C’mon, girlfriend, keep it coming!
“That wasn’t my question, Mrs. Carlyle. I asked when your family last visited Holman United Methodist Church.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Have you been since May tenth, the day you learned about the picture of your daughter?”
“No, we haven’t and I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to imply. My daughter is suffering and we’re doing everything we can to help her.”
I stand there long enough to check out the frowns in the jury box. A couple of women even shake their heads. I’ve done my job.
“I have no further questions for this witness.”
As soon as I’m seated, Jenny leans across Graylin. “Great cross,” she says. “How’d you know they didn’t go to church?”
“Because that woman is too evil to step foot into a church.”
Sullivan asks for a short break before calling her next witness. Jenny takes me aside, out of Graylin’s earshot.
“Did you notice how rigid Kennedy looks sitting next to her father?”
I glance back at them. Actually, I had noticed.
“It’s strange,” Jenny continues. “He didn’t even have his arms around her.”
Now that Mrs. Carlyle has returned to her seat, she has Kennedy wrapped in a close embrace.
“I hate to beat a dead horse,” Jenny says, “but Simone’s testimony just reignited my suspicion that the Carlyles have some dirt to hide.”
This is a distraction I don’t need. “We’re in the middle of trial. Even if you’re right, it’s a little late to do something about it now.”
“I’m going to give Mei a call to see what she can dig up on Daddy Carlyle. We should’ve done it days ago.”
“Go for it,” I say with a shrug. “But I think it’s a complete waste of time.”
CHAPTER 71
Mei
Jenny’s call throws me. The possibility that Percy Carlyle may have something to do with that naked picture of his daughter is unsettling.
As I head up the walkway to the Carlyles’ home, I’m still not sure what my approach is going to be. Whatever it is, I don’t have a lot of time. The family will be returning home from court soon.
I ring the doorbell and an attractive, narrow-faced woman in her twenties answers the door.
“Hi, you must be Kennedy’s nanny.”
“I’m the family’s au pair.” She corrects me in a soft Ethiopian accent. “How can I help you?”
I didn’t know there was a difference and I hope I didn’t offend her.
“My name is Mei. Are the Carlyles home?”
“No, they’re in court today?”
“Oh, my goodness. Has the trial started already? I need to speak with them about the case. How’s Kennedy doing?”
“She’s getting better. But it hasn’t been easy. She’s a very emotional child.”
“I didn’t get your name,” I say.
“I’m Zala.”
“Zala, I guess I’ll have to come back later. I hope the Carlyles will be getting back together. That would be so good for their daughter.”
Zala’s eyes dart from left to right. “To tell the truth,” she says, lowering her voice although no one else is in earshot, “I think Kennedy would be better off if they went ahead and got a divorce. Those two argue all day long. Mrs. Carlyle isn’t a very nice woman. She’s so demanding and treats Mr. Carlyle very badly.”
“Is Kennedy close to her father?”
“Not really. He’s a strange man.”
“Strange how?”
“Very distant. When he was living here, he kept to himself. Stayed in his office most of the time. They didn’t even have family dinner together.”
“Wow, that’s not good for Kennedy.”
“No, it isn’t.” Zala shakes her head. “I have to finish dinner. They’ll be home soon.”
“Okay,” I say, taking a step back. “Did you ever notice anything inappropriate between Kennedy and her father?”
“Inappropriate? What do you mean?”
I try to choose my words carefully. “Did Mr. Carlyle ever behave in a sexually inappropriate way toward his daughter?”
When the question registers with Zala, her eyes expand and she goes from chatty to close-mouthed.
“Of course not! Mr. Carlyle is not that kind of man. I’m insulted that you would ask such a question. Mrs. Carlyle would never permit that kind of behavior toward her daughter. You must go now.” She slams the door in my face.
I walk back to my car a bit perplexed.
If anyone is in a position to detect inappropriate behavior by Percy Carlyle toward his daughter, it would be their live-in help. Still, I’m not throwing in the towel. I need to hit the internet to see what interesting tidbits I can dig up on him.
I’ve worked with Jenny long enough to know that when that woman has a hunch about something, nine times out of ten, she’s right.
CHAPTER 72
Angela
After the break, Sullivan calls Officer Fenton to the witness stand. His testimony on direct and cross is much the same as it was during the preliminary hearing. Sullivan doesn’t call Officer Chin, at all. Probably because she doesn’t want the jury to see him for the liar that he is.
To support the witness intimidation charge, Sullivan produces Little Slice’s cousin, who claims he made the call to Kennedy on Graylin’s behalf. On cross, I establish that he never spoke to Graylin and that the prosecution dropped the charges against him in exchange for his testimony.
I’m surprised when Kennedy and her father don’t return to the courtroom after the break, but minutes later, I understand why. Sullivan calls a computer specialist from the D.A.’s Office to verify that the naked picture of Kennedy was retrieved from Graylin’s phone. When the picture appears on the huge courtroom screen, her breasts and groin area are blacked out.
I hate the reaction of the jurors. More than a few shake their heads. Graylin stares down at his hands, never looking at the picture. Mrs. Carlyle, of course, is there to put on a weeping show.
