My face flushed as I thought about our last conversation, and then I felt guilty. I had questioned it early on but there was no confusion about it now. We had begun to flirt with each other. It was understandable, what with Tony seemingly going off the deep end and Barrington being such a calming, protective presence. He’d handled me with care from the moment we met and that had endeared him to me. But I was married. Happily married. Most of the time, sometimes.
No good can come of this.
To my mind, most cheaters are stupid. There are those who set out to cheat, and then there are those who claim they would never cheat in a million years until they all of a sudden find themselves in someone else’s bed. The ones in the latter group are the stupid ones because, despite their protestations, cheating is always foreseeable.
I wasn’t always honest with myself, but in this case, it was as clear to me as the diamond on my finger. If I continued down that path with Barrington, I would eventually have sex with him. And there’s always a path. Sometimes it’s the length of a highway and other times, a single floor tile. Either way, it’s always obvious that, eventually, clothes will be coming off. Anybody in my shoes who pretended otherwise was a liar.
It was an easy choice for me because I tend to be pragmatic about these things. I think them through and see the inevitable end. It’s all cute and flirty and sexy in the beginning because it’s brand new, but when your lover goes home on the weekend, he’s exactly like your husband. Washing dishes in his highwater pajama pants and holey t-shirt and then playing with his kid while his wife talks about the mortgage and their upcoming vacation and how her car needs an oil change. Slide the wife out and insert yourself if it makes you feel better but the picture remains the same. And it isn’t pretty, because there is nothing on this earth less sexy than real life.
Barrington was my type, no doubt about that. But he wasn’t my husband.
DINNER WAS READY. I was giving Tony twenty more minutes before I dug in. I wouldn’t normally eat without him but I hadn’t eaten anything all day and was starting to get a headache. Crackers took the edge off but I needed a meal.
There was nothing on tv. I missed my childhood when there were a million black shows to choose from every night and the black actresses actually looked like me. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my future kids and their peers who missed the 90s. It truly was a golden age.
It must have been boredom that drew my eyes around the room and before I realized it, I was staring at the door under the stairs. Fear crept up beside me and settled in, sending goosebumps across both arms. My ears perked slightly, though I hadn’t heard any sounds. There was something about that door.
Fresh off the tour of my past and still harboring some residual courage, I walked over to the staircase, bent down, and opened the door. I did it in one swift movement so as not to give myself any time to talk myself out of it. Several boxes sat neatly inside the tiny doorframe and I almost laughed at the absurdity of my fear. There was nothing evil in there, no monster waiting to climb out and kill me.
I placed my hand on the knob to close the door and then thought the better of it before reaching in and pulling out the box that was on top of the stack. It also happened to be the smallest. Inside was a white photo album, yellowed in some spots and covered in dust. When I opened the cover I smiled. I had always loved that picture of Tony’s parents, all dressed up, ready for a night out to some place that admitted black folks back then. His mother’s hair was almost as big as the car behind them.
I flipped the page. Tony on the basketball team. He had to be in his late teens, looking young and athletic, all long limbs and sinewy muscle. He was so handsome, and mannish, too. He was the only one on the team with a mustache. Probably drove the girls crazy.
I continued to flip the pages of the album, slowly, deliberately, focusing my gaze each time. I was just about to close the album when I saw it. A familiar face in a poorly focused picture. It was blurry but clear enough for me to make out Mr. Reggie, who was standing next to Tony. All around them were small children. I made out the Youth Rising logo on the wall behind them and then the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Right there, a few feet from Tony, was a ghost.
Chapter 41
THE WAIT WAS AGONIZING. Barrington bit his thumbnail and watched the computer screen as if his life depended on it. In reality, someone’s life did depend on it.
It had taken him two hours but he finally caught a break. There it was, a dark sedan with a license plate number starting with HG and what looked to be a 4 following Aria’s white Civic on two different cameras. He tapped his foot on the linoleum floor. How many license plates start with HG4? A lot, apparently. But this was it, he could feel it.
The real question was how to convince Price and Company that their man wasn’t the man. They had Charles Hansworth all tied up with a bow on top, and nobody looked too kindly on a detective coming through swinging his elbows, undoing all the work other detectives had done. And Barrington wasn’t even homicide.
It would be an uphill battle for sure but he would worry about that later. For now, he sat in front of his computer, waiting for the database to sift through every license plate in metro Atlanta that started with HG4.
His phone rang and he debated answering before finally picking up on the fifth ring.
“Mr. Dunn?” asked the woman, her voice vaguely familiar.
“Yes, who is this?”
“This is Maya Jones. Aria’s mother.” She sounded weak and shaky.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” he asked, distracted and annoyed.
“Aria’s in the hospital. A man tried to attack her today.”
His heart sank. He had seen it coming but hadn’t been able to stop it. “How’s she doing?” Please let her be okay.
“She’s okay. She has a concussion and she’s banged up but they said she’ll be fine.”
He sighed, relief washing over him. “Okay. I’m gonna send a patrol officer to the hospital. Don’t be alarmed, it’s just a precaution.”
