“Sorry.” Wilson cocked her head ever so slightly. “Can’t help you. Freedom of the press is at stake here.”
Thomas stood up, never one to push too hard unless he was fairly certain of a payoff.
His more stubborn partner took his time getting to his feet. Mankowski was keenly aware that several sets of eyes from the newsroom were peering at them through the glass. They could probably sense it when one of their own was being pressed for information.
He thought about saying something crass, but decided he’d save his insults for the folks on his next stop.
CHAPTER 81
I left the office early, planning to have a hot, soapy bubble bath, then plant myself in front of the TV with a big bowl of kettle corn. I’d have the house to myself tonight since Jefferson would be attending a lecture at the mosque.
I definitely needed a break after my stressful day. That morning The Daily Business Journal broke the story about Big Buy’s financial fraud. I spent almost an hour on the phone with Jane, trying to calm her down. She claimed the CEO was treating her even worse than before, so she wanted to quit. But after Jane told me about the four-hundred-thousand dollars Big Buy’s founder left for her in his will, I wasn’t about to let her leave that money on the table.
Right after hanging up with Jane, Olivia called me. She was also ready to throw in the towel. I listened sympathetically as she told me how she was being shunned at work. I didn’t share the information Jane had revealed to me, but I did tell her that I’d uncovered some information that might allow me to negotiate a decent settlement for her. By the time we hung up, she was holding on, but the thread was pretty thin.
Since my blowup with Jefferson over his talking to the Community of Islam about a loan, we hadn’t discussed the issue again. On Sunday mornings, I continued to head off to Faithful Central Bible Church, while Jefferson went alone to the mosque. Prior to his interest in the Community, Jefferson occasionally attended church with me, but most mornings he slept in.
I eased my Land Cruiser into the driveway, surprised to see Jefferson’s car parked on his side of the driveway.
When I entered the house, the familiar sound of the TV welcomed me. Jefferson was in his usual spot on the couch in the den, drink in one hand, the remote no farther than arm’s reach.
There was still a dubious tension between us that we’d been ignoring, something we were both pretty good at. A disagreement could hover below the surface for months before finally exploding in our faces.
“I’m surprised to find you home,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “Isn’t there a lecture at the mosque tonight?”
“What? You’re not happy to see me?” His tone was neither serious nor playful.
“I just didn’t expect you to be here. You always go to lectures on Tuesday nights.”
He lazily hunched his left shoulder. “I decided to skip a night.”
When my husband was in one of his moods, it was usually best to give him some distance. Most of the time, I wisely did so. Tonight, though, curiosity wouldn’t let me.
I eyed the brown liquor in his cocktail glass and assumed that it wasn’t tea.
I plopped down next to him on the couch. “I thought Muslims weren’t supposed to drink alcohol.”
His gaze remained on the television screen. “I thought Christians weren’t supposed to judge people.”
“Okay, I get it. You’re in a bad mood.”
I motioned to get up, but before I could, he placed a hand on my forearm.
“Don’t go.”
I settled back in, my mood about to become as funky as his.
“I’ve decided not to join the Community,” Jefferson announced. “So you happy now?”
Hell, yeah, I’m happy. “Is that why you’re in such a funky mood tonight?”
“I’m not in a funky mood.” He swirled his drink, which made a clinking sound when the ice hit the side of the glass.
“Then what would you call it?”
He twisted his lips sideways as he thought about my question. “I’m in a reflective mood.”
I laughed. “Okay, then.”
Several minutes passed with the only sound in the room coming from the Jaheim music video on the television screen.
I tried hard to keep my lips sealed, but the questions bouncing around in my head needed answers. “Did you decide not to join the Community because of me?” I finally asked.
Jefferson didn’t rush to respond.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I definitely didn’t wanna deal with the drama of seeing your lips poked out every time I went to a lecture. But that wasn’t what led to my decision.”
It was easy to see that my husband was in the midst of a serious internal struggle. I snuggled closer and decided to let him talk when he was ready.
“Those brothers are on a mission,” he said after a few more minutes had passed. “And I really respect that. But I didn’t wanna half-step. I don’t have time for all the meetings or the patience for all the rules and regulations. If I couldn’t do it with the kind of passion and commitment that Clayton—I mean, Khalil—has, I wouldn’t feel right.”
He held his glass high in the air, then took a sip. “And I can give up bacon. I might be able to cut back on cussin’. But I ain’t giving up Cognac.”
I chuckled. “So that’s what it came down to?”
Jefferson smiled. “I am who I am.”
“What about the loan?”
“The general contractor got his act together. I didn’t need it after all. Now go ahead and just say it so we can get past this.”
“Say what?”
“How glad you are that I’m not joining the Community. You probably wanna do some cartwheels across the room.”
“You did have me worried,” I confessed with a laugh. “I really thought you might get as deep into the Community as Clayton is.”
“And if I had?”
“My faith is important to me, so that would’ve been a big problem.”
“I still don’t understand why you were trippin’ so hard. Especially since I rarely even went to church anyway.”
