“Nope. Girlie didn’t have much of a relationship with any of her relatives. Her family didn’t approve of the things her mother did. Her aunt runs a drycleaners over on South Street near the Cerritos mall.”
Suzie’s suddenly suspicious eyes met Special’s through the bathroom mirror. The girl’s buzz was apparently wearing off.
“You sure are asking a lot of questions about Girlie. Why do you wanna know all this?”
“I didn’t mean to be so nosey.” Special gave a big phony smile. “But everything you just told me explains a lot about why Girlie is the way she is. Thanks for talking to me.”
Special walked back into the club and said good-bye to Manny and Janie.
As she walked to her car, Special wondered if discovering the identity of the white man who had abandoned Girlie Cortez could lead to some useful information for Vernetta. A strong gut instinct was signaling that it might be worth her while to keep digging.
Suzie claimed Girlie’s father had supposedly died. What if he was still alive? The fact that he had paid off Girlie’s mother and never looked back, meant he must’ve had something to hide. Maybe he was a prominent politician or a celebrity who couldn’t risk the bad publicity of an affair and a bastard child.
Special’s investigative juices began to bubble with excitement. Her next task was to track down Girlie’s aunt.
CHAPTER 76
Benjamin sat in the passenger seat of my Land Cruiser, his face a muddle of contemplation. We were on Wilshire Boulevard, headed for the West Coast office of The Daily Business Journal.
I was completely hyped about the information that my new client, Jane Carson, had disclosed to me, certain that it would provide the leverage we needed to get Olivia the justice she deserved. Benjamin wasn’t as enthused.
Jane had given me her copy of the documents she’d anonymously sent to Judi. A high school friend of mine, who was a financial reporter for the Journal, had agreed to take a look at them and help us decipher the financial jargon.
“I just think we should just turn everything over to the police,” Benjamin said. “The people Big Buy hired to find those documents are dangerous. I still have the scars to prove it.”
Though he rarely brought it up, the trauma of the beating Benjamin took went much deeper than the slowly fading bruises on his face. The fact that we now had a plausible basis for believing that Big Buy was behind Judi’s death, meant that we had to be extra careful.
“I’m going to turn it over,” I replied. “But first I want to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Our tiff over my supposed membership in the Community of Islam had been put aside. It wasn’t quite like old times between us yet, but almost.
“Figuring out the scam Big Buy is involved in is going to give us some ammunition for Olivia’s case,” I said. “For Olivia’s sake, I just hope she can hang on long enough for that to happen.”
Benjamin looked over at me as if he had something to say, then turned away.
“Are you sure you want Olivia to stay in this case for her sake or yours?” he asked a minute later.
I took my eyes off of the road for much longer than I should have. “What does that mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” he said without facing me.
I took a second to think about his question before responding. I wanted a victory for Olivia because I truly believed she was the victim of discrimination. And I also wanted to avenge Judi’s death, which appeared to be at the hands of Big Buy. But I couldn’t deny that there was also another more personal motive driving my desire for a win on her behalf. I could not let Girlie Cortez trounce me again.
My quest for vengeance against Girlie aside, dropping the case was not in Olivia’s best interests.
“I would never jeopardize my client’s interests for personal reasons,” I finally said. “I want to get a decent settlement for Olivia because she deserves it. And I want it to be a lot more than three months’ pay or a measly three-thousand dollars.”
We pulled into a parking lot across the street from the high-rise where The Daily Business Journal’s offices were located.
My friend, Dennis Dickerson, greeted us after a short wait in the lobby.
“Thanks for making time to see us,” I said.
Dennis was a lanky, non-athletic type with black-rimmed glasses that gave him a studious look. Back in high school, he’d been a math whiz.
He led us to a small conference room with a front wall made of glass that looked out onto the newsroom.
I took out the documents Jane had given me. All references to Big Buy had been blacked out. I only wanted Dennis to explain what the documents were, not sniff out a story he could run under his byline.
