I bet he did. “Trey’s just a nickname, right? What’s his real name?”
“Walter. Like his father. Walter Arlington Baxter, the third.”
No wonder he went by Trey.
Anxiety distressed Karen’s face. She continued, “You aren’t going to tell him about Zander and Ashley, are you? Trey? Or Walt and Mary Ann?”
“I don’t know.”
“They don’t have anything to do with this. Please don’t.” “They don’t know about Zander’s problems?”
“They do. Well, some. They don’t know how bad he’s gotten. Trey might.”
“I see. I won’t talk to them unless I have to, I promise.” I thanked Karen for her time, and she repeated that she didn’t see how any of this was going to be helpful. I didn’t either, but didn’t say so.
On the drive to Grant’s apartment, I thought about Trey. For someone who was squeaky clean, he sure hung out in some strange places. Like Ashley’s apartment. And Kaleidoscope, where I’d seen him with Lucas. Karen claimed he didn’t have the same “problem,” but I wondered. Maybe he was just a recreational user. I’d seen people over the years who could use drugs only on occasion, without spiraling down into the hole of hardcore addiction that some did. If he used casually, could it be GHB?
I didn’t want to go back to Grant’s apartment after what I’d done last night. My face burned every time I thought about it. I had embarrassed myself. Embarrassed him. But this morning he’d insisted I come back.
When I got to his place, I found he’d ordered pizza again for dinner. So much for working on my diet. I vowed to do better once this case was over. Whenever that was. After we ate, I studied my list of suspects while Grant took care of some work on the phone.
I added trey baxter to the list, along with a question mark. Looking at the list made my head go soft. I had no idea where to go next, or what to do. Despite the confusion, I felt like I was onto something. But what? What could Trey Baxter and Zander have to do with Jimmy? Damn it. What was I missing?
What would a detective do? Look at motive, for one. Only everyone on this list had that. A detective would also look for opportunity.
Jimmy was my number one suspect. Chasing me around with a knife definitely put him in the “killer” category. He had motive if what Brandi said about his not wanting children was true. As Ashley’s boyfriend, he had access to her apartment and could have put the drug in the juice. What didn’t ring true was Ashley’s reaction to him. She’d gotten clean, straightened her life out, and done it all for Michael. Why stand back and take the heat for Jimmy if he was her son’s murderer? She wouldn’t have allowed it to happen, and she wouldn’t forgive Jimmy if he was behind Michael’s death. She’d be furious, not all lovey-dovey with him as she’d been lately.
Al Mackey wanted money, and could have tried to kill both Ashley and Michael for the life insurance. He had access to Ashley’s apartment. But could he have gotten his hands on GHB? He was lazy and stupid, and somehow I doubted he had the connections to drug dealers. But Flash did. So did Zander.
Would Zander kill his own child? In order to save his family’s reputation? He had both motive and opportunity. That led me to another question: Why now? Why did Michael, and possibly Ashley, have to die now? Michael had graced this earth for two years before his death. If Zander wanted to get rid of Michael, why not when he was first born? Or before. Maybe he could have convinced Ashley to go through with the abortion.
Alexander and Karen Madison had found out about Michael’s existence the Friday before his death. That might explain the timing, why Michael died when he did. If they were going to get rid of him, they’d do it as soon as possible. I hated to think it, but the Madisons were now at the top of my list of suspects.
“You okay?” Grant’s voice interrupted my musings. “You look puzzled.”
“I am.”
“Listen, I have to go out for a while. That was one of my clients on the phone and their server just went toes-up. I’ve got to go fix it. It may take a while. Are you going to be okay by yourself?”
I didn’t really want to be alone. “I think I’ll go to my father’s.”
“I’m sorry about this.”
“It’s okay.”
I called Dad on my cell on the way to his house. He was out, but I let myself in and found a bottle of wine in the fridge. I was on my third glass when he entered the den dressed in his gi and sweaty from his Tae Kwon Do class. He helped himself to a glass of wine.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Okay.”
He chuckled.
“What?” I asked.
“I suddenly had a flashback of you and your brother doing math homework at the kitchen table. Whenever you had a problem you couldn’t solve, you’d get this crease between your eyebrows and clench your jaw. It was so cute.”
“What on earth made you think of that now?”
“You’ve got that crease, and you’re about to break your teeth.”
So I was.
“What’s the problem?” Dad asked.
I outlined the stream of thoughts that I’d had at Grant’s. Who I suspected and why.
“It wasn’t the Madisons,” he said.
“How do you know?”
“They’re devastated over Michael’s death. They wanted to be part of his life.”
“You mean, you —”
“And that’s all I’m going to say.”
`
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Dad, if you know something about this —”
“Like I said, that’s all I’m going to say.”
He walked into the kitchen, put his wine glass in the sink, then
came back to the bar in the den and poured himself a bourbon and water. “You want something stronger?” “No, the wine’s plenty.” My thinking was muddled enough without liquor. Dad had just taken away my number one suspects. I believed what he said about the Madisons. It was the first time he’d ever hinted at anything in one of his therapy sessions, and he was never going to reveal any more than what he had just told me. I had to trust him.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “I was almost convinced that they were behind it. I don’t know what to do next.”
