Lawful Deception

by Pamela Samuels Young

  “We’ll need their names.”

  “No problem.” Fletcher takes out his phone. “I can send you a text right now.”

  “It can wait.” Mankowski moves closer to the table. “How are things going with you and your daughter?”

  Fletcher’s eyes narrow. I can tell he finds the question a bit strange and so do I. But he plays along.

  “Excellent. We’re bonding just fine.”

  “Really? We heard you weren’t too happy about Bliss dumping Harmony on your doorstep.”

  “Well, I uh...” Fletcher seems uncertain about how to respond, but opts for honesty. “True. I was a little stunned at first. But I’m glad she’s with me now.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Mankowski flips a page on his small notepad. “Tell me about your relationship with Ms. Fenton.”

  It’s my turn to jump in. “That’s a very broad question, detective. How about narrowing it a bit?”

  “This isn’t a deposition, counselor.”

  “It sure isn’t,” I agree with a friendly smile. “If it were, we’d be here pursuant to a subpoena. But Mr. McClain is here voluntarily. So it would be great if you could be a little more specific with your questions.”

  Mankowski grunts. “We understand that you had a pretty contentious relationship with Ms. Fenton.”

  “That’s true. She stole my sperm and inseminated herself when she knew I wasn’t interested in having a kid with her. That would bother any guy.”

  There’s a knock at the door and a rotund woman waves Thomas into the hallway. Before Mankowski can ask another question, Thomas is back, whispering into Mankowski’s ear. They trade a smirk that tells me Mankowski is happy about whatever he’d just been told.

  “I’m going to have to step out for a while.” Thomas delivers the news as if we’re going to miss him. “Another matter requires my attention.”

  Once the door closes, Mankowski turns back to us. “I’ll just cut to the chase. Did you kill your ex-girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “It’s our understanding that you threatened to do just that.”

  “Well, your understanding is wrong.”

  “So you’re saying you never threatened to kill Ms. Fenton or even expressed the desire to see her dead?”

  Fletcher pauses, then looks over at me. I want to tell him not to do that because it makes him look evasive. But I’m more concerned right now about the lie he just told. On at least two occasions he’d made it very clear that he would kill Bliss before paying her the money she was seeking. But our communications are attorney-client privileged. I pray he hasn’t expressed those same sentiments to anyone else.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong,” Fletcher continues. “What she did made me mad as hell. But I didn’t want to see her dead.”

  A slight grin touches Mankowski’s lips. “So if someone told me that you threatened to kill Ms. Fenton, they would be lying?”

  “Yep.”

  My sensors are on maximum alert now. My experience tells me that Mankowski isn’t just on a fishing expedition. He’s methodically painting Fletcher into a corner. Did someone overhear Fletcher say he wanted Bliss dead? Maybe Fletcher expressed his frustration to Gabriella and the police knew about it. No. Gabriella would never sell out Fletcher to the police.

  “So if someone told me that you threatened to kill Bliss Fenton, they’d be lying?”

  Fletcher cocks his head. “I already answered that question.”

  I swallow hard. This feels like a setup. Mankowski is proceeding the same way I meticulously pose my questions in a deposition. When you have a smoking gun in your pocket, you give the witness every opportunity to tell the truth. Then you pull a surprise attack and confront him with irrefutable evidence that proves he’s a big fat liar.

  When Mankowski reaches for his phone and starts tapping the screen, my stomach clenches. I fear that Fletcher has just dug himself into a hole I might not be able to pull him out of.

  “Why don’t you listen to this?” he says. “Maybe it might refresh your memory.”

  He taps the screen and the first thing I hear is a man’s voice. There’s a low murmur of other voices and the tinkling of what sounds like silverware in the background. There’s no question that the man speaking is Fletcher. His voice is low and full of venom.

  “I need you to hear me and hear me clearly. If that kid is mine, I’m going to accept my legal obligations and do right by the both of you. But if you insist on being a greedy cunt about this, your precious little daughter could very well end up motherless.”

  “So you’re threatening me?”

  A jolt of silence rocks the tiny interrogation room. Fletcher is now wide-eyed when he finally faces me. His eyes are now full of fear and regret, regret for not following my advice. Mankowski sits back in his chair, his right ankle resting on his left knee. As the recording continues, he looks more smug than I’ve ever seen him.

  “It’s not a threat at all. It’s a promise.”

  Mankowski taps the screen of his phone, cutting off the recording.

  Fletcher looks mortified. “How...how did you…Where’d you get that?”

  “Bliss left it for us. She had her phone on record while you two were having lunch. We have your entire conversation on tape. Would you like to change your previous response about never having threatened Ms. Fenton?”

  My hand seizes Fletcher’s forearm and squeezes hard enough to leave fingerprints. “We’re done here.”

  I stand up and Fletcher follows my lead.

  His cheeks are flaming red like a spoiled toddler’s. “I didn’t kill that b—” He stops himself a second too late.

  “Oh, so she’s a bitch now? That’s good to know.”

  “Not another word!” I shout at Fletcher.

  With my hand pressed like the barrel of a gun against Fletcher’s back, I push him out of the door.

