by Debra Webb
“Why would Darcy make a decision like that?”
“It wasn’t her decision. It was his. He allowed that horrid child and her evil mother to become an integral part of the team, as if they had always been here. The other girls had worked years to rise to the level they have achieved. Darcy was furious.”
“Do you believe Alexander was having an affair with Corrine?”
The elder Chandler reflected on that question for a time. “Darcy insinuated there was something between the two, but whether Alexander was screwing the Dresher woman or not wasn’t as relevant as it might have once been.” She dabbed at her eyes.
“Meaning?” Jess prodded.
“Darcy was embroiled in an affair of her own.”
“Was this affair with Jarrod Pratt?” Jess had a feeling that was why the mayor wanted the case closed quickly.
Dorothy Chandler looked away. Her hand shook as she covered her mouth for a moment to compose herself.
“Ms. Chandler, I’m sorry to have to ask these questions, but if you believe your granddaughter was murdered by someone besides Alexander, we have to know the answers to the hard questions.”
She squared her shoulders and met Jess’s gaze. “Not with Jarrod. With his wife, Cynthia.”
Well, there was a twist Jess hadn’t expected. Talk about a scandal. No wonder it was being kept on the down low. This was Alabama where being black, Hispanic, or queer was still only marginally acceptable and rarely discussed in public. “Were either of the husbands aware of this affair?”
Dorothy nodded. “There was quite a heated yet discreet battle taking place. Cynthia had agreed to wait until after the election to seek a divorce. Darcy was to get hers now.” The matron of the Chandler family frowned. “But something changed two weeks ago, and Darcy decided she didn’t want Alexander to have any part in the studio anymore. She refused to discuss it with anyone. Not even me. But it seemed to have something to do with that unpleasant child, Katrina, and her mother.”
“I understand that you have reservations and the facts you’ve related to me are compelling, but what reason would Alexander have for confessing to a murder he didn’t commit?” Jess wholeheartedly agreed that the Russian was likely lying. They needed to know why and to be able to prove it.
“He’s covering for the real killer and I believe that person is Corrine Dresher,” Chandler insisted. “Whatever power Corrine holds over him, it’s enough to have him step forward to ensure the truth is never found. Alexander doesn’t have the guts to commit murder. He’s protecting someone—my granddaughter’s killer.”
“You haven’t mentioned any of this previously. Why are you sharing this information now?” If she genuinely believed Dresher was involved in her granddaughter’s death, why keep it to herself?
“Andrea showed me the video clip. While we were watching, Lauren and Sylvia came into the parlor. They were supposed to be rehearsing with the others. Andrea and I had let the time get away and everyone else was gone except those two. Sylvia was the first to speak up. She reminded Lauren about the way Katrina bullied Michelle.”
“Michelle is?” Jess inquired.
“The child we lost just before Christmas last year.”
Oh yes. Andrea had told her one of the dancers had died in an accident. Katrina had taken her place on the competition team. “Was there some question about Michelle’s accident?” Andrea hadn’t mentioned anything but then they had gotten interrupted by Jess’s call from Burnett after the so-called BPD leak hit the news.
“She fell in front of a car on the main street that crosses in front of the school. It was a horrible tragedy. She lived for three days but she never regained consciousness.”
Jess’s instincts sat up and took notice. “But it was an accident, right?”
“That’s what everyone said. Katrina and her mother were right beside her when it happened. They were supposed to ride to rehearsal together. The mothers rely on each other when there’s an appointment or an illness. If you’re not familiar with how things work at a studio, especially an intimate one like ours, the dancers and their mothers become like a family. That day Corrine was to pick up both Katrina and Michelle. But for some reason she’d forgotten her pickup line pass so she’d parked a block away from the school. It’s quite an annoying rule, but like all rules it has its purpose. Corrine met the girls at the school’s main entrance gate and the three walked along that busy street to her car. After the accident, they claimed Michelle had dropped her cell phone and stumbled into the street as she tried to retrieve it.”
“You have some reason to believe it wasn’t an accident?” Once again, they needed more than speculation. Although Jess did find it quite a coincidence that yet another person with extraordinary balance stumbled and fell. And Katrina and her mother were the only ones around at the time.
Dorothy met Jess’s expectant gaze with fear in hers. “Sylvia and Lauren insist Katrina bullied Michelle unmercifully. She would tell Michelle that if she broke her leg she wouldn’t be able to dance and Katrina would take her place. Every day it was something. Very cruel. It just seems strange to me that Corrine forgot her pass and decided not to bother going back home for it that particular day. Michelle died as a result of that decision. And now my Darcy is dead.”
“But no one who witnessed the incident that took Michelle’s life could say otherwise?”
Dorothy shook her head. “There were two eyewitnesses who came forward but none could say that Corrine’s and Katrina’s stories were false. It just happened too fast. Still, a few weeks later at a spend-the-night party Katrina was angry because the others were taunting her about her poor performance in rehearsal. They said something like they wished they had Michelle back. Katrina told them to shut up or they would be sorry just like Michelle.” Dorothy pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment. “She warned them that her mother would make them sorry.”
