Charlene walked to the kitchen, pushed the Power button on her Keurig, and pulled her favorite coffee mug from the cabinet. She reached for the TV remote so she could watch the last of the morning news on the small flat-screen television mounted under the cabinet. She turned the channel to MSNBC and was busy gathering cream and sugar when she heard an announcement that froze her in her tracks. “Up next, an exclusive interview with Leslie Sachs, the woman who wants to set a convicted killer free,” the serious-looking commentator said.
Charlene’s mouth fell open and her hands began to shake. She’d known yesterday that Leslie and Vivana’s claim of new evidence was going to garner a lot of interest, but she hadn’t anticipated it would make national news so quickly. But then again, Johnny’s murder had made national news two years ago. The fallout over his blackmail scheme involving several women, combined with the fact that there were a half-dozen prime suspects, had made the big murder in the small town worthy of national attention. That was also how Shartell Brown had been elevated from a busybody town gossip into a respected columnist for one of the nation’s top entertainment news websites. She’d provided weekly updates and inside information to curious minds who had wanted to be in the know. Shartell had delivered and was still doing so to this day.
Charlene could barely sip her coffee as her heart raced with each commercial. Finally, the reporter was back on screen, announcing her live interview. This time Leslie was alone, sitting at her desk. Charlene could tell that the interview was being conducted in Leslie’s home because there were beautiful drapes in vibrant colors hanging against the wall, just under the ceiling’s crown molding, and she could see houses on the street through the window behind the chair where Leslie was sitting. Charlene also noticed that Leslie had clearly paid a visit to her salon and the makeup counter at the local department store since yesterday because her blond hair was perfectly coiffed, cascading to her slim shoulders, and her face glowed flawlessly under the bright camera lights. Charlene turned the volume up high so she could hear every word that was being said.
“Ms. Sachs,” the reporter began. “You’re representing Vivana Jackson, who was convicted two years ago for the murder of Jonathan Mayfield, pro bono, and you announced yesterday that you have new evidence that proves Ms. Jackson’s innocence. Can you tell us how you became involved with this case?”
Leslie looked into the camera with her steely ice-blue eyes. “First, I’d like to address what you said leading into this interview. I’m not trying to set a convicted killer free, I’m working to exonerate an innocent woman who was wrongly accused of a vicious crime that she didn’t commit.”
Charlene had to admire Leslie’s grit and tactics, and she had to admit that if she was ever wrongly accused of anything, Leslie would be the first person she’d contact—and that was the very reason why Charlene was worried out of her mind. She listened as Leslie continued.
“Now, to answer your question. As a criminal defense attorney for over thirty years, I receive requests every day from individuals who claim they’ve been wrongly convicted of a crime. But when I read Vivana Jackson’s letter, two things stood out for me. One was that it was a case I’d followed closely because it happened here in Amber, Alabama, where I live. And the other reason was that her impassioned plea led me to pay her a face-to-face visit, and when I did, I discovered a detail during our conversation that had been overlooked during the trial.”
Charlene’s heart was thumping so hard she could barely breathe.
“As you know, Ms. Sachs, the Mayfield case received national attention, and the overwhelming majority of citizens as well as legal professionals who followed the trial were convinced by the evidence and the testimony that the prosecution proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the right person was convicted. What specific evidence do you have to dispute that?”
Leslie paused for a brief moment, leaned forward, and gave a hint of a smile. Just when she was about to open her mouth, she paused again and looked to her right, as if she was distracted by something. But Charlene knew that Leslie wasn’t distracted; what she’d just done was intentional. Leslie was building up suspense to whatever she was going to say next, knowing that the real killer could possibly be in front of a television watching her right now, hanging on her every word in a complete state of fear and panic, just as Charlene was doing at this very moment. “Damn her!” Charlene said.
Finally, Leslie spoke. “After my conversation with Ms. Jackson, I went back over the sworn statements, testimony, and interviews of every person associated with the case. Then I went over all the evidence found at the crime scene, and matched it up to something that Ms. Jackson had told me. That’s when I discovered a small, but crucial missing link that proves Ms. Jackson’s innocence.”
“What’s the missing link?”
“I’m not at liberty to give the full details at this time, but I’ll be submitting it to a judge in the coming week.”
“Is your proof indisputable?”
“Anything can be challenged, whether it warrants merit or not. But I believe what I’ve uncovered is definitive proof that my client did not murder Johnny Mayfield.”
“So you’re certain that the evidence you found will clear your client of this crime?”
“I don’t take cases unless I’m completely confident of my client’s innocence, and that I can prove it. So yes, I’m certain that after I do my job, Vivana Jackson will once again be a free woman. At which time I’ll make sure the real killer is convicted, as they should’ve been from the beginning.”
“There you have it,” the reporter said, looking into the camera. “I guess we’ll all have to wait and see what develops. Be sure to stay tuned to MSNBC for follow-up developments on this breaking story.”
Charlene turned off the TV and sat in silence. Her head was no longer pounding, her mouth was no longer dry, and her stomach felt settled. But what had replaced her hangover symptoms was a dull numbness that ran through her entire body. Even though her heart was still beating fast, she could barely move because her mind had her stuck on the last words Leslie had said. After she made sure Vivana was exonerated, she was going to make sure the real killer was convicted. Charlene knew that if Leslie said she was going to do something, you could consider it a done deal.