“You think the man would come here?”
“Maya, listen to me. It’s a precaution, that’s all. I don’t want you to worry about that, okay?”
“When will your officer get here?” He had scared her. He could hear it in her voice. And she wasn’t wrong to be afraid.
“What hospital is she at?” he asked.
“She’s at Grady.”
“Shit, what’s she doing at Grady?” It was at least 30 minutes away. They usually transported gunshot victims over there from other counties, but not garden-variety assaults.
“Her homecoming dance was at the Marriott downtown,” Maya explained.
“Okay. Alright, I’m sending him now, as soon as we hang up.” Barrington dropped his phone on the desk and grabbed his radio but his mind went blank. He paused and wracked his brain. He couldn’t remember the frequency for APD. Shit!
He picked his phone back up and searched for the precinct closest to Grady Hospital. Dispatch put him through and within ten minutes, there was an officer posted outside of Maya’s room.
In all the commotion he had forgotten that he was waiting for a match from the database. He sat back down, his heart still racing, and closed his eyes. Time passed, the ticking of the wall clock marking the moments, and when he finally opened his eyes, the numbers had stopped changing. There, on his screen, was the name of the man he’d been chasing. His eyes widened in disbelief and his heart began to race again.
What the fuck?
Chapter 42
IT HAD BEEN WAY LONGER than 20 minutes but I couldn’t stop staring at the photo album, at the picture of Tony and Mr. Reggie and the kids and Leah. I couldn’t make sense of it. Tony had attended camp in a completely different city. Maybe he had been visiting that day. It would be quite a coincidence if he knew her.
I set the photo album to the side, still open to the page with Leah on it, and set about going through the other boxes. Old trophies, ribbons, report cards. I
felt like I had found little time capsules of Tony’s life. He had been quite the active student. Basketball, track, and he also played trumpet in the band.
The last box was way in the back, and I had to lean part of the way into the nook to reach it. I prayed there were no mice hiding back there because that would be almost as horrifying as a murderer. The box slid easily along the chalky floor, emitting an unnerving scratching sound and kicking up a cloud of dust. Coughing and wheezing, I waved my hands frantically to clear the tiny debris from the air before lifting the top off of the box. I was immediately perplexed by what I saw.
There were several little...things. A tarnished gold watch with a thin rope-style band. A sterling silver earring. A dirty yellow cotton ball. A bracelet made of oversized faux pearls. A Nike sweatband. An old travel-sized tube of perfumed lotion. Two different belts, one brown leather, the other lime green patent leather. I sifted through the box, puzzled by the sheer variety of random items. I couldn’t make sense of it. Had Tony mistakenly taken someone else’s box of crap?
The garage door went up and I put the top back on the box. I would ask him about it after dinner.
Chapter 43
BARRINGTON TRIED THE number again but the call went straight to voicemail. It was probably for the best because he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to say when she finally answered. How do you tell a woman that her husband is a serial killer?
He’d spent the last hour writing up the affidavit for the attempted kidnapping of Aria Joseph. The patrol officer took her statement at the hospital and she affirmed that the man who attacked her was the man who had watched her at her job and followed her afterward.
In a few short hours, fewer if the judge hurried, Barrington would be placing handcuffs on Antonio Terrell Johnston. Not for the murders, at least not yet, but he had enough to ask the judge to hold him without bond. It wasn’t going to be easy to convince Price and Company, or anyone else, that their great white hope wasn’t the answer to the mystery, but for now, he would be satisfied with getting Tony off the streets.
Barrington laughed to himself. The man had outsmarted him. If Barrington had checked his alibi when he first interviewed him he would have found cause to be suspicious. Instead, he allowed himself to get distracted by his own guilt and Tony had seen right through him. He knew Barrington was attracted to his wife and he used that to throw him off balance. He was smart, Barrington had to give him that. Most criminals didn’t know how to pivot during an interrogation, but Tony had ice in his veins. That much was clear.
Barrington sat at his desk, waiting for a call from the judge, and thought about Tamara. Tony would be on edge from the attack on Aria. Unstable, maybe even manic. Was she safe? If he rushed out there and jumped the gun he could put the entire case at risk.
The rumbling in his stomach reflected his inner turmoil. If Tony were the husband of a stranger there would be no question about Barrington’s level of responsibility. But she wasn’t a stranger. He knew Tamara, as much as you can know a person you’ve only seen and talked to a handful of times, and he wanted to keep her safe. The idea of Tony hurting her induced a feeling in him, a deep longing to rush in and protect her. He shook his head and talked himself out of doing something stupid.
She’s not mine to save.
Chapter 44
“ARE YOU OKAY? YOU SEEM distant,” I said, trying not to show how worried I was. Tony had come in the house and gone straight to the shower, muttering an unenthusiastic “hey” as he breezed past me. And now we sat at the kitchen table in silence as he picked at his pork chops and sulked.
“I’m alright,” he said. “Just tired.”
“I can tell. Your eyes are red.”
