Lawful Deception

by Pamela Samuels Young

  I know that a good prosecutor could string together this evidence and at least get past a preliminary trial. And if the case gets to a jury and Mia displays even an ounce of her snooty personality, the jury won’t like her one bit. She’ll be stripping off her designer duds and going straight to jail. Even if she didn’t kill Bliss, Mia might soon find out that innocent people do indeed get railroaded.

  My job, however, regardless of whether the evidence is weak or strong, is to vigorously defend my client, not throw in the towel when the chips are down.

  “Sorry, guys. I’m just not hearing enough evidence to even keep me up at night. If you do find a deputy D.A. dumb enough to charge Ms. Richardson with murder based on this flimsy evidence, it’ll never get to a jury because I’ll knock it out at the prelim.”

  I widen my smile.

  “So how about dropping the bogus obstruction of justice charge and letting Ms. Richardson go home where she belongs?”

  CHAPTER 86

  When I return to the lobby and spot Fletcher, I almost don’t recognize him either. He looks as unkempt and defeated as Mia.

  “Is that your boy, Fletcher?” Special whispers. “He looks tore up.”

  Fletcher rushes over to us, almost crashing into me. “Where’s Mia? Can you get her out? She can’t spend the night in jail. She won’t make it.”

  “They’re processing her out right now. But I suspect they’re going to take their sweet time. So it could be a couple of hours.”

  “Oh, Vernetta, thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “Colin is arriving at LAX at seven tomorrow morning. Mia’s free for now, but I’m not sure how long it’s going to stay that way.”

  Fletcher gives me a weird look. “I need to talk to you.” He eyes Special. “Alone.”

  “I’m her private investigator,” Special boasts. “The attorney-client privilege extends to me.”

  “Special, I need you to give us a minute,” I say.

  She rolls her eyes and flops into a nearby chair.

  “Let’s step outside,” Fletcher says. “I can’t risk anyone hearing this.”

  For some strange reason, I’m nervous about what he’s about to tell me. We’re almost at the street before he stops.

  “Do we still have an attorney-client privilege relationship?” Fletcher asks.

  “Yes, that’s ongoing. I can’t reveal anything you’ve told me in confidence even though I’m no longer representing you. But as we discussed, I’m no longer your attorney. I’ve already walked dangerously close to the conflict-of-interest line by representing Mia on the obstruction of justice charge just now. So whatever you have to say, tell it to your new attorney.”

  “Well, just for the purpose of this conversation, I need you to represent me again.”

  “Fletcher, I don’t feel like playing any games. I can’t—”

  He grabs my arm so hard pain shoots up to my shoulder.

  “Please, Vernetta. I’m not playing games. I will only talk to you if I know for sure that you won’t disclose what I say to anyone.”

  Tears well in his eyes.

  “Fletcher, there are conflict of interest rules I have to abide by. I can’t—”

  His eyes ignite with anger. “Why do you always have to play by the goddamn rules? To hell with conflict of interest. We’re friends. I need to talk to you as a friend and I don’t need to hear any of that legal mumbo jumbo. I need to know that what I’m about to tell you won’t go anywhere else.”

  I rub my throbbing temple. “Okay, fine. Assuming I don’t have to lie about it under oath.”

  He scans the immediate area, then faces me again. “I found the gun.”

  “The gun? What gun?”

  “The gun Mia used to kill Bliss.”

  I take a step back. “Fletcher, what the hell are you saying?”

  He speaks haltingly now, as if he’s having trouble breathing. “It was hidden in the back of my closet on the top shelf. I don’t own a gun and Mia is afraid of them. Or at least I thought she was.”

  Now I’m the one looking around. “So Mia told you she killed Bliss?”

  “Of course not.”

  “So what did she say when you told her you found the gun?”

  “I haven’t told her about it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “How do you know it’s the gun that killed Bliss?”

  “It has to be.”

  “You can’t know that for sure until ballistics tests are done. And frankly, I don’t recommend turning it over to the police. When did you find it?”

  “Yesterday morning. And Mia is lucky I did. When those cops searched the house last night, they definitely would’ve found it. I just don’t understand why she hid it in my closet, or anywhere in the house period. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe she wanted me to find it.”

  Fletcher’s right. That doesn’t make sense. I’m convinced that he really doesn’t know the woman he’s about to marry. It would break his heart if he knew Mia was trying to separate him from his daughter. I don’t want to be around when somebody breaks that news to him. He sure can pick ’em. There couldn’t be two more scandalous women on the planet than Bliss Fenton and Mia Richardson.

  “So where is the gun now?” I ask.

  “It’s—”

  “Wait.” I put a hand up. “I don’t need to know.”

  I won’t be representing Fletcher or Mia after tonight. I need to stay out of it.

  “Fletcher, you need to get your own attorney,” I advise him. “And it can’t be me. If anyone finds out you have that gun, you could end up facing an obstruction of justice charge and a whole lot more. I’ll talk to Colin and we’ll come up with someone who can represent you. And don’t mention that gun to anyone besides your counsel. Not even Mia because you’ll probably be called to testify against her.”