He opened the package and began to slowly peruse the pages. “This appears to be information from a company’s financial statement,” he said. “Who’s the company?”
“I can’t disclose that right now,” I said. “Can you go through one of the statements and explain what each line means?”
Dennis went into a long technical explanation about profit and loss, rate of return and a lot of other financial terms. Most of it was way over my head.
“What if the company didn’t actually earn the sums listed there and falsified those reports?” I asked.
“That would be fraud.”
“What if it’s a privately owned company, not a public one?”
“Different laws cover private and public companies, but same difference. Private companies still have legal obligations. Just because you’re private doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”
Dennis scratched his head, then bit his lip. “Mind if I show these to another reporter?”
“Why?” Benjamin asked. He’d been unusually quiet.
“Billie Wilson covers privately held companies headquartered in Southern California. She might have some additional information.”
I looked at Benjamin, then shrugged. “I guess that’s okay.”
We watched as Dennis walked across the newsroom and handed the documents to a woman sitting at a desk on the far side of the newsroom. We couldn’t hear what they were saying, but we could see the woman’s face glisten with astonishment as she leafed through the pages. She looked up, her eyes laser beaming in our direction. The two of them hurried across the newsroom.
“This is Billie Wilson,” Dennis said, introducing a tall blonde in khakis with a long, pointed nose. Her weathered skin and sun-bleached hair gave her the appearance of an aging hippie.
“Where’d you get these documents?” she asked, her voice bathed with urgency.
Her anxious demeanor concerned me. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
She frowned and placed both hands on her narrow waist. “They’re records from Big Buy department store, right?”
Benjamin and I exchanged a mystified look. “How could you possibly know that?” I asked.
“It wasn’t exactly hard to put two and two together,” Billie responded. “I saw your press conference announcing the class action against them. I cover companies like this so I’m usually tuned in to what’s going on. We ran a few paragraphs about your lawsuit.”
I started to accept her explanation, but it seemed too convenient. She would’ve needed more to make the connection between the documents and Big Buy.
“You’re not being straight with me,” I challenged. “Are you guys already on to this story?”
Dennis took in a healthy gulp of air, then gave Billie a go-ahead nod.
“Okay,” she said, taking a seat. “I can’t give you any specifics, but yes, I’ve been working on a story about Big Buy. When Dennis showed me your documents, I realized that they were duplicates of records that I have.”
“Wait a minute.” Benjamin gripped the edge of the table. “Someone sent you a copy of these same records?”
Billie should never play poker. Her lips didn’t move, but her brown eyes blinked nervously up at Dennis. “I’m not at liberty to say how I got
them.”
“Our client may have been murdered because someone wanted to get these documents back,” Benjamin said.
“Murdered?” Billie’s eyes expanded as wide as saucers. “Let’s back up a minute. That’s way outside the scope of my story. You need to tell us exactly what’s going on.”
A splash of anticipation ricocheted through me. We were definitely on to something. I just prayed it was something that could help Olivia’s case.
“We’re willing to put our cards on the table,” I told Billie. “But only if you agree to do the same.”
CHAPTER 77
Special strolled into the Emerald Chateau Hair Salon and made a beeline for Darlene’s booth in the far left corner of the shop. Tonisha was sitting in Darlene’s chair, getting her hair French braided in preparation for her weave.
“Hey, everybody,” Special called out to the other customers and hair stylists.
Darlene glanced over at her appointment book. “What’re you doing here? Your appointment isn’t until next Tuesday.”
“Is it?” Special pulled out her Droid and pretended to check it. “Dang. I must’ve read it wrong. The calendar on this thing is so hard to read.”
Special narrowed her eyes and peered down at Tonisha. “Hey, girl, I recognize you. You’re a celebrity.”
Tonisha half-smiled.
“It was really brave of you to go through all of that. They tried to drag your name through the mud, but you stood your ground. You deserve every dime of that two mil.”
