BIG DADDY SINATRA 2: IF I CAN'T HAVE YOU, Book 2 (23 page)

“Furthermore,”
Joffee said, “surveillance inside the drugstore showed where Donald entered
with Bonita in his arms, that was true.
 
But then he started heading for the very back of the store as soon as he
got in there.
 
Before the explosion
occurred.
 
Then, when the explosion
rocked everything, he went out the backdoor.
 
Which was understandable when you hear an explosion up front.
 
But he was already near that exit before the
explosion occurred, as if he knew what was coming.”

“I
didn’t know what was coming!” Donald yelled.
 
“What are you saying?”

Joffee
stood up.
 
“I’m saying that the
surveillance footage, coupled with the fact that you despised your stepmother,
coupled with the fact that you lied to authorities on immaterial matters like
where you parked your car, makes you our prime suspect.
 
Donald Sinatra, I am placing you under arrest
for the murder of Tess Magrid and the attempted murders of Jenay Sinatra and
Bonita Sinatra.
 
Please rise and turn
around.”

The
room was stunned.
 
Even Brent, who was a
police sergeant no less, was speechless.
 
Donald stood up, with tears in his eyes.
 
He looked to his father.
 
“Dad,”
he said, as Joffee turned him around and began to handcuff him. Jenay stood up
too.
 
Charles began walking toward his
son.

“He
didn’t do it, Joffee,” Charles said.
 
“Donald would not have done that.”

“Then
fine,” Joffee said.
 
“He’ll have his day
in court.
 
But right now, we believe we
have enough to arrest him and I believe the DA will have enough to prosecute
him.
 
Let’s go,” he said to Donald, and began
to take him away.

“What
are you doing?” Brent asked his boss.
 
He
was still too stunned.
 
“You know my
brother.
 
You know he woudn’t do anything
like that!”

“Stay
out of this, Brent,” Joffee warned him.
 
“Don’t come to the station right now, you stay completely out of
this.
 
You will not be on this case.
 
There will be no accusations of favoritism
here.”

And
Joffee, with a terrified Donald, left the home.

“Oh
my God,” Jenay said, with her hands on the sides of her face.
 
She couldn’t believe it.
 
“What a nightmare day!”

Charles
went over to the side table and grabbed his keys. “Brent, Tony, look out for my
wife and girl.”

“Yes,
sir,” Tony said.

“Where
are you going?” Brent asked.

“To
get your brother out.
 
He didn’t do it.”

“But what
about the evidence?” Robert asked.

“I
don’t give a fuck about any evidence!” Charles shot back.
 
“He didn’t do it.”
 
Then Charles went over, kissed Jenay, and
left.

Brent
ran his hands through his hair.

“What
are we going to do, Brent?” Robert asked.
 
“You heard Chief Joffee.
 
They’ve got all of that evidence against him,
and we all know how Donnie is.”

“Your
father knows too,” Jenay said.

“Then
why doesn’t he believe it’s possible?” Robert wanted to know.

“Because
he can’t believe it,” Jenay said.
 
“And
because that boy came from Charles, I can’t believe it either.”

They
all looked at Jenay.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Chief
Joffee was angry, but there was nothing he could do about it.
 
Charles Sinatra had spoken with Joffee’s
boss, the mayor, and suddenly Joffee was being ordered to release Charles’s
son.
 
When asked why, the mayor insisted
that they didn’t have enough evidence to hold him.
 
But Joffee knew better than that.
 
Donald Sinatra was being released solely
because his father was Charles Sinatra, and every asshole politician in Jericho
was afraid of him.

Charles
sat quietly in Joffee’s office.
 
He was
still stunned by the events of the day, and was still contemplating who could
have done such a thing.
 
He was not in a
talking mood.
 
He listened to Joffee’s
complaints as if the chief wasn’t even talking to him.
 
Until Joffee forced a response.
 

“You
made him face those domestic violence charges a few years back like a man,”
Joffee said.
 
“But now, for something
this serious, you play dirty to get him off the hook.
 
And make no mistake about it: pulling the
mayor into this was dirty as dirty can get.”

Then
Joffee got loud: “We have overwhelming evidence that you boy killed that nanny
and tried to kill your own wife and baby.
 
Yet you run down here and get him out?
 
A murderer like that?
 
How could
you do that and still live with yourself?”

“Because
that’s not what I’m doing,” Charles said.
 
