—Jess moved closer to the case board and considered the arrogant expression on Lopez’s face—“that he would be aware of any rumblings within that tight-knit little group. If the girl is back with Lopez, Allen should know this. Anyone brought in or out should be listed on their surveillance log.”
“That’s where things get a little touchy.”
Jess turned to Harper. “Touchy how, Sergeant? I understand territorial issues, but Captain Allen is one of ours and this op is taking place in Birmingham’s jurisdiction. Anything the feds do is only because we allow it. Surely we can count on him, if no one else, for whatever information he can give.” It was one thing for cops within a department to get a little territorial with each other, but the locals usually banded together when it came to the feds horning in.
Harper made a skeptical face. “He’s been very forthcoming and helpful about his task force in general. But when it gets to specifics about Lopez’s location and any comings and goings, he gives the impression of not being in the know or the chain of command.”
“And you don’t buy that?”
“No, ma’am. What I really think is that Allen has moving up the career ladder on his mind. If he can make the right impression, one of those three-letter federal agencies will welcome him on board. The pay is better and so are the benefits.”
Harper was correct. Federal pay grades were typically better than those in local law enforcement. God knew the federal insurance was better, for now anyway. And there was a certain prestige that went along with being a federal agent. But sometimes mo
ney and position weren’t everything… sometimes a person had to step down or back to find her future.
“Can’t blame a man for wanting to boost his career, but it won’t be because he stepped over DeShawn Simmons’s body.” Jess walked over to her desk and sifted through the statements they had gathered in the case. “Since we still have no last name for this Nina, did you find anything in any of the missing persons databases?”
“Two hundred twelve with the first name Nina, forty who are Hispanic and in the right age group. But none that look like the drawing we have. In spite of that, I showed the photos to Mr. and Mrs. Simmons but didn’t get a hit. This Nina they saw with their grandson wasn’t a match to anyone in the database.”
Jess glanced at her watch. She hadn’t heard from Lori this morning. Not that she had a specific time for checking in. She was on leave after all. Certainly the detective was more than capable of taking care of herself in spite of recent circumstances. But any level of investigating, even simple remote surveillance, could turn dangerous.
“No credible tips on the hotline?”
The media blitz on DeShawn Simmons was ongoing. This would be the third day, but unless there was a better response this morning, they had nothing to speak of yet. Even with a sizable reward for information. Just went to show that few wanted to risk crossing the MS-13.
“Four sightings. I checked out two and Lieutenant Prescott checked out the other two. Dead ends.”
Jess peered at the artist’s rendering of the female on the case board. “If we can just find this Nina, she might be able to give us what we need to find DeShawn alive or to nail his killer.”
“I got the impression that if we find this Nina, we’re going to be in for a battle with Allen and his fed friends over who gets control of the leverage.”
“That’s an easy problem to solve. If we find her first, they can have her as soon as we get what we want and not one minute sooner.” The feds were the ones who could offer Nina long-term protection. That was where she should end up. Jess had hoped they would agree to putting that word on the street but so far they hadn’t responded to her request.
“If she’s still alive,” Harper qualified.
“Big fat if,” Jess agreed.
The clang of her cell had her reaching for where she’d left it on her desk. She checked the screen. Andrea? Again?
“Jess Harris.”
“Jess, this is Andrea. I know you’re probably busy but I think there’s something about what happened to Ms. Darcy you need to know.”
“Andrea, didn’t you watch the news last night?” Surely Annette had mentioned the latest turn of events since they were close with the Chandler family. “Darcy’s husband confessed.”
“I know…” Other voices vibrated in the background. “Can you come to the studio? Now? Please?”
She should say no. This was Chief Black’s case and he had just closed it with a full confession. Not to mention he’d flat-out told her that her tactics were unappreciated. He’d even suggested Burnett would come to regret his decision about bringing her on board. She should definitely decline.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Andrea thanked her and at least two other high-pitched little voices echoed the same.
On some level, Jess couldn’t resist interaction with Andrea merely because she was Annette’s daughter and because Annette still interacted with Dan. She could admit that. She was only human, even if some would disagree. But the truth was she genuinely liked Andrea. And Jess was one hundred percent certain about the Chandler case. The Russian was lying. Worse, he was hiding something and Jess wanted to know what that something was.
“We have a problem we didn’t already know about?” Harper asked.
They definitely had several. “That was Andrea Denton. She and some of the Alabama Belles need to talk to me.”
“You know—”
“Chief Black won’t like it. I do know that, Sergeant.” Good grief. Harper was getting as bad as Burnett. “If they have anything relevant to pass along, I’ll get word to Black. I’m only doing this because Andrea asked.”
“I get it now.” Harper gave a nod. “Those little girls like you. They don’t want to talk to anyone else.”
Jess snorted. “Must be my nurturing nature.”
Harper checked his cell. “Just got another five possibly credible hits from the hotline.”