  Fletcher massages the back of his neck. “This is all too much.”

  I lead him back inside and confirm that they’re still processing Mia out.

  As Special and I walk back to my car, she’s peppering me with a zillion questions. She’s like a Chihuahua, yapping at my feet. But I’m in my own head. Her words might as well be white noise.

  Despite my discounting the evidence the two detectives had presented, with the addition of the murder weapon—assuming the gun Fletcher just told me about is indeed the murder weapon—Mia is looking pretty darn guilty. It didn’t make sense, though, for her to hide the gun in Fletcher’s closet.

  Special places a hand on my arm. “Girl, are you even listening to me?”

  The more I think about it, however, the more everything begins to come into focus. I understand now, why Mia hid the gun in Fletcher’s closet and not her own.

  “Mia killed Bliss,” I blurt out.

  Special practically stumbles over her own feet. “What? You think so? Did she admit it? We really won’t know that for sure until we find Mystery Baby Daddy.”

  I shake my head, but don’t say more.

  Mia and Bliss are two of a kind, except that I now believe that Mia is even more vengeful than Bliss. Mia didn’t just focus her anger on Bliss. She also aimed it squarely at her future husband.

  To Fletcher’s knowledge, Mia never found out about his backseat blow job. He’d simply told her that we lost the motion on a technicality. According to Fletcher, Mia was still under the impression that Bliss got pregnant by stealing his semen from a used condom.

  But it would’ve been easy enough for Mia to get copies of Girlie’s summary judgment motion from the court records. And if she had, she would’ve learned precisely how Bliss conceived Harmony.

  The fact that Mia was working behind the scenes to get Fletcher’s own flesh and blood out of his life was the ultimate betrayal. Bliss’ vengeful scheme and Flet
cher’s infidelity had ruined Mia’s plans for an idyllic life of wealth and privilege.

  And now, Mia was seeking her own brand of revenge. Not only had she killed Bliss, she was setting up Fletcher to take the fall.

  CHAPTER 87

  “It was worth a try,” Thomas said, his voice full of resignation.

  “And it would’ve been more than a try if she hadn’t lawyered up,” Mankowski grumbled. “Lawyers screw up everything. I know I could’ve broken her down and gotten a confession.”

  “Well, we didn’t get that opportunity, so where do we go from here?”

  Mankowski pursed his lips. “Let’s go check out her alibi.”

  The House of Carlton on Lincoln and Mindanao in Marina Del Rey was a pretty exclusive spot. The salon had no website or online listing. Decorated in cream and gold, even the styling chairs were a gold-colored faux leather. The place had so many standing appointments, it could take months to get in.

  “I’m so glad I’m not a woman,” Mankowski muttered.

  “May I help you?” the receptionist asked.

  Mankowski flashed his badge. “L.A.P.D. We’d like to speak to Carlton.”

  “Okay, I’ll check to see if Mr. Carlton is available.”

  The girl scampered out of sight, but was back in a flash.

  “Mr. Carlton would like to know what this is about.”

  “You tell Carlton it’s going to be about his arrest, if he doesn’t get his rear end out here.”

  The girl disappeared again, and this time, took longer to return.

  “It’ll be a minute. Mr. Carlton is just finishing up a service.”

  “We don’t mind talking to him while he works.”

  “Oh no. We have a very exclusive clientele. Mr. Carlton works only in private.” The girl leaned over the counter and lowered her voice. “Mr. Carlton’s weaves are better than real hair. Our clients don’t like people to know they have weaves. Which is why Mr. Carlton does all of his work in his private quarters.”

  The detectives took a seat. It was another twenty-three minutes before they were allowed an audience with the king of weaves. To their surprise, Mr. Carlton was at least six-foot-two with a linebacker’s build and a deep baritone to match. His private quarters were more tastefully decorated than the rest of the shop, with muted blue walls and soothing lime furniture.

  “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

  “We understand that Mia Richardson is a client of yours.”

  “I’m sorry. I have a very elite clientele. I can’t reveal that information without their permission.”

  “Ms. Richardson has given her permission, which is why we even knew to come here. We’d like to know if she had an appointment with you last Tuesday.”

  Carlton opened his leather appointment book. “Yes. That wasn’t her regular day, but she asked me to squeeze her in for a weave tightening.”

  “What’s a weave tightening?” Mankowski asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Thomas said. “What time was her appointment?”

  “Eight-thirty.”

  “Did she arrive on time?”

  “On the nose.”

  “Did she seem upset or frazzled?”

  “Nope. She’s not exactly my friendliest client. She was reading some legal documents.”

  They asked a few more questions then left. They drove back to Bliss’ neighborhood and parked near the intersection of Jefferson and Playa Vista Drive.

  Mankowski pointed toward the intersection. “That traffic camera shows Mia driving eastbound on Jefferson, then turning right onto Playa Vista Drive at seven-fifty-five. Bliss’ townhouse is about a minute away. That means she had thirty-five minutes to cap her ex-friend and make it over to The House of Carlton to get her weave tightened.”

  Thomas set his watch as Mankowski drove from Bliss’ townhouse on Kiyot Way, through the intersection to the House of Carlton on Lincoln. There were six traffic lights between the two locations.