“I think you’re right to look at the timing. Try to piece together what happened that night.”
He was right. I knew where I was headed tomorrow. Now at least I had a direction.
Wednesday was busy, spent on the road doing home visits with clients. Between stops, I called The News on my cell phone. “Mahoney,” he answered after the first ring.
“It’s Claire Conover.”
“Hi. I was just thinking about you.”
“Nice thoughts, I hope.”
“Very.”
I let the flirting slide. “What’d you find out?”
“Eclipse Entertainment, owned by Donovan B. Grayson. Business license applied for three years ago, liquor license the same year for a club called Kaleidoscope. Since then Eclipse has applied for and received licenses for three other places. Grayson’s opening another place this fall, and that one’s a restaurant.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. “Anything weird about him?”
“I called a contact with the police department. They’ve had a few incidents at some of the bars owned by Grayson, but nothing really major. A couple of fights at a hip-hop club called Flow, but only one that got really ugly. Occasionally his bartenders will call the cops when drunks get out of control. Like I said, nothing they’re likely to lose their license for or anything.”
“No drug busts?”
“Not that I could find. So what’s the big story?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“But there is a story?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, until then you owe me one.”
We hung up and I went to my final two appointments. When the last one was over, I went to East Lake. I parked in front of Dazzle’s house, feeli
ng more than a pang of guilt that I hadn’t called before now to see how she was coping. I rang the bell and she answered.
It was bedlam inside. Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends blasted out of the television. One little boy was playing with some sort of toy that played tinny music at full volume, and two girls were shrieking and chasing each other around the room. Another smaller boy wailed in misery.
“Lord Almighty,” I said.
“Jus’ let me run an’ change Lil’ Jeremy’s diaper. Go on in to the kitchen, and I’ll be righ’ there.”
I sat at the stained table and, wondering how Dazzle was able to tune it all out, kept an eye on the kids for a few minutes until she returned. Lil’ Jeremy had stopped crying. Dazzle wiped his tear-streaked face with a napkin, handed him a section of graham cracker, and sent him to the living room with a loving swat on his behind.
“Can I get you somthin’? A Co-cola? It’s hot enough out there to melt steel.”
“Some water would be great, thanks.”
I waited until she handed me the tall, cool glass. She joined me at the table and I asked, “How are you holding up?”
“Aw’right, I sup’ose. I did that thing you tol’ me about.” She nodded toward the other room.“Me and some o’ their mammas took ’em all to the park last Friday. We talked a lot ’bout Michael and then we sent him some balloons up in heaven. Some o’ ’em drew him pictures. We talked about how he had wings now and was an angel. I do alright mos’ days, until I see somethin’ that reminds me o’ him. Like his favorite toy or somethin’. ”
I knew how she felt. I reached over and squeezed her hand gently.
“You seen Ashley?” she asked.
“Yes, a few times.”
“How’s she?”
“I think she’s doing okay, all things considered. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask you some questions about her.”
“How come?”
“I’m trying to put together exactly what happened the night Michael died. I know you told me how he was Monday, before he went home.”
“He wasn’t sick or nothin’. He musta got into the drugs after he got home.”
“What about Ashley? Did you notice anything about her that was different? Did she say anything unusual?”
“Lemme think, now. She was jus’ like she always was, I’m sure. She got here a little after ten. Michael had colored her a picture outta one o’ the coloring books. Just scribbles, you know, but he was proud o’ it. He was sleepin’ when she got here, on the couch. He was the last o’ my babies to get picked up that night.”
“How did Ashley seem? Did she act different? High? Or drunk?”
“Oh, no. No. I’da never let her leave if she was.”
“What kind of mood was she in?”
“She seemed a little tired, but the poor thin’, she worked so hard. Said she’d had a long day. Now that you mention it, though, Ashley had a real bad day that Friday.”
“What do you mean?”
“I hadn’t thought ’bout it till jus’ now, but when she picked Michael up Friday, it was like she weren’t herself.”
“Go on.”
“She always lit up when she come to get him, you know. All smilin’. She’d say how’s my big boy and pick him up and give him big hug.”
“And Friday was different?”
“She looked upset ’bout something. I asked her how her day went and she said not so good.”
“Upset how? Like she was angry or scared?”
“Jus’ upset. I thought maybe she’d gotten into trouble with her boss at work. That kind o’ upset. Troubled. But by Monday she seemed aw’right.”
I knew Ashley’s bosses at her second job, and had never seen them upset anybody. So something had happened Friday night or Friday afternoon. I found myself clenching my teeth again as I realized that Friday was the day that Karen Madison had found out about Michael.
“Does tha’ help?”
“Maybe, Dazzle. Thanks. If you think of something else, please call me. Oh, one more question. Was Ashley wearing her uniform those days when she picked Michael up?”
“She didn’t wear no uniform for her night job.”
“Was she dressed different than usual?”
“Naw, jus’ jeans and a blouse, like always.”
So she wasn’t dressed to go out. Likely she was telling the truth about having been at work Monday night, instead of out partying. But I was going to double-check.