Tonisha distorted her lips into a sour pucker. “I ain’t seen a dime of it yet ’cuz Lamarr is supposedly filing an appeal. I just wish he’d stop playing games and pay me my money.”
“You just need to be patient,” Darlene said. “You’ll get paid.”
Special quietly snorted. Not if I have anything to do with it, you won’t.
“You just stay prayerful, girl.” Special gave her a quick pat on the shoulder. “Everything’s going to work out just fine.”
She turned to Darlene. “Since I’m here, can you squeeze me in? I just need you to tighten up the back.”
“Yeah,” Darlene said, “but it may be a while.”
Special smiled. That was exactly what she wanted to hear. “You want something to eat? I’m going to run over to Popeyes.”
Darlene shook her head. “No, thanks. I just ate.”
“What about you, Tonisha?”
She hesitated. “Yeah, get me a two-piece with some red beans ’n rice.”
Tonisha grabbed a large Coach bag from the floor and started rummaging around in it. “Oh, never mind. I changed purses last night and forgot to put my wallet in here.”
Darlene’s hands froze in mid-air. She dropped the braid she was holding and whirled the chair around until Tonisha was facing her. “If you can’t buy a two-piece, how you gonna pay me?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I’d left my wallet at home.”
Darlene lowered her chin. “Maybe you should go get it.”
“Uh…I have to be in Santa Monica at eight. I won’t have time to go all the way back to Hawthorne. Is there an ATM around here?”
“You don’t have your wallet, but you have your ATM card?” Darlene asked skeptically.
“Uh, I don’t keep my ATM card in my wallet.”
“Yeah, right,” Darlene said. “Well, there’s an ATM across the street at Vons and another one around the corner at Bank of America. Take your pick. You go get some money while I wash Keekee.”
Darlene complained all the way to the shampoo bowl. “If she can’t pay for a damn two-piece, I don’t know how she thinks she can afford a weave. Hell, I don’t work for free.”
“Don’t worry about it, girl,” Special whispered. “I got you on the grub. You’re about to become a millionaire. I don’t have a problem hookin’ you up.”
When Special returned with the food, Keekee was sitting in Darlene’s chair. As it turned out, Tonisha only had enough money in her checking account to pay for a press ’n curl. So she was busy unbraiding her own hair while Darlene worked on another client.
That gave Special and Tonisha time for a nice long chat over their chicken. By the time Tonisha left the shop with her short, thin hair pressed into a sad-looking flip, they had exchanged telephone numbers and email addresses. They also agreed to meet for drinks at the Cheesecake Factory later that night.
“You know you wrong,” Darlene said, wagging her finger at Special after Tonisha walked out. “You trying to be friends with that girl ’cuz she got two-million dollars coming.”
“That’s not true. You know I ain’t like that.”
Special was actually feeling quite a sense of accomplishment. She really had a knack for this investigation stuff. Thanks to Suzie, she had located the drycleaners owned by Girlie’s aunt and now she was about to get up close and personal with Tonisha.
“I just feel sorry for the girl,” Special said, thrilled at how easily she’d gotten Tonisha to open up to her. “She’s been having a rough time. Tonisha Cosby needs a B-F-F and I’m it.”
CHAPTER 78
“You wanna kiss my ring finger now or later?”
Their annoying colleague, Detective Hopper, planted his flat ass on the corner of Mankowski’s desk.
Thomas grinned and readied himself for the impending confrontation. He could tolerate Hopper, but Mankowski had no patience for the guy.
Mankowski didn’t bother to look up from his computer. “Why don’t you run along and find somebody else to play cops and robbers with, okay?”
The lieutenant never assigned Hopper to a decent case, so he was always running around, trying to solve everyone else’s.
“You guys should be nice to me,” Hopper replied. “I just solved your murder case.”