Sullivan’s next witness is LaShay Baker, who’s accompanied by her grandmother. Mama Baker strolls into court wearing her Sunday best. She’s decked out in a red, hip-clinging knit skirt suit with a hat so enormous it resembles a sombrero.
When the bailiff calls LaShay to the stand, the whole courtroom can hear Mama Baker’s raspy voice even though she’s trying to whisper. “Don’t be afraid, baby. Just tell the truth. The truth shall set you free.”
LaShay states her name for the record and explains that she’s Kennedy’s best friend. Sullivan starts with an area that catches us totally by surprise.
“Did you ever see the defendant bullying Kennedy?”
“Um, yes.”
“How did he bully Kennedy?”
“He and Crayvon, that’s another boy in our class, they would make jokes about her.”
Graylin and Crayvon. This is news to us.
Graylin is incensed. “She’s lying on me, Ms. Angela!” he whispers.
I place my hand on Graylin’s forearm. He responds to my signal and calms down, but I know it won’t be for long.
“What kind of jokes?”
“They would say she’s skinny and that her weave looks like horse hair and that she’s stuck-up.”
“And how did Kennedy react when they did that?”
“She would cry because her feelings would be hurt.”
Right on cue, I can hear Simone Carlyle sniffling.
“Do you know if Graylin ever showed the picture of Kennedy to anyone?”
“Yes.”
Jenny and I lean forward at the same time.
“Who did he show it to?”
“I was walking behind Graylin as we were leaving first-period class.
I heard him tell Crayvon he had a picture he wanted to show him.”
“And then what happened?”
“Crayvon said he couldn’t look right then because he had to go to the administration office.”
Graylin told us he tried to stop Crayvon right before class but said he didn’t specifically mention the picture, just that he had something to show him. Why didn’t LaShay tell us this?
“And was there another time when Graylin tried to get Crayvon to look at the picture?”
“Yes. During first period when we were taking our algebra test. Graylin made a spitball and threw it at Crayvon. When he turned around, Graylin held up his phone and pointed at it. But Crayvon was trying to finish his test and ignored him.”
I look over at Graylin. Whenever someone says something that isn’t true, Graylin reacts with pure outrage. Right now, he’s quiet, which tells me that LaShay is speaking the truth.
“Thank you, LaShay,” Sullivan says. “I have no further questions.”
I’m not quite sure how I want to play this. It’s almost four o’clock and the jury looks as exhausted as I am. I need to make it quick.
“LaShay, how long have you known Graylin?”
“Since elementary school.”
“Do you think Graylin’s a nice boy?”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s pretty nice. And he’s smart too.”
“When you said Graylin and Crayvon made jokes about Kennedy, wasn’t it only Crayvon making those jokes?”
“Yes, ma’am. Graylin was just there with him.”
“Then why did you say Graylin and Crayvon made jokes about Kennedy?”
She looks over at Sullivan. “Um, Miss Prosecutor asked me if Graylin was there when Crayvon made the jokes and I said yes. So she said that means they were doing it together.”
Sullivan cringes like she wants to crawl under the table. The judge is glaring at her, and so is the entire jury.
“So, you never heard Graylin make any jokes about Kennedy, correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“You testified that Graylin told Crayvon he had a picture to show him. But isn’t it true that Graylin only said he had something to show Crayvon, never mentioning a picture?”
She stops to think. “Yeah, maybe.”
It’s too dangerous to question her about Graylin holding up his phone in class. So I move on.
“Do you think Crayvon has a crush on Kennedy?”
“Yes, he—”
“Objection, calls for speculation.”
“Sustained.”
I quickly rephrase the question. “Did Crayvon ever do anything that made you think he liked Kennedy.”
“Yes, ma’am. He was always liking her pictures on Instagram. He tried to get her to instant message him, but she wouldn’t. She doesn’t like him.”
I know I’m going to get an objection to my next question, but I ask it anyway. “Do you think Crayvon tried to embarrass Kennedy because she rejected him?”
“Objection, Your Honor.” This time Sullivan is more than pissed. “Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained.”
“Did you ever see Graylin do anything to hurt Kennedy’s feelings?”
“Um, no ma’am. Graylin’s nice. Everybody likes him.”
That’s the best I’m going to get. I slowly walk back to the defense table.
“I have no further questions of this witness, Your Honor.”
CHAPTER 73
Mei
Despite my conversation with Zala, I’m not convinced that Percy Carlyle is on the up and up. But two hours of internet sleuthing also reveals nothing. That doesn’t deter me. Good investigators keep looking even when the chips are down.
After taking a screenshot of Percy Carlyle’s picture from his law firm’s website, I plant myself in the underground garage of his law office in downtown Los Angeles. Jenny texted me that Percy didn’t attend the afternoon session, so I’m hoping he returned to his office. Thanks to Crayvon’s mother, I know that he drives a black BMW. I scan all five floors of the underground garage and count only three black BMWs. I take a guess that the one on the first level belongs to Percy Carlyle. Not because it’s the newest model, but because parking on the first floor is a perk given to law firm partners, not lowly associates.