Charlene’s heart sank when she thought about what would happen if the truth came out. Phillip and Lauren would be devastated, her good name would be ruined, and she would surely spend the remainder of her days in prison. She’d known during the time that she’d been planning Johnny’s murder that one day she’d have to pay for her sins, which she thought would be the Day of Judgment, at which time she’d answer only to God. She’d planned Johnny’s murder so well that she didn’t think there was any possibility of her getting caught. Then her mind immediately went back to the cryptic message she’d received a few months after Johnny’s murder. There was someone out there who knew that Charlene was the real killer. Whoever that person was, combined with Leslie “the Pit Bull” Sachs, was going to make sure Charlene paid for what she’d done.
After Charlene had received the text, she’d spent months worrying about it. She’d tried to think of any possible slips she could have made the night she’d killed Johnny, but she couldn’t think of one. She’d planned everything to the tiniest detail, even figuring into the equation what she would do if by chance someone came forward who could identify her as the woman whom Vivana had alleged she’d had an altercation with at the apartment building. But Charlene quickly dismissed that possibility for a number of reasons. For one, not a single resident living in the building who’d been questioned had been able to corroborate Vivana’s story. Luckily for Charlene, she’d been with Johnny during a time of day when most people had been at work.
Another thing that had been in Charlene’s favor was that the small building had been located in a quiet area that was spread out and not easily accessible. During the week that she’d planned Johnny’s murder, Charlene had covered her tracks by ret
urning to the apartment building late one night to search for security cameras at the building, and in the nearby area, that could place her at the scene that day. To her relief, there hadn’t been any. Then Charlene thought about how she’d spent painstaking time and effort into framing Vivana with the murder weapon.
She’d reached back to her days of practicing law and had come up with a list of people and places where she could get her hands on a gun that couldn’t be traced. She’d driven to a town two hours away that was known for criminal activity, and used a burner phone to call her contact. She’d met with him late at night and had parked her car a mile away from the area where they’d agreed to meet. With cash in one pocket and a Taser in another, Charlene set out on foot to purchase the weapon to kill Johnny. She’d even worn a wig that was a dead ringer for Vivana’s weave, and had padded herself under her ex-husband’s large trench coat, to give her body the girth Vivana was known for. Even though, in theory, the steps Charlene had taken to buy the gun had been dangerous, it had turned out to be quite easy in practice. She’d known that the real trick would be making sure Vivana stayed put in her house the night of the murder so she wouldn’t have an alibi.
It had been mid-fall, and daylight hours had been short, which served to help Charlene put her plan into motion. She’d parked her car a good distance from Vivana’s neighborhood, and had walked in the dark behind each house on the neatly lined block until she’d reached Vivana’s. Charlene quickly ran up to Vivana’s doorstep and placed a small, colorful bag stuffed with tissue paper there before ringing the bell and making a mad dash to the bushes on the side of the house. She’d crouched her body to the ground and prayed with all her might that Vivana was at home; otherwise, she’d have to wait for another time to kill Johnny.
It had taken Vivana a few minutes to open the door, and when she did, she spotted the colorful bag and immediately looked around to see who’d left it. Charlene watched in the darkness as Vivana stood on her porch, under the light, and cautiously peered inside the bag. She pulled out the note, read it, and smiled wide with delight. Charlene had wanted to jump for joy, and when Vivana then pulled out the cupcake inside and took a big bite out of it, Charlene had actually pumped her fist up and down.
Once Vivana went back into her house, still chomping on the dessert, Charlene sprinted back to her car, focused and already thinking about what she had to do next. Earlier that day, she’d made a bowl of cupcake batter, but had only poured it into one cupcake holder in her muffin pan. She dumped the rest down her sink and waited for the single cupcake to bake. She then typed a note on her computer, printed it off, and read it twice to make sure it sounded right.
Dear Vivana,
I was wrong and I hope you can forgive me. Here’s a little treat for my sweet. I will be home later tonight, please call me.
Always,
Johnny
Satisfied that the note would serve its purpose, Charlene folded it twice and put it inside the decorative bag along with the cupcake. She waited until seven o’clock that evening to drive over to Vivana’s house. Dressed in black from head to toe, she prayed that no one would see her cutting through their backyard, and if they did, she was in good enough shape to make a run for it.
Once Charlene returned home safely, she poured herself a glass of wine and then waited until she knew that Vivana would be fast asleep before she headed over to Johnny’s house. Charlene had researched what kind of drug she should use in the cupcake. She needed something that would knock Vivana out for up to twelve hours, and would leave her system quickly without a trace of it having ever been ingested. There were dozens of odorless, tasteless pills floating around on the black market that Charlene knew would do the trick, and instead of wasting time trying to obtain something exotic, she decided to go with Rohypnol, commonly known as the date rape dug.