“Yeah, but you were raised as a Christian. Despite your willingness to dabble in Islam, I know your religious beliefs are the same as mine. Our faith and our upbringing in the church shape who we are.”
“You act like we agree on everything. We don’t.”
“I know that. But some aspects of a marriage are more important than others. For me, my faith is one of them. And on that, we need to be on the same page. I’ve been praying about it. If that didn’t work, I was gonna call your mama and tell on you.”
“Oh, that would’ve been messed up,” Jefferson said, laughing. “I’m just lucky she hasn’t seen that Times article.
The room fell silent again.
“Thanks for backing off and letting me work this out on my own.”
“No problem,” I said, briefly looking skyward. Thank God.
CHAPTER 82
It took Mankowski and Thomas close to ninety minutes in rush-hour traffic to make the drive from The Daily Business Journal to Big Buy’s headquarters in Anaheim. In light of the media firestorm the company found itself in the midst of, the detectives had correctly predicted that the CEO would still be in the office despite the fact that it was almost eight.
It hadn’t been easy to get an audience with Rita Richards-Kimble. Only after Mankowski threatened to drag her down to the station for questioning, did she suddenly become available.
“As you can imagine, we’ve had a pretty rough day with all of these scandalous news reports about our company,” Rita said, when they entered her office. “So obviously I’m not happy to have two detectives in my office right now.”
She rounded her desk, gave both detectives a firm handshake and showed them to an adjoining conference room. The impressive space had windows on two sides and a long, black lacquered table surrounded by sixteen black leather chairs.
Mankowski sank down into one of them and felt like he
was resting on a mound of cotton.
The CEO sat at the head of the table and faced the detectives who sat on either side of her. She was a weird-looking woman, Mankowski thought. Something about her face seemed a little off, but he wasn’t quite sure what. Probably too much nipping and tucking.
“My general counsel will be here in just a second,” Rita said, the tips of her fingers pressed together. “In the meantime, can you give me a little more information about why you’re here?”
“We believe the news reports about your company’s financial irregularities are tied to a case we’ve been investigating.”
Her perfectly arched brows furrowed. “And what case would that be?”
“The murder of Judi Irving. We understand that Ms. Irving was suing Big Buy for gender discrimination. We believe she had copies of documents with information about the company’s fraudulent financial statements that somehow got into the hands of The Daily Business Journal.”
“That’s as ridiculous as the media’s lies about our finances.”
Another woman entered without knocking and curtly introduced herself as the general counsel. She was better looking than the CEO, but was way too buttoned-up.
“I hope you haven’t answered any questions without me,” Evelyn Kimble gently chided the CEO.
The general counsel pulled out a chair and sat down next to Thomas. She looked from Mankowski to his partner. “It’s very unusual for us to get a visit from law enforcement.”
Mankowski repeated what he had just told the CEO. Almost immediately, he picked up on a restrained friction between the two women. They had yet to make eye contact. Maybe now was a good time to turn up the heat.
“We also have evidence that Phillip Peterman, Judi Irving’s boyfriend, was intimately involved with someone who had close ties to your company.”
“Who?” both women blurted out in the same shrill voice.
“Your attorney, Girlie Cortez,” he said.
It was Thomas’ idea to ambush them with the information so they could observe their reactions.
The general counsel’s rosy cheeks whitened. “Are you saying Girlie was sleeping with Mr. Peterman?”
“That’s what we believe,” Mankowski confirmed, then waited a beat. “Is it possible that Ms. Cortez may’ve turned over your company’s records to The Daily Business Journal?”
“That’s absurd,” the CEO bristled. “Girlie didn’t perform the kind of legal work that would have given her access to our financial records.”
“She could’ve gotten access to them if somebody sent them to Judi Irving and Ms. Cortez was screwing Judi Irving’s boyfriend,” Thomas pointed out.
Neither woman could muster a response to that scenario.
“We’re also looking into the possibility that Ms. Cortez obtained the documents from Peterman at the company’s request,” Thomas continued. “That might explain Mr. Peterman’s untimely death. Maybe someone had him killed to keep him quiet about what he knew.”
Mankowski gave his partner an attaboy grin. That was complete bull, but he liked it.
“That’s ridiculous!” Rita pushed away from the table. “Our earnings reports aren’t fraudulent and Girlie Cortez is way too smart to ruin her legal career by doing something that stupid. And if we had hired her to recover those documents, you can bet they would’ve never ended up in the hands of The Daily Business Journal.”
He could see why this woman was the CEO. She had some grapefruit-size balls. She’d immediately zeroed in on the one big flaw in their little theory. If Girlie was doing the dirty work of her clients, she wouldn’t have given the documents to the Journal.
“Girlie told us Mr. Peterman died in a car accident,” Evelyn said quietly. “I didn’t think his death was the result of foul play.”
Mankowski hunched his shoulders and spread his arms. “I’m not at liberty to disclose the evidence we’ve gathered.”
No one spoke until the general counsel rose from her chair. “We have no knowledge about any of this. So I think we’re done here, gentlemen.”
Mankowski didn’t want to leave. His chair was softer than his bed.