Dazzle walked me to the door. I had another referral for her sitting service and told her about the family briefly. She had room for the little girl, and I said I’d give them her number.
It was four twenty. I rushed down Oporto-Madrid Boulevard, cut through Crestwood and Mountain Brook Village to the suburb of Homewood.
Taylor Maids was sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a shop that rented party supplies. It wasn’t much more than a narrow, linoleum-tiled room with asbestos green walls and a couple of desks. The owners, Liz and Trish Taylor, were sisters-in-law, happily married to two brothers. Several years ago, when their respective nests grew empty, they turned their twenty-plus years of homemaking experience into a cleaning business. But they did it with a twist. They exclusively hired women who were trying to get back on their feet. They worked closely with Nona at St. Monica’s, The Harbor downtown, and the local battered women’s shelters. As long as the women didn’t have a history of stealing, Taylor Maids would do everything in their power to help them stabilize their lives and become independent. They’d hired more of my clients than I could count, and I needed an army of Taylors and people like them.
Liz greeted me when I walked through the door. She, like the actress whose name she shared, was the more flamboyant of the two, fond of elaborate hairstyles and lots of makeup. She also chainsmoked.
“Claire Conover! How you been, girl?” she asked in her husky voice. An ancient television on Liz’s desk played a seventies sitcom. She turned down the volume.
“Fine, Liz, thanks. How are y’all?” Trish, the mousier one, was quietly working at a desk near the back of the room. She did more of the behind-the-scenes work, like scheduling and bookkeeping. She waved to me.
“Good, good. Busy. Damn shame about Ashley and her son. Me and Trish went by the jail last week. We cashed her last check for her and put it in her commissary account. She looks pitiful.”
“I know.”
“You coulda never have convinced me she was using again. Never. She showed up to work right on time, always. Never missed a day. Never called in, like they do when they’re dope-sick or hungover. I’da never believed it till I saw it on the TV. Right, Trish? We saw it on the TV.”
“Right.” Trish murmured.
“No complaints from your clients, about Ashley?” I asked.
“No! Never, I tell ya. She was one of our best girls, right, Trish? I tell ya, I was shocked beyond belief.”
“Did either of you notice anything different about Ashley that day? Or that week?”
“No way. You know how I am with my girls. I love ’em all, but I don’t let ’em get away with nothin’. If there’s a problem, we take care of it, right, Trish? We take care of it right away.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Trish said, still bent over her paperwork.
I didn’t doubt it. Taylor Maids had excellent boundaries. A strict hierarchy and a strong set of rules. They had to, to stay in business. Otherwise the girls would take advantage.
“Where was Ashley working the night Michael died? Did she have the same clients every week? How does that work?”
“All of my girls have some clients that are regular. It depends on what the client wants, see? Most big offices, they want cleanin’ every night. The full job — empty the trash, dust, vacuum, clean the bathrooms. Ashley, for example, every night she did a law firm here in Homewood. Fielding, Kendall, and Morris. She’s been doing them every night since she started for us a year and a half ago, right, Trish? They never had no complaints about her. Then, after she d
id the law office, she might go do for a smaller client. Some small offices, they only want someone in once a week to do the vacuuming and such.”
“How do you keep track of where the girls go?”
“That’s Trish’s department. She keeps the master schedule. The girls look at the master to see what office or building to go to. Then they take a work order sheet with ’em, to the job. That’s like a checklist of what they done, what time they got there, and what time they left. Then Trish uses that to bill the client for the hours, plus a fee for supplies and equipment.”
“Where was Ashley the night before her son died?”
“What day was that?”
“Monday, June twenty-seventh.”
Trish turned around from her desk and pulled down a thick red binder from the top of a lateral filing cabinet. I walked closer to her desk so I could see. She flipped to a tab, then turned a few pages. I stood in front of her desk and read upside down.
The page was a photocopied form, filled with Trish’s neat, block writing. She scanned the list of names until she came to Ashley’s. She read across and said in her soft voice, “She cleaned the law firm, then went to one of our once-weeklies, CitiCorps.”
“What do they do?”
She shrugged.“I think they’re city planners. Or architects, maybe.”
“What about on Friday? The twenty-fourth? Where did Ashley work?”
Trish flipped two pages back and scanned it. “Same law firm, as usual. Then she had a new client. Another once-a-week. BaxMed.”
`
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Holy God.
“Does that mean anything?” Liz asked.
“Maybe,” I said, trying hard to cover my surprise. I quickly memorized the upside-down address of BaxMed. They were on Eleventh Avenue South, near the university campus. “Who cleans their offices now?” I asked Trish.
Liz answered, “Nobody. They cancelled their service right after Ashley was arrested. Me and Trish figured they saw the story on the news and got the idea that we’d hired some kinda child killer. I guess they thought they couldn’t trust any of our girls. I called them and tried to smooth it all over. Talked to Dr. Walt Baxter myself, he’s the owner, but it was a no go. He just said they wouldn’t be needing us anymore. Oh, well. What’re you gonna do? Right, Trish?”
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