I pull into a nearby parking spot and wait. I’m hoping he doesn’t plan to work too late tonight. I take out my laptop and continue my online search.
Around seven I spot a man who looks like Percy Carlyle enter the garage. I watch and pray he’s going to the black BMW. And luckily he does. He starts his car and I do the same, determined to leave the garage ahead of him. I’ll have to pay the attendant to get out, which is going to take some time. I’m sure Percy has a card key and can drive right out.
I get to the booth and when the woman tells me I owe forty-five dollars, I’m speechless. I hand her my credit card as I check my rearview mirror. I see Percy headed for the lane to my right.
“Do you need a receipt?” the attendant asks.
“No, thanks.” I need to hurry. Jenny won’t sweat me for a receipt.
Percy is easing out of the garage onto Olive Street. It seems to take forever for the guard gate to lift.
By the time I spot Percy’s BMW again, he’s four cars away. He makes a right onto Fifth Street and gets on the Harbor Freeway headed south. Since I have no idea where he’s going, I try to stay close. When he bypasses the Santa Monica Freeway exchange which would take him home, I have to cut off a couple of cars to keep up with him. Several miles ahead, he transitions to the San Diego Freeway south, then south on the Long Beach Freeway. It’s another twenty minutes before Percy pulls up in front of a bar called the Crest on Cherry Avenue. Maybe he’s meeting some woman. And I bet she’s not a client.
I park across the street and watch him enter the bar. I give him a few minutes to get situated before following him inside. Ten minutes later, I walk in, take a seat at the bar, and order a Diet Coke. I scan the place, looking for Percy, trying not to appear too obvious. The club is full, but not packed. I get up and start roaming around.
That’s when I spot him. Percy Carlyle, his tie unknotted, is smiling and sipping wine in a corner booth. He’s also snuggled up with someone who definitely isn’t his wife.
CHAPTER 74
Angela
I’ve been expecting a surprise or two from Sullivan, but not this one.
As soon as we enter the courtroom for day two of the trial, Sullivan hands me a revised witness list.
“We just discovered two new witnesses,” she says with a surprisingly straight face. “The late notice shouldn’t be a problem since you or your investigator have interviewed both of them.”
“Who are they?” Jenny says, reading the document over my shoulder as Sullivan walks away.
“Taisha and Crayvon.”
“Why would Sullivan want to call either of them?” Jenny asks. “Especially Taisha. It’s going to hurt her case when she testifies that Crayvon went into Kennedy’s backyard by himself.”
I have a bad feeling. Sullivan’s a very skilled attorney. She wouldn’t knowingly offer testimony that could raise reasonable doubt. We could object, but there’s no way Judge Lipscomb isn’t going to let them testify, particularly since we’ve already interviewed them.
Ten minutes later, Taisha saunters down the center aisle of the courtroom like a mutant ninja midget. She’s dressed in green from head to toe. Green pants, green blouse, green earrings, even green eye shadow. From the smile on her face, it’s clear that she loves being the center of attention.
Taisha Davis is sworn in and Sullivan approaches her like they’re old friends.
“Good morning. May I call you Taisha?”
“Yes, you may.” Taisha daintily clasps her hands in her lap.
“Do yo
u know the defendant Graylin Alexander?”
“Yes, he’s best friends with a boy who lives on my street named Crayvon and he goes to my church, Greater Mount Calvary.”
“Do you know Kennedy Carlyle?”
“Yes, she lives on my street too.”
“Have you ever been in her house?”
“Yep, lots of times.”
Sullivan puts a picture up on the courtroom screen.
“Is this Kennedy’s house?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Kennedy’s bedroom?”
“In the back on the first floor, just like at my house.”
Sullivan draws Taisha’s attention to another picture. “And is this a picture of Kennedy’s backyard?”
“Yes.”
“Can you point to Kennedy’s bedroom?”
“It’s the window on the right.”
“During the week of May tenth, did you see Graylin sneaking into Kennedy’s backyard?”
“I sure did.”
A couple of jurors gasp. Taisha smiles and pauses like she’s taking cues from a Hollywood director.
I place a hand on Graylin’s forearm. “Remember, the jury is watching you. Don’t show your emotions. Stay calm.”
“Can you tell us what you saw?”
“I was looking out of our living room window and I saw Graylin and his friend Crayvon sneaking into Kennedy’s backyard. Her house is right across the street from mine.”
“How long were they in the backyard?”
“About five minutes, I guess.”
“After they came out, did one of them go back there alone?”
“Yep, Crayvon went home. Then Graylin went back there a few minutes later by himself.”
“Ms. Angela!” Graylin whispers way too loudly. “She’s lying on me!”
Jenny admonishes him before I can. “We know, Graylin. You have to be quiet so we can hear what she’s saying.”
“And did you learn that Graylin was arrested for having a naked picture of Kennedy Carlyle a couple of days later?” Sullivan asks.
“Yes.”
“I have no further questions.”
I’m stunned by Sullivan’s lightning-fast examination. She has to know she’s only getting half of the story.
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