During the trial when the prosecutor questioned Vivana about the phone records they’d obtained that showed she’d called Johnny just a few hours before he was murdered, Vivana had said that Johnny had asked her to call him, and that he’d left a note and a cupcake on her doorstep. She’d kept the note as proof, but it was as useless as a counterfeit bill because, as the prosecutor had pointed out, anyone could’ve typed that note, even Vivana herself. It hadn’t been difficult for the jury to believe that she’d made up the entire story, especially after she’d spent four months pretending to be someone else, all in an effort to get close to Geneva.
Charlene had been extra-careful in her planning, right down to the way she’d killed Johnny. She’d been meticulous about every detail. However, if there was one thing she could’ve changed, it would have been that she’d lingered inside the house a little too long. If she could do it all over again, she would have killed Johnny the minute she’d walked through his back door. But she’d enjoyed seeing the doomed look in his eye when she pulled the gun on him, and she’d savored it for a few minutes longer than she should have.
Charlene had felt triumphant because she’d avenged dozens of women whom Johnny had wronged, and she’d also given him payback for the life of an unborn child he’d taken as a result of his selfish ways. But as the investigation had heated up, she’d realized that Johnny’s murder had actually caused further hurt to the women he’d blackmailed, because now their dirty little secrets were exposed for their friends, families, and fellow church members to see. The saying, “What’s done in the dark will be brought to the light,” had never been more true, which brought Charlene back to the present—and the fact that her own sins had come back to haunt her.
Charlene closed her eyes and exhaled deeply. She’d been sitting at the breakfast table for more than thirty minutes, and she knew she had to pull herself together before her children came home. She thought about them, and the repercussions that would surely follow. “I can’t let that happen,” Charlene said aloud. “I need to find out who sent that text to my phone, and then I need to make sure I handle them so I can deal with whatever Leslie has up her sleeve.”
Chapter 16
DONETTA
Even though Donetta had been tired when she’d called Geneva twenty minutes ago, she’d also been filled with joy because she’d awoken with her head resting in the crook of Phillip’s arm, secure in his embrace. But by the time her conversation with her friend had ended, Donetta’s lower pelvic area had begun to ache and she had a bad feeling she couldn’t shake.
From that fateful morning when the police had come by the salon and questioned Geneva’s coworkers about Johnny, to yesterday, when Vivana and her attorney had announced there was evidence proving Vivana’s innocence, Donetta had always felt there had been something very sinister at hand surrounding Johnny’s death, and now she felt it more than ever. It might have been a dream, but what Geneva had told her was convincing, and Donetta hoped that Councilwoman Harris could help her friend finally get to the bottom of the ugly mess.
“I know it’s too late to make wishes, but I wish to God in heaven that Geneva had never married that arrogant, no-good son of a bitch, ’cause right now this would be someone else’s shit to deal with,” Donetta mumbled as she shook her head. “Geneva’s upset and scared, and my stomach is in knots because of a man who’s still raising hell from the grave. I’ve got to refocus my mind before I make myself sick with all this worrying.”
Donetta looked at the turkey sausage and eggs she’d set on the counter, and thought about how nice it was going to be to eat breakfast in bed with Phillip. But when she walked over to her spice rack to retrieve some seasonings, another sharp pain punched her lower abdomen, followed by a sudden and intense throbbing between her legs. She wasn’t wearing panties under her nightie, and when she looked down at the floor, she saw small specks of blood at her feet. “What the hell?”
Donetta held her legs together and quickly walked to the powder room down the hall. She drew in a startled gasp when she wiped herself and saw bright red blood on the tissue. “Shit!” she hissed. She knew she needed to be quiet because she didn�
��t want to wake Phillip, but at the same time she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs because she was in pain, and she was scared about what the bleeding meant.
She wiped herself again, gently placed a wad of tissue between her legs, and gritted her teeth to temper her scream. “What the hell is happening to me?” Donetta whispered as she washed her hands and stared into the mirror. To have woken up and not done anything in the way of beautification, she still looked like a million bucks. Her eyes were bright and her bed-tousled hair had a wild, sexy look. But her outward appearance belied what was inside, because she was beginning to feel worse by the minute. Then it came to her. “Oh no. Please don’t let this be happening because I had sex.”
Donetta hadn’t bled six months ago when she’d had sex for the first time after her surgery. But then again, the guy she’d been with, who she’d later found out had been married, had only penetrated her halfway before he’d ejaculated, at which time he’d put on his pants and had left her lying in bed in the hotel room they’d checked into only fifteen minutes before. But she and Phillip had made love for an hour, and it had been the most satisfying, wonderful experience she’d ever had.
She’d been nervous at first, praying that her encounter with Phillip wouldn’t be as disappointing and uncomfortable as it had been with the married jerk.
He’d touched her gently, caressed her with care, and kissed her passionately—all over her body.
“I’m going to go slow and take my time,” Phillip had said.
Donetta moaned with pleasure as his fingers moved between her legs while he kissed her softly. She’d been glad that her surgeon had been right when he’d told her that the clitoris he’d sculpted from the sensitive skin around what had once been her penile head would produce erogenous sensations when properly stimulated, and lead to fulfilling orgasm. Phillip not only knew how to properly stimulate her, he’d made her climax twice.
Deadly Satisfaction Page 13