Scenario handed the object of his present lust the document. “The state enters People’s Exhibit A into the record, the note Yancee Taylor wrote to himself.” She turned back to the twit. “Detective Eubanks, what do the initials C.F. stand for?”
Chance elbowed Stormie.
“Objection, Your Honor.” Stormie shot to his feet, biting back the pain. “Speculation. Without Yancee Taylor, no one can definitively know what C.F. stands for. It could stand for that new gentlemens club, Chocolate Factory, for all we know.”
“Sustained.”
“No problem, Your Honor. I’ll rephrase,” Scenario said. “What do the initials mean to you, Detective Eubanks?”
“Until Mr. Fox showed up at my house with the intentions of harming Ms. Smith, my partner and I thought the initials stood for Cashmaire Fox.”
“Really? How so?”
ONE HUNDRED FOUR
Scenario Davenport felt the first bead of perspiration drip from her armpit. She knew this line of questioning was the first step in freeing her husband and burying Cashmaire Fox forever.
“It was confusing at first, because the wood chips is a playground that Chance, Yancee, and Leon used to frequent together as children. Ms. Gail Taylor, Yancee’s mother, provided us with that information during the investigation. That connected the deaths of Yancee and Leon together and then to Chance, and then connected them all to their college roommate Anderson Smith. But as Scratch testified, Yancee was last seen with a woman. In the call log of Yancee’s cell phone, there were several calls placed between Yancee and a number registered to Cashmaire Fox. One call was shared between them twenty minutes prior to when Yancee was last seen alive.”
Scenario paced in front of the jurors while Hakeem talked.
“At seven thirty-six of the same morning Yancee didn’t come home from work, a red Infiniti blew through the Ohio turnpike, entering the state with an expired E-Z Pass. The E-Z Pass cameras photographed the license plate. The car is registered to Cashmaire Fox. As Scratch testified, he saw the same make and model car being driven away from the wood chips later that day with a woman fitting Mrs. Fox’s description.”
“So you concluded that Yancee and Cashmaire drove away together in her car, and Yancee’s car was towed by the city of Euclid because he left it illegally parked for an extended period of time, obviously because he had been murdered.”
Hakeem nodded. “Yes, but that was just the beginning of our theory.”
“Please explain, Detective.” Scenario perched herself on the state’s table and folded her arms. She couldn’t wait until this was over so she and Chance could settle into their new home in their new world and adopt a family.
“Once we linked one body to Mr. Fox,” Detective Eubanks said, “we linked them all to an intimate group of friends.”
“Please share the names of that group with the court, Detective.”
“Yancee Taylor, Anderson Smith, Leon Page, Jazz Smith, Cashmaire Fox, and Chancellor Fox. Two were dead when we discovered this web of people. Leon Page was murdered a few hours afterward. Our efforts or the efforts of the authorities in Denver couldn’t locate Mr. or Mrs. Fox, but we had proof she was in Cleveland.”
“Because of the E-Z Pass and where the cell towers put her when the calls were made between her cell phone and Yancee’s.”
“Yes, and as I stated earlier, the description of the woman Yancee was last seen with matches Mrs. Fox.”
“But Mr. Fox is on trial here, not his wife.”
“That’s correct. Once we narrowed the deaths to one group of people, we knew that Jazz Smith was potentially in danger of the same fate, and we assumed that Mr. Fox was already dead and his body just hadn’t been discovered.”
She knew the jury and press would love to hear the answer to her next question. “What switched your focus to Mr. Fox?”
“Mrs. Fox didn’t show up trying to kill Ms. Smith; Mr. Fox did.”
“Why, what motive did he have to kill off his friends?”
“He doesn’t need one,” Hakeem said with energy. “Look at him, he’s crazy. He carves messages in people’s bodies, for God’s sake.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Stormie said. “I move to have that inflammatory statement stricken from the record.”