“I’m not here to get a murderer out. I ‘m here to get my son out.
 
And I don’t care if your evidence stacks ten
feet tall, my son didn’t do it.
 
Donald
Sinatra didn’t do it.
 
I would have
called the president if I could have.”

Joffee
stared at Charles.
 
He’d never seen him
so certain.

The
door opened and the officer, with Donald beside him, walked in.
 
Charles stood up.
 
When Donald saw his father, he ran to him and
threw his arms around him.
 
Charles held
his son.

“I
didn’t do it, Dad,” he said.
 
“You’ve got
to believe me!
 
I didn’t do it!”

“I
know you didn’t,” Charles responded, and began leaving.
 
“Let’s get out of here.”

Donald
looked back at Joffee and smiled in twisted satisfaction, as he followed his
father out.

When
they left, Joffee grabbed the phone on his desk, and threw it across the room.

Outside,
Charles got behind the wheel of his truck and sat there.
 
Donald, who was seated on the passenger seat,
looked at him.

“Thank-you
for believing me, Dad,” he said.

“Why
did you lie?” Charles asked, and then looked at his son.

“I
didn’t lie!”

“Why
did you lie?” Charles asked again.
 
“Why
did you say the reason you went into that drugstore was to get a
prescription?
 
Why did you park two
blocks away, but claim you parked right around the corner?
 
Why did you lie?”

“But
I didn’t lie,” Donald said.

Charles
slapped him so hard across his face that his nose drew blood.
 
“Why did you lie?
 
I’m not asking you again!”

Donald
knew he had to come clean with his father or risk permanent injury.
 
He knew he had to tell it to him
straight.
 
“When you fired me from the
Inn,” he said, “and you said how pathetic I was for lying on your wife, I felt
like I had hit rock bottom.
 
Again.
 
But I still . . . I knew what I needed.
 
The doctor had already told me what I
needed.
 
But I couldn’t . . . I didn’t
want to be stigmatized.
 
So I talked the
doctor into putting it in a different name.”

Charles
frowned.
 
“Put what in a different name?”

“My
prescription.”

“Why
would it need to be in a different name, Donald?”

Donald
hesitated.
 
“Because it was for
depression.”
 
Donald said this and looked
at his father, as if he was expecting him to judge him.

“Keep
talking,” Charles said.

“He
diagnosed me with severe depression and said I needed medication.
 
So he agreed to put it in a fake name and
today I decided to go and pick it up.
 
I
planned to tell the Pharmacist that I was picking it up for a friend.
 
Since my name wasn’t on the prescription, I
didn’t figure he would know anything.”

“What
didn’t you want him to know?” Charles asked.

“I
didn’t want him to think I was crazy,” Donald responded.
 
“Because I’m not.”

“Nobody
said you were crazy.”

“But
that’s how people are.
 
The doctor said
it was a chemical imbalance, and that medicine would help put me back in
balance or something.
 
It’s like a person
with high blood pressure who has to take medication.
 
He said I really needed it.”

“So
you talked some doctor into giving you a prescription in somebody else’s name,
which I’m sure is illegal, because you didn’t want the drugstore clerk to think
you were crazy?”

“You
know how they gossip, Dad.
 
It would have
been all over Jericho had it been in my name.
 
Big Daddy Sinatra’s baby boy is a
freak
, they would say.”

“A
person who suffers from Depression isn’t a freak, Donald,” Charles made clear.

“But
that’s how they would put it!
 
And that’s
the reason why the pharmacist told the police that I didn’t have a prescription
at his drugstore.
 
It was there, but it
wasn’t in my name, and he didn’t know any of that.
 
And when Chief Joffee said I went toward the
back of the store as if I knew an explosion was about to take place, that
wasn’t true either.
 
I didn’t know an
explosion was coming.
 
I saw Mrs.
Drysdale at the counter and I hurried to the back of the store because I didn’t
want her to see me.
 
That’s why I parked
blocks away too, because I didn’t want my car anywhere near that
drugstore.
 
But I didn’t see where that
was Chief Joffee’s business.”

Charles
shook his head.
 
It was such a ridiculous
story, worrying about what people would think of him because he had an illness,
but it was so like his baby boy.
 
He pulled
out his cell phone, called the Information operator, got the phone number to
Harrell’s Drugstore, and then began phoning the store.
 
“What’s the name?” he asked his son.

Donald
looked at him.
 
“The name?”