  CHAPTER 68

  Detective Thomas was getting a kick out of the beautiful but snooty Mia Richardson. She was a little thin for his taste, but otherwise quite a looker. Fletcher McClain had picked himself some pretty, though flawed women.

  He’d left a message with Mia’s assistant that morning explaining that he wanted to speak with her about the murder of Bliss Fenton. From the chilly reception he’d received, Thomas figured they’d have to ambush Mia at her office, the way they’d tried to do with Fletcher. But it was just his luck that the proud little lady stalked right into the police station ready and willing to talk.

  Thomas was thrilled that he would be able to talk to her before she had an opportunity to speak to Fletcher about his interview. Even better, the self-assured Mia Richardson didn’t feel she needed an attorney for their little chat. She gave off the impression that she was way smarter than him. She was an attorney after all.

  “Thanks so much for coming in,” he began, trying to put her at ease.

  She was dressed in a bright pink knit suit. It looked liked one of those St. John things that his wife swooned over. The detective couldn’t believe how much they cost. He had a fundamental problem with paying extra money for something simply because it had somebody’s name on it. He respected her for not coming in with her cleavage showing, what little she had. A lot of women tried to side track them that way.

  “I’ll get right to the point. We understand that you and Ms. Fenton weren’t exactly on great terms.”

  “And who told you that?”

  “So it’s true?”

  She huffed. “I have to assume you did your homework, so you must know how Bliss stole my fiancé’s sperm.”

  The detective nodded, though he disagreed that any theft was involved.

  “She set him up as part of a stunt to embarrass me and to get her hands on my fiancé’s money. She resented the fact that he dumped her for me. You have to know what kind of person she is. Most women
have kids because they love children. Bliss just wanted the child support. For her, motherhood meant job security.”

  “So it’s true then?” he asked.

  “What’s true?”

  “That you and Ms. Fenton weren’t on great terms.”

  “Yes. That would be true. But that doesn’t mean I had anything to do with her death.”

  “So what were you doing last Tuesday night between the hours of eight and ten p.m.?”

  “I don’t know. I was probably home reading.”

  “And where is home?”

  “My fiancé and I live in Beverly Hills.”

  Mia had yet to refer to Fletcher by his name. She harped on the word fiancé as if it was a badge of honor.

  “What were you reading?” he asked.

  “Probably a contract related to one of my cases.”

  “Which one?”

  “I don’t remember?”

  “You don’t remember which case? That was only a couple of days ago.”

  Mia was on the edge of getting defensive. “I have a lot of cases.”

  Thomas paused for a few seconds. He wanted to keep her calm because that would keep her talking. The woman definitely despised Bliss Fenton. But he couldn’t get a clear read on whether she might’ve been Bliss’ killer.

  “Is there anyone else who can verify that you were at home?”

  “Probably our nanny.”

  “Probably?”

  “I don’t remember seeing her after I got home from work.”

  It bothered Thomas that Mia had yet to express an ounce of sympathy over the death of her former friend. This pretty lady was as cold as an icicle.

  “Look, detective, I have a busy law practice. I don’t have all day to chit-chat with you. So I’ll put everything on the table. I pretty much despised Bliss Fenton, but I didn’t kill her. I’m not the type.”

  “So there’s a type?”

  Mia shot a condescending glare across the table. “I was referring to the kind of person who resorts to violence in order to solve a problem. That’s not me.”

  “Do you have any idea who may’ve wanted to harm Ms. Fenton?”

  Mia spread her hands, palms up. “Take your pick. That woman spent her life screwing over people. I’d start with the fathers of her two boys.”

  “Okay, that’s a good segue. Let’s move on to the fathers. How about your fiancé? Do you think Fletcher McClain had anything to do with Bliss’ murder?”

  From the stunned expression on Mia’s face, she seemed shocked that Fletcher would even be on their radar.

  She stiffened like a toy soldier. “Absolutely not. Fletcher chose to fight that woman in court. He wouldn’t kill her. Even though he sh—” She abruptly stopped talking and smiled demurely.

  Detective Thomas smiled back as he completed Mia’s unfinished sentence in his head. Even though he should have. He wished Mankowski was here. His partner would’ve had fun pushing Mia’s buttons.

  “Maybe Fletcher lost it. I see that happen to upstanding citizens all the time. Bliss was going after him for a whole lot of money and it was very likely the court was going to order him to pay her a substantial sum every month.”

  “Fletcher wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Thomas admired the girl’s grit. Even though Fletcher had been unfaithful, Mia wasn’t about to flip on her rich boyfriend.

  “Maybe he hired somebody to do it?”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “Do you recall what time he got home Tuesday night?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I took a peek at Fletcher’s place on Google Earth,” he said. “It looks large enough to get lost in. Maybe he was out taking care of Bliss while you were home reading your contract.”

  “Yes, our place is pretty large, almost seven thousand square feet.” She delivered this fact with the utmost pride. “But that didn’t happen.”

  “How’s it going raising Harmony?”