“Sustained.” The judge instructed the jury to disregard the comment. Then he said, “Watch it, Detective Eubanks.”
“You sustained a permanent injury when Mr. Fox attacked you in your home in his pursuit of Ms. Smith.”
“Objection,” Stormie said. “My client was not the aggressor.”
“I’ll hear it,” the judge said. “Overruled.”
“Yes,” Hakeem said, staring blankly at her, probably remembering the intense pain each time he felt his leg break under the force of the door. “My leg was broken in six places. My femur and tibia bones are held together by surgical screws and I have ligament damage. When I received these injuries, I also realized our theory was the exact opposite. That it was Cashmaire Fox who was missing.”
“Where is Mrs. Fox today, Detective Eubanks?”
Hakeem shrugged. “We’re clueless. Mr. Fox won’t tell us.”
“Thank you, Detective Eubanks.” Scenario walked away from the witness box and avoided Chance’s gaze. “Your witness, Mr. Bishop.”
ONE HUNDRED FIVE
“Detective Eubanks, are you familiar with my client Chancellor Fox?” Stormie paced in front of the witness box with his hands in his pockets.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“My investigation into the murder of Yancee Taylor led me and my partner to him.” Hakeem found Africa Taylor in the audience and felt bad that she had to go through all this.
“Do you see Mr. Fox in the courtroom today?”
“Yes.”
“Would you please point to him for us?”
He pointed. “That’s him right there.”
“What color is Mr. Fox, Detective Eubanks?”
“What?”
“What race is my client?”
“He’s Caucasian.”
“No, shithead,” Chance interrupted. “I’m trailer park, white trash. Get it right.” He blew Bridgette a kiss on the sly while some people in the audience snickered. Others laughed outright.
Judge Adrine banged his gavel. “Mr. Fox, I will not tolerate outburst from you, and you will not use sophomoric language in my courtroom. Do either of the two again and you’ll find yourself in contempt.” He looked at Stormie. “Continue, Counselor.”
Stormie leaned on the witness box, stealing the attention back. “Let’s talk about the murders, Detective. More specifically, the crime scenes.”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“At the crime scenes of Yancee Taylor and Anderson Smith, was there any biological evidence found?”
“Yes.”
“What specifically do you mean by yes, Detective?”
“At the Taylor scene our crime scene technicians discovered a hair sample in the crease of his neck. On Smith, we found an eyelash.”
“What is normally done with the evidence?”
“It’s sent to the lab for DNA testing, as was done in these cases.”
“Did the results yield DNA profiles?”
Hakeem nodded.
“Is that a yes, Detective?”
“Yes.”
“Does either of the profiles match the DNA of my client?”
“No.”
“Does each of the DNA profiles collected from the crime scenes match each other?”
“Yes, the DNA collected from the crime scenes match the same person.”
“And neither DNA sample matches any of the victims, correct?”
“That is correct.”
“Well, answer this for us, Detective. Can we reasonably conclude that the killer is the person who left their DNA at these crime scenes?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Speculation.” Scenario shot Stormie a warning look.
“Sust
ained.”
“Detective Eubanks, whose DNA was found at these crime scenes?”
Hakeem hated to admit it. “We don’t know.”
“What race and gender does this mysterious DNA profile match?”
“An African American male.”
ONE HUNDRED SIX
A fucking bug? For crying out loud, Chance thought. Three weeks into Chance’s stage play and the prosecution rested with Forensic Pathologist Dr. Aura Chavez establishing that the Hieroglyphic Hacker had ties to the Denver area because of a bug. Chance hadn’t calculated that mistake. Now he knew better. And he knew the shit was about to get explosive now that Stormie had taken center stage. Port Elizabeth, here I fucking come, Chance thought.
“The defense calls Cornell Livingood to the stand,” Stormie said, sending Scenario into a state of confusion, causing her to shuffle through paperwork.
Chance was thoroughly amused.