“Damn.” She grabbed her bag. “I’m going with you. The girls will just have to wait.”
“Prescott has phone duty at the task force headquarters. She can go with me. You take care of those little ballerinas.” He winked, then slipped on his Ray-Bans. “Could be good practice.”
“Funny.”
On the way to the parking garage for her Audi, Jess called Lori and asked the detective to meet her at the Chandler mansion. Lori reported that Dresher and her daughter were at the orthodontist’s office, so the timing was good for her.
The idea that Katrina wasn’t at the studio rehearsing with the other girls seemed odd to Jess. But then, what did she know about kids and their maintenance?
• • •
Cotton Avenue, noon
The massive, ornate entry gates stood wide open as Jess turned onto the long drive. The only vehicles parked in front of the Chandler home were Andrea’s BMW and a vintage Rolls-Royce.
Had to be the grandmother. Birmingham’s grande dame of the arts, Dorothy Chandler.
As she climbed out of her Audi, Jess surveyed the drive and the cobblestoned parking circle for Katherine Burnett’s posh Mercedes. There was no sign of her or her car, thank God. Jess climbed the steps and raised her fist to knock on the opulently carved front door. It opened before she could make contact and an older version of Darcy Chandler appeared before Jess. If she’d ever met anyone with better posture, the recollection escaped her. Tall, slender, and undeniably beautiful, Dorothy Chandler wore her hair in the same meticulous French twist she’d worn when she was an internationally celebrated ballerina. The tailored sheath and matching high heels hadn’t come from any store at which Jess had ever had the pleasure of shopping. Though the dress was unquestionably elegant, the soft gray color was just somber enough to announce the woman’s state of mourning.
“Chief Harris.”
“Ms. Chandler.”
“Please come in.” The graceful lady stepped back and opened the towering door wider in invitation.
Lori’s sassy red Mustang roared up the drive and parked next to Jess’s ancient Audi. “That’s my colleague, Detective Wells.”
Chandler nodded. “Show her in. We’ll be waiting in the garden.”
Dorothy Chandler turned and walked away, her steps precisely measured and as smooth as if she floated on air.
Lori bounded up the steps, any indication of the beatings she’d taken last week no longer visible in her movements.
“What’ve we got?”
Jess shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s a command performance.”
Lori’s expression lit with anticipation. “Interesting.”
“Maybe.”
Inside, Jess led the way through the center entry hall. She couldn’t help glancing at the place where Darcy Chandler had landed on the cold marble floor.
The French doors at the back of the grand home that led onto the terrace were open. Two of the dancers waited with Andrea and the elder Chandler in the butterfly garden. The colors and scents and fairylike figurines created a whimsical setting that lured butterflies and children like bees to honey.
“Wow,” Lori murmured.
Jess’s lips quirked. “Yeah. This is how the one percenters live.”
When they reached the waiting group, Andrea jumped up and hugged Jess. “Thank you for coming.”
She ushered Jess to the bench closest to Chandler. Lori joined her there.
The two girls Jess had heard in the background on the phone sat with Andrea on another limestone bench while Chandler sat, back ramrod straight, on the third.
When no one else kicked off the conversation, Jess said, “You are aware this case is closed.”
“I am aware that your department believes so, yes.” Eighty years old or not, the woman spoke with supreme confidence.
“And you’re also aware that Deputy Chief Harold Black is in charge of this case.”
“I am. But it’s you I wish to speak with.”
Jess sent Lori a you-are-my-witness glance before continuing. “Whatever the story is, ladies, please start at the beginning.”
“Andrea, take Sylvia and Lauren into the house for refreshments.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Andrea ushered the girls across the terrace and into the house. When the French doors were closed, Chandler began her story. “In January of last year Corrine Dresher and her daughter Katrina moved to Birmingham from Seattle, or so she claims.”
Jess waited for her to continue.
“Since she isn’t employed and has no husband, I can only assume she has a trust or some source of income. Even before she was settled in a permanent home, she enrolled her daughter in my Darcy’s dance studio. Generally we have a process, including tryouts and an interview, but since Katrina had been accepted into Brighton Academy she was given priority status.”
Brighton was another Birmingham institution. Sending a kid there was like paying college tuition the dozen or so years before college. It also guaranteed acceptance to most any college or university in the country. Still, the Alabama Belles Dance Studio was a private business. No one made Darcy Chandler enroll the child. “But your granddaughter accepted Katrina’s enrollment at the studio.”
Dorothy conceded with a nod. “She had no idea the mistake she was making.”
Jess needed more than blunt, emotional statements. “I know this is difficult, but I need you to explain what you mean by that. What aspect of enrolling the child was a mistake?”
“Corrine became one of the pushiest mothers. She complained about everything. Her daughter’s talent was far from this studio’s usual standard, but Katrina was immediately moved into the position of competition team alternate. The entire chain of events was a fiasco.”