Dorothy Chandler was absolutely convinced that the Russian did not have the courage to kill Darcy. She was equally convinced that somehow Corrine Dresher was responsible not only for her death but also for Michelle’s. Yesterday she had hired a private investigator to see what he could find on Dresher. Jess couldn’t say she wouldn’t have done the same thing. Unfortunately, without evidence or an immensely compelling motive, the hands of the police were tied in both cases.
While Lori questioned the two girls, Jess checked up on Andrea. Lori would also look into the story about Michelle Butler once they were finished here. There would be a case file on the Butler accident at the BPD. Perhaps the family would be willing to talk.
“You hanging in there, Andrea?” She certainly seemed to be in the thick of this painful situation.
“I’ll be glad when this is over.” She hugged her arms around her middle. “I just want justice for Ms. Darcy and I want my mom to stop being sad.”
Burnett had said that Annette and Darcy Chandler had been friends. But Jess hadn’t gotten the impression that they were that close or that she was taking it quite so hard as Andrea seemed to think.
“We’ll get this case settled and then you and your mom can move on.”
“I don’t think that’ll fix things for my mom. She hangs on me whenever I’m home. Says she hates being alone. I can’t even leave the house without her calling a hundred times like some stalker.” Andrea released a big, burdened breath. “When she’s not driving me crazy, she’s calling Dan.”
“If it’s not the case, then what’s going on with your mom?”
“It’s my dad.” Andrea shook her head. “He’s an asshole. He’s leaving again and Mom just can’t deal with it.”
The memory of smelling Annette’s perfume on Burnett’s jacket filled Jess’s senses.
Well, now she knew.
Her cell clanged and Jess ditched her pity party and dug the phone from her bag. “Harris.”
“I’m on my way to Pelham.” Harper rattled off an address on Lee Street, just off 52. “We got four dead MS-13 members and one dead African
American male.”
An ache pierced Jess’s chest. “Is it DeShawn Simmons?”
“No ID on any of the victims, but that’s what the first officers on the scene believe.”
“I’m on my way, Sergeant.”
“We don’t have a lot of time, ma’am. Officer Cook has just arrived on the scene. He called me instead of GTF. He can’t wait much longer before notifying Captain Allen.”
“I’m leaving now, Sergeant.”
Jess assured Dorothy Chandler she would do what she could to determine if there was any merit to her suspicions. Lori stayed behind to finish up.
Jess had so hoped that DeShawn Simmons would be found alive.
Disgust and anger welled in her chest. The bastard responsible for this wasn’t going to get away with murdering an innocent kid.
Not on her watch.
• • •
Lee Street, Pelham, 1:42 p.m.
The house was one of a few residential properties in a mostly light industrial area. A holdover from the days when this had been a neighborhood rather than an eclectic mix of low-rent businesses operating on shoestring budgets. Six of BPD’s finest were on the scene. Crime Scene techs were en route as were two MEs from the coroner’s office. Folks from the Donut Joe’s down the street had gathered in the parking lot to watch the show. Employees from a nearby warehouse did the same. When a gang hit went down, silencers were rarely used. Discretion was not the goal. Sending messages in the loudest and clearest manner was the primary objective.
Two news vans had passed Jess as she’d exited Pelham Parkway and turned onto Highway 52. Thankfully, Lee Street had been blocked off from 52 to Old Tuscaloosa Road. For the next few hours only official vehicles would be allowed to pass. The longer this tragic event could be kept off the airwaves the better.
Jess stepped gingerly through the front room of the house that was posted as being for lease and supposedly vacant. From the strewn clothing and mattress on the floor, that was undeniably inaccurate. Empty food containers and other household garbage lay amid the human carnage.
The tattoos on four of the victims identified them as members of MS-13. Whatever tattoos a member chose, the number 13 or MS-13 was proudly displayed as a part of the design. Automatic weapons had left line after line of holes in the walls. Windows were shattered, as was the front door.
It was a bloody mess.
Jess zigzagged her way through the path of bullet-riddled and decapitated bodies to the one that really mattered to her. She crouched down next to the young black man on the floor.
“Oh God.”
Jerome Frazier. He’d been shot twice in the chest but spared the beheading. His young face was unmarred, making identification a simple matter.
Jess turned away long enough to compose herself. Putting him under surveillance had been the right move. Had that decision cost him his life? Or was being DeShawn Simmons’s friend the deciding factor? She hoped he hadn’t attempted to find DeShawn on his own. Whatever the case, the young man was dead and Jess was no closer than before to knowing the whereabouts of DeShawn or the identity of Nina.
Fury roared inside her. There had to be a better way to stop this kind of evil. All the damned gang task forces created in city after city seemed to be getting nowhere.
Well, this was Birmingham, her hometown, and she was back. One way or another she was going to make a difference here.
Jess blinked back the emotions stinging her eyes and looked across the room where Harper waited. They were done here. There were two things she could do for Jerome Frazier now. Notify his next of kin and find the bastard responsible for murdering him.