“Objection,” Scenario said as the bailiff led a blind man through the gate and helped him into the witness box. “This witness is not on the state’s list.”
Judge Ronald Adrine looked down on Stormie from his bench. Translation: Explain yourself, Mister.
“Your Honor,” Stormie said, “Mr. Livingood just materialized.”
Scenario said, “If Counselor Bishop wants to bullshit this Honorable Court, Your Honor, allow him to bullshit us in a sidebar.”
The judge pointed an authoritative finger at Scenario. “Watch your mouth, Counselor. You’re not beyond contempt of this court.” He banged his gavel. “Sidebar.”
Stormie and Scenario approached the bench. What a bummer, Chance thought. He really wished he was privy to their private talk.
• • •
Earlier that morning Scenario was elated the trial was winding down. She’d thrown so many loopholes in the case that no jury in the world would convict Chance. And because of that she couldn’t wait until they were back together. She’d packed and shipped her belongings to Port Elizabeth and was now living out of a hotel like Chance had instructed her to do. She was ready. She dressed in an accentuating skirt and blouse, sprayed herself with her tailor-made perfume, Thin Air—per Chance’s special request—and left the hotel to get her husband off. But now she was so pissed, she was shaking. What in the hell is Chance doing?
“Your Honor,” Scenario said full of irritation, “the prosecution has a right to know who’s testifying prior to them taking the stand. I also have the right to know the nature of their testimony in order to adequately prepare the appropriate defense.”
“She is absolutely correct, Your Honor. But my investigator produced Mr. Livingood only ten minutes ago.”
“You’re stonewalling.” Scenario’s anger dissolved to tolerance. “If you weren’t, this pop-up witness would not be the first to take the stand so the prosecution can have some time to prepare for his testimony. Point blank.”
The judge said, “Is there a specific reason, Counselor Bishop, that Mr. Livingood is on the stand right now and not one of your other ten witnesses the prosecution has knowledge of?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Livingood’s testimony can prove my client is an innocent man and significantly reduce the number of witnesses I’ll have to put on the stand to prove the same point. Brevity, Your Honor.”
As soon as they were alone, Scenario promised herself to strangle Chance for this.
“Proceed with your witness, Counselor.”
Scenario rolled her eyes and turned her back on them in such a way that she hoped the judge and Stormie understood that she was telling both of them to kiss her light, bright, damn near white ass. She went to the state’s table and prepared to take notes.
ONE HUNDRED SEVEN
Holding one of the twins in her lap made Aspen want to hold her own child all the more. Today she was clad in Vera Wang and her apple cap sat above a no-maintenance ponytail. On her left sat Africa Taylor, Gail Taylor, and the other twin. She couldn’t tell the twins apart. To her right was Hakeem. He had a look etched in his face that matched her thoughts: the prosecution is down by a landslide in the fourth quarter, and they’ll need all three-pointers from here to come back and win.
In the row behind them was the Smith family, a beautiful group of women from Ocean City, Maryland. Aspen wondered why Jazz hadn’t returned to the proceedings after she left the stand weeks ago. And then there were Leon’s parents and his illegitimate seven-year-old son, Leon Jr. Three different families who found the strength to come together and relive the details of their loved one’s tragic death. Aspen closed her eyes and prayed to God to bless her with the man she was in love with and a child so she could start a family to surround herself with.
She gave the twin a loving squeeze, noting that Chance had looked at the clock for the sixth time, and then she leaned into Hakeem and whispered, “What’s the blind guy’s story?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But it looks like we’re about to find out.”
Stormie said, “Mr. Livingood, in the streets you have a reputation of earning a living in a unique way. Would you state for the record how that is.”
“Sure, sure. My grandpappy gave me an apartment building, sixteen units, when he went on to meets his Maker. Good man, my grandpappy. Anyhows, I rents my units out by the week.”
“Can anyone rent an apartment from you, Mr. Livingood?”