  Mia gave a loud sigh. “I’m sure you can understand how difficult it must be for me to accept my fiancé’s—” she instantly corrected herself—“Bliss’ daughter with open arms.”

  Thomas frowned. The kid would have a rough life with Mia Richardson as her stepmother.

  “He’s her only parent now, so you’re going to have to accept her.”

  “True. Which cuts against me being a suspect in Bliss’ murder.”

  “How’s that?”

  “My killing Bliss Fenton would’ve left Fletcher the child’s sole parent. I’m pretty smart. I would’ve thought that through. There’s no way I would’ve intentionally inserted that child into our lives.”

  “Sounds like you’re not too happy about the prospect of raising Bliss Fenton’s kid.”

  Mia took a moment before speaking again, no doubt weighing the pros and cons of providing an honest answer.

  “You’re right, detective. I’m not happy about it one bit. But I didn’t kill Bliss.”

  CHAPTER 69

  I wait until we’re well outside the police station and within sight of Fletcher’s Town car before letting him have it.

  “Now do you understand why I didn’t want you to talk to the cops?”

  His eyes fall and he hangs his head.

  “My God, Fletcher! Do you know what a jury’s going to think after hearing that recording? What were you thinking when—”

  He raises his hand cutting me off and continues walking in long strides. “I don’t want to hear it right now.”

  I have to jog to keep up with him. “Well, you’re going to hear it whether you want to or not.”

  “I don’t care what I said on that recording. I didn’t kill her. Though I wish I had.”

  I spin around, paranoid that we might’ve been overheard. That’s when I saw her. “Is that Mia?”

  Fletcher glances back over his shoulder, his forehead creasing with concern. He takes off toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” He takes Mia by both arms.

  Mia shrugs nonchalantly. “They wanted me to answer a few questions. Just a formality. They’re probably interviewing everyone who knew Bliss.”

  I’m stunned. “And you did that without having a criminal attorney with you? You’re a lawyer. You should know better.”

  Mia waves her long fingers in the air as if my words are annoying puffs of smoke. “I didn’t kill Bliss, so there’s no reason for me to have legal representation. Innocent people generally don’t go to jail.”

  For a second, I forgot how to breathe. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

  “Actually, I do.”

  I stare at her in shell-shocked amazement.

  “Babe,” Fletcher says, his hands caressing both of Mia’s shoulders, “you should’ve called me. Vernetta would’ve gone with you.”

  Like hell I would’ve.

  “What’s done is done,” she says with a hitch of her shoulder. “It’s no big deal. If it were, I’d be behind bars right now. So they questioned you too?”

  Fletcher cupped the back of his head. “Yeah. And it was pretty brutal.”

  “They were only trying to rankle you, sweetie. I’m sure you did fine. Frankly, as we discussed, you should’ve consulted me before coming down here.” She looks me up and down. “I don’t think it was a great idea that you went in there with an attorney. That alone probably made you look guilty.”

  I try, but I can’t hold my tongue. “You obviously know very little about the criminal justice system.”

  Mia’s ears seem to prickle. “I know enough.”

  “No you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have made the comment you just made. When a cop interrogates somebody, he isn’t trying to make a friend. He’s trying to zero in on a suspect. So it’s best to have counsel present.”

  She jams both
fists against her non-existent hips, then makes the mistake of taking a giant step into my personal space. “Not if you haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sorry, but I don’t happen to possess the anti-cop attitudes that most blacks have.”

  I jam a finger in her face. “You can act all bougie if you want, but that expensive suit won’t erase the fact that you grew up in the heart of Detroit. Just remember your words when you have a son—a black son—and the cops stop him for driving while black. Or God forbid, shoot him for simply walking down the street.”

  “My son will be just fine because I’ll teach him to do what the police tell him to do. If your bru-thas”—she says her words as if she’s spitting them at me—“behaved like law-abiding citizens, there wouldn’t be any cop shootings. When a cop tells you to stop and put your hands up, that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

  I no longer trust my eyes because all I see is fire-engine red. “You can’t possibly believe what you just said.”

  “I do. And I no longer have time for this ridiculous conversation.”

  I want to yank out every strand of her weave. “You ignorant—”

  Fletcher jams himself between us. “Hey, hey, hey! We’re outside a friggin’ police station for Christ’s sakes! Cut it out. Both of you.”

  “And this is who you want representing you?” Mia yells at me over Fletcher’s shoulder. “But then again, you are from Compton.”

  Fletcher grabs my arm and drags me a few yards away, which upsets me even more. He should be trying to talk some sense into his simpleton of a fiancée, not pulling me away.

  I break away from Fletcher’s grasp just as a uniformed cop heads our way.

  “Is everything okay over there?”

  Lester, Fletcher’s driver, has joined our little circle. My chest is heaving like I’d just run a hard sprint. Mia’s lips are pursed so tight it looks like she’s puckering up for a kiss.

  “Everything’s just fine, officer.” Fletcher flashes his Hollywood smile. “We were just heading to our cars. Lester, why don’t you take Vernetta home? I’ll ride home with Mia.”

  “C’mon, honey.” Mia takes Fletcher by the arm and wrinkles her nose at me.