“What’s
the name on the prescription?”

“Oh.
Joe Brown.”

“How
original,” Charles said.

A
female’s voice came onto the line.
 
“Harrell’s Pharmacy,” she said.
 
“May I help you?”

“I’m
calling to see if a prescription is ready,” Charles said.

“The
name please.”

“Joe
Brown.”

She
checked.
 
“Yes, sir, Mr. Brown.
 
It’s ready.”

“Is
it the one for depression or that other one?”

“It’s
the Zoloft, yes sir.”

“Okay.
Thank-you,” Charles said, and hung up.

Donald
smiled. “So you believe me now?”

“I
believed you then.”

Donald
considered his father.
 
“Why did you
believe me?”

“Because
you’re my son.
 
Because your foolishness
put you at the right place at the right time and you saved Bonita’s life.
 
Because you’re far too uncoordinated to
commit that kind of crime.”

Donald
smiled, and then he laughed.
 
“You’re
right about that,” he admitted.
 
Then his
smile was gone.
 
“But since I wasn’t the
one who tried to kill Jenay and Nita, who did?”

“And
were they targeting Tess?” Charles added.
 
“All I have are questions too.
 
That’s not good.”
 

But
then he looked at his son.
 
“Go back to
that doctor,” he said.
 
“Get him to write
that prescription again, and put it in your name.
 
And then go and get it filled.
 
You’re sick, son, you aren’t crazy.
 
But you will be out of your mind if you know
you’re sick, and there’s medicine that can help you, but you refuse to take
it.
 
Take it, Donald.
 
Take it every day.
 
Be the man I know you are and take your
meds.”

Donald
swallowed hard.
 
It was the first time in
a long time his father referred to him as a man.
 
Not just his baby boy.
 
But a man.
 
“Yes, sir,” he said with strength in his
voice.
 
“I will.”

By
the time Charles returned home, looking undeniably drained, Jenay was out back,
on the patio.
 
Brent and Tony were
sitting with her.
 
Charles opened the
French doors and stepped out too.
 

“Where’s
Donald?” Jenay asked.
 
“What happened?”

“He’s
home.
 
I took him to his house.”
 

Brent
was surprised.
 
“You mean Chief Joffee
released him?”

“On
the mayor’s orders, yeah.”

“Oh,
great,” Brent said.
 
“He is not going to
like that.”

“Who cares?”
Jenay asked.
 
“Donald didn’t try to kill
me, I don’t care what Joffee says.”

Charles
looked at Jenay with love and affection in his heart.
 
Because she was always true to him, and his
sons.
 
He could count on nobody else to
protect his children, but he knew he could count on Jenay.
 

He
walked over and leaned back on the lounger with his head on her lap and his
feet planted on the patio.
 
He was
exhausted she could tell.
 
She began
rubbing his soft, wavy black hair.
 
“It’s
been a long day for you,” she said.

“Nothing
compared to what you went through.
 
Where’s NeeNee?”

“Asleep
in the nursery.
 
Bobby’s with her.”

Charles
nodded.
 
“Good.”

“My
parents called.”

Charles
looked back at her.
 
“You told them what
happened?”

Jenay
shook her head. “No.
 
And they haven’t
heard otherwise.
 
I just don’t want the
drama of them criticizing my choices once again.
 
I’ve had enough drama in this one day to last
a lifetime.”

Charles
reached up and clasped her hand in his.
 

“So
if Donnie’s off the list,” Brent said to his father, “who’s on the list?”

“And
what is the list?” Tony asked.
 
“Is it a
list of Jenay’s enemies, Tess’s enemies, or your enemies, Dad?”

Charles
stretched his upper body.
 
His expensive
suit was wrinkled and his eyes were bloodshot.
 
“We’ll have to go on the working proposition that it’s all of the
above,” he said.

“So
where do we begin?” Jenay asked.

“Where
we ended.”

Jenay
looked at him.
 
“Richmond?”

He
nodded.
 
“Richmond.”

Arianna
Sinatra’s home was as opulent as Charles would have imagined it to be.
 
Located on Rothesay Circle in Richmond, it
spewed old money wealth.

“She
was rich,” Jenay said as they got out of the rental car and made their way to
her front door.
 

“Her
husband died,” Charles said, “and now all of this belongs exclusively to her.
 
And her first order of business after her
husband died was to join forces with your ex and see if they could use those
girls to get between us.”