“No siree. Only peoples who needs special help.”
“Explain to us what you mean by special help.”
“Womens who gets knocked upside theys head by no-good abusive men. I’m originally from Lodi, Mississippi, and wes don’t play that in them parts. Anyhows, and peoples who’s trying to hides theys childrens from nasty situations. I helps with that sorta thing.”
“But you have an unusual renting procedure.”
“Ifens that what you wanna call it. To me it’s just my method causing I’m blind and all.”
“Please state for the record what your method is, Mr. Livingood.”
“I rely on two things only,” Mr. Livingood said, touching his broad nose. “My nose and real names. And I knows ifen someone is fibbing about their name. Don’t fool with liars under no circumstances. I never—ever—forget a smell or a name, sir. Sincing I’m blind and all, born this way, I can’t keep books. Too much hassle. So, anyhows, I record names and smells in my mind. Tenants come through the door and I knows who theys is without either of us opening our mouths. My nose tells me.”
“Where are your apartments located?”
“On Conventry. Sixteen forty-two Conventry.”
“Mr. Livingood, have you heard about the Hieroglyphic Hacker?”
“Yup, some half-deck running ’rounds this fine city killin’ and cuttin’ up decent folks.”
“Have the police questioned you in any way about any of your occupants in connection with the Hieroglyphic Hacker?”
Aspen started to feel uneasy. She felt Hakeem stiffen with tension.
“No, sir,” Mr. Livingood said. “Never knew theys had cause to.”
“Do you remember April sixteenth of this year?”
“Freshen my memory some. Needs a jump-start sometimes. Getting up in age.”
“You rented Apartment 012.”
“Yup, rented it to a lady running froms her husband. She was plain scared, I tell you.”
“Does the lady you speak of still rent the apartment now?”
“Yup, paid up for twelve more weeks. Good business. Quiet. No problems. Parks her car in the lot next to mine.”
“What kind of car is it, Mr. Livingood?”
“Course I ain’t never seen it, but my help tells me it’s one of them Infinitis. A red one.”
Aspen’s stomach flipped. Hakeem was all but ready to bolt from his seat.
“The woman you rented Apartment 012 to, Mr. Livingood. What’s her name?”
“Cashmaire Fox.”
Aspen was out her seat, headed for the door, on the phone getting a search warrant. Chance checked the cl
ock again.
Stormie smiled a clean smile at Scenario. “Your witness.”
ONE HUNDRED EIGHT
Ninety-seven thousand words later, Jazz typed the words: The End. “So what did you think of it?” she said to Jaden as she emailed a PDF copy to her agent.
“It was tough.”
“Tough, huh?” A brow raised over the rim of her sunglasses.
“Yeah, it was hard. Onica was the truth.” He spun the basketball on a finger.
“Thanks. I kind of like her too.”
“When it came to her family,” Jaden said, “there was nothing she wouldn’t do to protect them.”
“Family means everything. But she took a stand to fight for what she believes in without crossing moral lines.”
“I feel that, but she still was hard.”
“I feel that too.”
“I’m going outside to practice my jumpshot before it gets dark.”
“I’ll watch you from the window. You know I’m your number one fan, right?”
He nodded with a Kool-Aid grin. “As I am yours. Glad you’re writing again.”
“Me too. It feels good.” Jazz dialed her agent as Jaden left the room.
“What’s cracking?” Eric said on the third ring. Keyshia Cole and Monica’s “Trust” played too loud in the background.
“Hi,” Jazz said as the music settled to a decent level. “What are you doing?”
“Javenna and I are on our way to the airport. I’m taking her to Costa Rica to horseback ride in the rain forest and make love under the natural hot spring. Then we’re shooting over to Hollywood to shop on Rodeo Drive for the weekend before flying into Columbus for the Oktoberfest.”
“That’s special.”
“Got a special woman in my corner. What’s up with you?”
Wrong Chance Page 25