“Yeah. I just need to sleep.”
I didn’t want to ask but he hadn’t brought it up. “So how did it go?”
He looked genuinely confused. “How did what go?”
“The interview?”
His face relaxed in recognition. He’d had an interview at Clark. “Oh, right. It went well. The director seemed nice.”
“Oh. Good.” That was an awfully generic answer. Maybe he didn’t feel like talking about it. I left it alone. “Do you want dessert?” I asked.
“What is it?”
“Your favorite. Chocolate chip brownies.”
He scrunched his face up. “Nah. I don’t really have an appetite.” That was it. My feelings were hurt. I set my fork down on my plate and took a deep breath. “Okay, look. I understand you’re still upset about the whole tenure thing. And you can be upset for as long as you need to. I get it. But I’m working my ass off to cheer you up and keep you from falling apart and it feels like you keep slipping further and further away. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do it,” I pleaded.
For the first time in a long time, he smiled. A world-weary, sad-eyed smile that I was grateful to see given the circumstances. “I don’t need anything but you, right there, doing what you’re doing. And yes, I’ll take some dessert.”
“Are you sure?”
He grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’m positive.”
“Go sit on the couch and relax,” I told him. “Let me put the food away and then I’ll bring your brownie. Maybe we can find a movie to watch.”
“That’ll work.” His eyes were still sad and it broke my heart. I had always been an empath, and it was especially true when it came to Tony. Whatever he felt, I felt it, too.
I cleared his place and mine and got to work in the kitchen. I had just gotten started when I heard him yell.
“Tamara!”
I dropped a fork on the floor and rushed into the living room. “What’s wrong?”
He pointed to the little door under the stairs. “Why is this open?”
“Oh, that was me. I went through some of the stuff in there.”
He had a strange look on his face that I didn’t recognize as anger. It was something else. “Why did you go through my stuff?”
“I don’t know. I was just curious I guess. I’ve never looked in there before.” He walked towards me slowly, never taking his eyes off of my face. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed about some old pictures. You were cute back then,” I said, trying to be flirty.
For the second time that evening, his face relaxed and his shoulders followed. “No, it’s fine. I mean yeah, I don’t too much care for the pictures. Just let me know next time, we can look together.”
I nodded. “Okay. Sorry.” I turned to walk back into the kitchen before stopping short. “I almost forgot. There’s a box in there with some weird stuff in it.”
Tony stared at the little door and put his hands on his hips. He looked to be thinking, hard, and I started to wonder if I was missing something.
“Tony?”
“Yeah, you know what? I grabbed a bunch of boxes from my parents’ house before we sold it. I don’t even think I’ve been through all of those.”
“Okay, you have to see this box. It’s so weird,” I said as I walked over to the little door.
Tony stayed where he was. I thought maybe he was still upset with me for going through his boxes but I wasn’t sure. I sat on the floor and slid the box over until it was directly in front of me, then patted the area next to me. Tony walked over, slowly, and sat across from me, watching as I rifled through the contents.
“Is any of this stuff yours?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“It’s weird, right?” I asked playfully. He stared at me, my eyes first, then my smile, before placing his hand in the box. He pulled out the first thing he touched, the thin brown leather belt, and placed it in my hand, his eyes never leaving my face.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Let’s go through the box and see if any of this stuff is valuable. We might need to have a yard sale now that I’m about to be jobless,” he said before laughing. I laughed too, glad to see him making light.
“Well,” I said, exami
ning the belt, “this looks like real leather to me so maybe...$3?”
“Okay, that’s $3 toward groceries.”
I giggled as he handed me a silver charm bracelet. “This is actually cute. Are you sure this wasn’t your mom’s?”
He shook his head. “My mom wouldn’t wear something like that. She wasn’t flashy.”
“It’s not really flashy, though. Aww, a little doggy charm. That’s cute.” Tony stared at the bracelet and then back at me. “Why don’t you keep it?” he asked. “It would look good on you.”
“Maybe,” I said absentmindedly. I had already moved on to the next item. “I had a million of these scented lotions when I was in high school.”
Tony took it from me and opened the top, breathing deeply. “Yeah, I remember this smell. It used to be all over the dorm.”
“And what were you doing in the girls’ dorm?” I asked playfully, raising my eyebrows at him.
He chuckled. “The usual. Here, smell it,” he said, holding it in front of my face. I leaned toward him to get a whiff. Tony watched me intently as I sniffed and made a face and shook my head. “Ew,” I said. “That went bad a long time ago.”
Chapter 45
IT CAME AS NO SURPRISE to anyone that Judge Edwin Massey had a problem with the affidavit.
He was a difficult one, but Barrington still had respect for the man given his position and what it took to get there. He was the first black judge in all of predominately white York county and stayed there for years, enduring all manner of racist attacks on his character. He finally moved to Townsend and settled in nicely before making it his mission to prove he wasn’t going to be any easier on black folks than any other judge. He wasn’t wrong, per se, but it was unnecessary to be that damn rigid all the damn time.
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