“We’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Ms. Cortez that we know about her relationship with Mr. Peterman,” Thomas said, as he neared the door. “Our investigation is still ongoing and we don’t want to tip her off.”
“I can assure you that nobody connected with Big Buy had anything to do with those documents or the death of Judi Irving, her boyfriend or anybody else,” the CEO insisted. “Especially not one of our attorneys.”
“Shouldn’t you talk to Ms. Cortez before making that representation?” Thomas asked.
“We don’t need to talk to her,” Rita insisted. “The attorneys we hire don’t engage in unscrupulous or illegal conduct. And neither do we.”
CHAPTER 83
Special pounded on Vernetta’s front door with both fists, then pressed the doorbell in rapid succession.
“It’s me!” she yelled. “Open up. This is important!”
It took a couple of minutes before she heard the click of the deadbolt lock. “Do you know what time it is?” Jefferson groaned, as he eased the door open.
He had one hand on the door, the other on the door jam, blocking her entrance. He was dressed in a rumpled T-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.
“It’s not even nine o’clock yet. That ain’t late.” Special ducked under his arm and into the house.
“Vernetta’s not answering her cell. Is she home? I need to talk to her. A-S-A-P.”
Jefferson yawned and closed the door. “She had to take her parents to LAX. She should be home any minute.”
“Well, I gotta wait up for her. You see this right here?” She waved a yellow folder back and forth in front of his face. “What I got in here is gonna clear Lamarr and nail that heffa, Girlie Cortez.”
“I doubt Vernetta cares about clearing Lamarr. She doesn’t represent him anymore.”
“She’ll care once I tell her what I found out.”
Jefferson yawned and stretched his arms. “So what did you find out?’
Special tucked the folder behind her back. “Sorry, it’s top secret. I’m a private investigator now. I’d be breaching my ethical obligation to my client if I divulged confidential information.”
“Okay, whatever. You can wait for Vernetta in the den. I have to be up at five, so I’m going back to sleep.”
He turned to leave, but Special grabbed the tail end of his T-shirt.
“I don’t wanna wait by myself. Anyway, I need to talk to you too.”
She tugged him toward the den, where he fell onto the couch. Special placed her file on the coffee table and sat in an adjacent chair.
“What’s the four-one-one on Clayton—excuse me—Khalil. Did he hook up with that blabbermouth Akila yet?”
Jefferson hooked his head over the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “I ain’t getting into that.”
“That’s a very evasive response,” Special replied. “Now that I’m a private investigator, I’m a lot more perceptive. If you didn’t know anything, you would’ve said so. Now spill it.”
Jefferson pinched the bridge of his nose. “I haven’t talked to Clay—Khalil—in a few days. I have no idea what’s going on with him. And even if I knew something, I wouldn’t tell you. He’s not the guy for you, okay?”
Jefferson’s words quieted her. “And why would you say that?”
“Clay—hell, it’s gonna take me some time to get used to his new name. He ain’t here, so I’m calling him Clayton. That brother really wants to change things for black folks. He needs a woman who’s down with him on that.”
“And that’s not me?”
“You tell me. The woman Clayton hooks up with is gonna have to make a lot of sacrifices. She’s gonna have to share him with the Community. You willing to do that?”
“Maybe.”
“Stop lyin’,” Jefferson said. “Move on. You’re crazy as hell, but you’re a good wom
an. There’s a guy out there for you.”
Special sucked her teeth. “I wish you would tell me where the hell he is.”
“Just stop lookin’ so hard. Sistahs like you scare men. The next dude you meet, just kick back and enjoy his company.”
“Easy for you to say. Your clock ain’t tickin’.”
“I thought you didn’t want kids.”
“That’s beside the point.”
Jefferson chuckled and massaged the back of his neck. “I have no idea why women are so anxious to get married. Marriage ain’t the be-all and end-all.”
“I won’t tell your wife you said that.”
“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I like being married. But it’s hard work sometimes. Me and Vernetta have been through some stuff. And, by the way, thanks for telling her I was talking to the Community of Islam about a loan.”
“Oh,” Special said sheepishly. “That kinda slipped out. Sorry.”
“Yeah, I bet it did.”
“So you think Clayton’s going to marry Akila?”
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
“Yep. Now answer my question.”
“I don’t know. But if he doesn’t marry her, he’ll probably marry some other woman he meets at the mosque.”
Hearing Jefferson’s confirmation of what she already knew made her heart shudder.
“And if that does happen, it’s no reflection on you.” After a long stretch of silence, he looked over at her. “Are you gonna be okay if he does?”
Special didn’t respond. Her head could definitely handle the loss, but her heart was another story.
Neither one of them heard Vernetta walk into the room. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Girrrlllll,” Special said, jumping up from the chair, “you won’t believe what I dug up. First, we gotta go talk to Lamarr right away. And after that, we’re going to stick it to Girlie Cortez. The information I found out about her will blow your mind!”
“I don’t have a thing to talk to Lamarr about,” Vernetta said, kicking off her shoes. “But I’m very interested in what you found out about Girlie.”
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