“Sure you did,” Mankowski said. “And I just found Jon Benet Ramsey’s killer.”
“So what case did you solve?” Thomas asked, amused.
Hopper smiled. “The one in Mar Vista.”
“The Irving murder?”
“That would be the one,” Hopper said with a self-assured chuckle. “I even got a confession.”
Detective Mankowski continued to work on the report he was typing and wished Hopper would just hop away. Thomas, however, wanted to hear more.
“A confession from who?”
“The wannabe thug in interrogation room four. Armando Ortiz.”
Mankowski finally stopped typing. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re a detective. You’re supposed to have better listening skills. I said I solved your case.”
“How?” Detective Thomas asked.
“Solid police work.”
Mankowski rocked back in his chair. “Stop jerking us around and tell us what you’re talking about?”
Detective Hopper stood up. “Why don’t you come with me and see for yourself?”
They followed him into an interrogation room near the end of the hallway. A dark-skinned Hispanic kid who could have passed for fifteen was handcuffed to a metal table, sniveling into his forearm.
“Armando, this is Detective Thomas and this is Detective Mankowski. I want you to tell them everything you told me.”
“I…I…I didn’t kill that white lady. I swear!”
Mankowski glared back over his shoulder at Hopper. “I thought you said you got a confession.”
“Just hold on and listen to the kid’s story,” Hopper said, holding up both palms in an appeal for patience. “He’s been locked up for two weeks. Picked up on his second DUI and couldn’t bail out. One of the deputies heard him mouthing off to another inmate about a murder.”
It took a few seconds for Armando to compose himself. “I…I was hanging out with my buddy Hector and he asked me for a ride to Mar Vista to get some weed. I swear I didn’t know he was gonna kill that lady.”
Armando cried and hiccupped in tandem. “We was gonna score some weed. That’s it. That’s all I thought we was gonna do.”
“Where do you live?” Mankowski asked.
“Pico Rivera,” Armando sniffed.
Mankowski laughed. “You live in East L.A. and you want me to believe you drove all the way to Mar Vista to buy some weed. Were the drug dealers in your neighborhood on strike or something?”
“Just hold on,” Hopper said, coming to Armando’s defense. “Let him finish.”
“Tell them where you and your friend Hector went,” Detective Hopper prodded.
“We went over on Rose Street in Mar Vista. Another dude told Hector about this white guy, some college dude, who sold weed out of his house. Hector found out the dude had just bought a big stash of weed, but was out of town. We went to steal his weed. That’s all.”
Mankowski interrupted. “So how did Judi Irving end up dead?”
“I let Hector out in front of this house. About twenty minutes later he came running out carrying a jewelry box and a flat screen, screaming at me to take off.”
Thomas and Mankowski locked gazes. Only someone involved in Judi’s murder would know that the only items taken were a jewelry box and a small flat screen. They’d intentionally withheld that information from the media.
“I swear I didn’t know that he was gonna kill that white lady.” Armando started crying again. “I swear I didn’t!”
Mankowski sat down in the chair facing Armando. “What white lady?”
“The one in the newspaper. I don’t know her name. Hector said he hit her in the head with his big metal flashlight he had. He just wanted to knock her out until he had time to search the place to find out where the guy hid his weed.”
“What guy?” Mankowski asked.
“I already told you,” Armando cried. “Some white dude Hector knew.”
“So where’s Hector?”
“He ran, man. He went back to Mexico. He’s never coming back.”
“Let’s talk outside, gentlemen,” Detective Hopper said. “I’ll fill you in on the rest.”
“His story checks out,” Hopper said, when they stepped into the hallway. “Judi Irving had just rented that house a month earlier. Before that, it was the residence of Kenneth Murphy, a sophomore at UCLA. He was doing so well in the weed trade that he was able to upgrade to a condo in Westwood. Unfortunately for Ms. Irving, Mr. Murphy forgot to send a change-of-address notice to his customers.”
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