  Mankowski pulled into a parking stall in front of the salon. “Okay, how long did it take?”

  “Six minutes and thirty-five seconds. She even had enough time to catch a bite to eat.”

  Mankowski nodded. “Mia Richardson may’ve gotten her weave tightened last Tuesday evening, but she also took care of some other business while she was on this side of town. And we’re going to prove it.”

  CHAPTER 88

  Fletcher lay in bed spooning Mia’s warm body, which was curled tight against his. They’d arrived home just after 2 a.m. and he still hadn’t been able to fall asleep though it was just past six now.

  This was all his fault. He was the one who’d driven Mia to do this. Although he’d threatened Bliss, he didn’t have the balls to follow through on his threats. Mia had always been stronger than he was. He didn’t blame her for doing what he didn’t have the guts to do. And he planned to pull every string within his reach to make sure she got off.

  Mia began to stir, then turned around to face him.

  “I love you,” Fletcher said.

  “I love you too.” Mia pressed her lips to his, morning breath and all.

  He’d been anxiously waiting for Mia to talk to him. To tell him what she’d done. But she’d seemed almost catatonic when he picked her up from the police station. He was surprised that she had yet to ask him whether the police found anything when they searched the house. She had to be worried that they had discovered the gun she’d hidden in his closet.

  Mia glanced around their bedroom, which was larger than most L.A. apartments.

  “It looks better than I thought it would in here,” she said, surprised. “When the police execute a search warrant on TV, they always leave the place in shambles. I expected to find all my clothes strewn around the room.”

  “It was a lot messier than this,” Fletcher said with a half chuckle. “My mother and Carina straightened up a bit.”

  It had taken some doing, but Fletcher had convinced his mother to return home. He didn’t know what was in store for Mia, and he didn’t need his mother buzzing around adding more stress to his already full plate.

  He’d asked Carina to take Harmony away for a few days and put them up in a suite at the Four Seasons. Carina was more than happy for the mini-vacation, even if it meant caring for a three month old. He was lucky that Carina seemed to truly love his daughter. The woman had turned out to be a Godsend.

  “Mia, honey, is there anything we need to talk about?”

  She moved closer, resting her head across his chest.

  Mia inhaled. “I’m scared. They think I killed Bliss.” She started to whimper.

  Think? You did, didn’t you?

  “You have nothing to be worried about,” Fletcher lied, moving a few strands of hair from her face.

  “According to Vernetta, this attorney I hired to represent you is the best there is. He once got a guy acquitted for murder even though the cops had an eyewitness, the guy confessed and his fingerprints were on the murder weapon.”

  “I just feel so bad. I have...I have something I need to say.”

  Every muscle in Fletcher’s body constricted. Mia was about to confess that she killed Bliss.

  “I’m listening, honey.”

  “Vernetta was right. That stuff I said about innocent people not going to jail was stupid. I’m innocent and they’re about to railroad me. I need to apologize to her. She’s a really good attorney. You should’ve seen how she took on those arrogant cops. Frankly, I wish she was representing me. But I know she won’t do it because of the way I treated her.”

  Mia’s tears dampened Fletcher’s chest.

  It was beginning to bug him that Mia was keeping up this facade of innocence. Didn’t she trust him?

  “Honey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

  “Of course.”

&nb
sp; “So you don’t have anything else to tell me?”

  Mia took a long time to respond. She turned on the lamp and propped herself up on her forearms.

  “Fletcher, what are you asking me?”

  His eyes lasered into hers. “What do you think I’m asking you?”

  “I’m not sure, but I hope it’s not what I’m thinking.”

  Why are you putting on this show? Just tell me you did it!

  “I’d never judge you.” Fletcher massaged her back. “And I’ll love you no matter what.”

  “What?” Mia sprang out of bed, her bare feet slapping hard against the bamboo floor. “You think I killed Bliss?”

  Fletcher sprang up in bed. “Mia, please calm down.”

  “I will not calm down. I can’t believe you think that! How could you?”

  Mia ran into the bathroom and slammed the door. He could hear her frantic sobs but had no idea what to do.

  Fletcher was totally confused. Was he dealing with a crazy woman who’d talked herself into believing she was innocent? And if that was the case, was his own safety in jeopardy?

  As he fell back against his pillow, his stress level spiked a notch. Even in death, Bliss Fenton was still screwing up his life.

  CHAPTER 89

  “Hey, homie,” Colin climbs into the front seat of my Landcruiser and hurls his overnight bag into the backseat.

  I agreed to pick him up at LAX so I could give him a brief overview of the case before his first meeting with his new client. He is a tall, gregarious Jamaican who was raised in England.

  “Good to know that the Calvary is in town,” I joke as we pull off from the curb.

  “Indeed. Thanks for showing a brother some love,” he says in a sultry British accent. “I’m surprised that the media hasn’t jumped on this case. I searched online during the flight and all I found was the initial story on the day of the shooting.”

  “Oh, it’s coming. Take a look at this.” I reach for the Star magazine from a compartment along the door and hand it to him. “Check out this headline.”