Jess didn’t spend a lot of time praying. Seemed a waste of time. No matter. She sent a quick prayer heavenward for Jerome and his family. He hadn’t deserved to die this way. Pushing to her feet, she said to the closest officer, “When the MEs get here, you see that this young man is taken care of first.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
This was the kind of message killers like Lopez liked to leave behind. Jerome’s murder was a nuisance kill. He was dead because he annoyed the wrong person or got in the way. The others were decapitated because they were traitors. That the traitors had been killed along with Jerome meant something. Jess just needed to solve the hidden message.
The most probable scenario was that Jerome had thought he’d discovered a contact who could lead him to his friend. And Jess hadn’t had anyone in place to give him backup. That was on her.
When she reached Harper, he said, “Officer Cook is on a guilt trip. I explained that he was following orders, but he’s not taking it very well.”
“I’ll talk to him, but first I need to make a call to a source who might be able to help us.”
“Someone local?” Chet looked surprised.
Jess shook her head. “Someone I know in the bureau. He works with the Anti-Gang Initiatives and Partnerships on the West Coast. If Lopez’s father is a who’s who out there, my contact will know about him and his son.”
“Allen won’t be happy that you went around him.”
“Good,” Jess allowed, “because right now I am very unhappy.”
She stamped outside, away from Officer Cook, who waited near his vehicle and looked ready to puke.
On second thought, she turned around. Might as well put him out of his misery first. Five more minutes before making the call wouldn’t hurt.
“Officer Cook.”
He looked up as Jess approached. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You are in no way responsible for what happened here.” She pointed to the house. “This is on me. I gave the order for surveillance on this kid and I gave the order for it to end. This is not your responsibility; it’s mine. Are we clear?”
He nodded but didn’t meet her gaze.
“The best thing we can do right now is to focus on finding DeShawn Simmons alive, and if we’re lucky we’ll nail the people responsible for this travesty in the process. But we can’t do that if we get stuck on the things we can’t control. Now let’s get on with doing what we have to do.”
He managed a jerky nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I guess you’d better put in a call to Captain Allen.”
Jess had a call of her own to make. She selected the name from her contact list and did the thing she’d sworn she would never again do.
Her ex-husband answered on the second ring.
Her heart stumbled and she moistened her lips. “Wesley, I need your help.”
15
Birmingham Police Department, 4:28 p.m.
Dan stared at the file open on his desk. He’d read and then reread the coroner’s report on Darcy Chandler’s death. He’d even called Leeds and gone over the facts one by one. Page by page he had reviewed the witness interviews and the crime scene reports.
There was no indication whatsoever of a struggle. No marks on the victim’s arms or hands, the most likely places when a struggle occurs. No scratching or bruising on her face. Nothing under her fingernails. Every single injury was related to the impact from her fall.
Except that small bruise on her lower left leg. Likewise, there had been no visible marks on the husband’s face, hands, or arms at his initial interview only hours after Chandler’s death.
If Mayakovsky had killed his wife, there was no evidence to support his claim. And the question of motive still remained unanswered. No financial motive, no evidence of squabbling over her affair, although his had clearly caused a rift between the couple. Why not just go through with the divorce?
Where was the motive for murder?
Motive is everything. Jess had hammered that into Dan’s head so many times the past few weeks that he had to look long and hard at that now.
Any act of violence against another human is compelled by motive. That was Jess’s motto, pure and simple.
If his motive wasn’t related to money or jealousy, then Jess was right.
“He has to be covering for someone.” Dan shuffled the reports back
into a neat stack and closed the file Black had given him to review.
What if Darcy Chandler had decided to commit suicide and he was protecting her reputation… her memory?
But why would Chandler take her own life? Admittedly, the idea of the husband giving up everything to protect her honor was over the top.
Had Chandler opted to kill herself in hopes he would be accused as some sort of payback?
Where the hell was the motive in either scenario?
Dan stared at the phone on his desk and considered calling his mother and demanding to know her motives for going to Jess behind his back. If she had information about Chandler’s death she was keeping from him, he wanted to know that, too.
Had she really called Jess’s sister fat?
Maybe Jess was right. Maybe two-plus decades had changed nothing when it came to the way things were between the two of them. Whether or not she cared for Jess, his mother would never have set her up to look like the department leak. Obviously she felt strongly that Darcy’s death was no accident. But why hadn’t she said this to him?
That conversation with his mother was best carried out in person. Just the two of them without his father to run interference for the wife he had always allowed free rein.
His parents had recently celebrated their fiftieth anniversary. How had they managed to maintain their relationship for half a century? Dan sure as hell hadn’t figured out the secret.
He pushed back his chair and walked over to the window that overlooked the Linn Park fountain. The last several days he’d felt restless. Off-kilter somehow. The extreme highs and lows of the past two-plus weeks had crashed into a more normal routine and he couldn’t seem to find his footing. He and Jess weren’t ensnared in a life-and-death investigation as a team. She was investigating her case and he was here, doing the job he’d worked so hard to attain.
He missed the fieldwork. When he and Roy Griggs had gone into that farmhouse and found Andrea… Dan couldn’t find the proper words to adequately articulate that feeling. A week later having Jess come to his rescue—and save his life—in that warehouse had changed something deep inside him.