Hanging on a String (22 page)

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Authors: Janette M. Louard

BOOK: Hanging on a String
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“Well, if you need money or anything ... let me know.”
Okay, now I knew he was dying.
As if he read my thoughts, he said, “I'll always love you, Jasmine.”
There was a time when these words would have meant the world to me. But although it was nice to hear, all I could think about was Marcus Claremont and how much I couldn't wait to see him.
“Thanks for the call, Trevor,” I said, and I meant it. I hoped that we were finally on our way to coming back to a good place. I'd hated him for so long, it was beginning to feel natural, and I didn't like that.
“Have a good day, Jasmine.”
18
Later that morning I called Marcus and told him what I'd learned from Raymond about Chester and Irmalee. He told me he'd look into it, and we'd talk about it later at dinner. In spite of everything, I was looking forward to dinner. I needed an escape from everything I'd learned that day, and I was sure that Marcus would be the perfect diversion. I spent most of the remaining morning and afternoon searching the Internet in an effort to get any information on what had happened at Yale those many years ago. I found some articles in a New Haven newspaper regarding a star athlete on the football team who was accused of rape. Most of the articles did not mention Chester by name, but there was one article that named him as a rape suspect. None of the articles named the victim. I didn't learn anything new in the articles; they all confirmed that there had been an investigation, but the DA had decided not to press charges due to insufficient evidence and the presence of an alibi.
I left the office early and headed uptown to change from my black suit into something a little more comfortable, and truth be told, something a little sexier. No one was home when I got to my apartment, but Thea had left a note stating that she, Reese, and Magic had gone up to New Rochelle to visit one of her college friends. She planned to spend the night and return the next day. I rummaged through my closet, trying to find something remotely sexy. I finally settled on some black slacks and a sheer white silk blouse. Some high-heeled sling-back pumps completed the picture. I had other things that were a little more daring, but I didn't want to be too obvious. I'm not much for make-up, but I put on a little lip gloss and some mascara, and then called it a day.
By the time I got to the restaurant, Marcus was waiting for me at the table. He stood up when I walked in. He was dressed in dark blue slacks and a white oxford shirt. He was smiling, and I found myself smiling back in return.
“You look great,” he said as he pulled out my chair.
“Thank you,” I replied, breathing in his scent. He smelled like baby powder and something infinitely more masculine, something deep, smoky, with a hint of spice.
He sat down across from me, and once again, I felt the surge of an instant attraction. The restaurant was crowded, a sure sign that the food was good. I'd eaten there a few times before, and I'd never been disappointed. But as I stared across the table at Marcus, food was the last thing on my mind.
I cleared my throat. “Did you find out anything about Chester and this rape investigation?”
A smiling waitress appeared at our table. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“I'd like a glass of wine,” I replied. “A Chardonnay, please.”
“I'll have the same,” said Marcus.
“I'll be right back with a menu,” said the waitress.
After she left our table, Marcus replied to my question about Chester. “I'm waiting to hear back from a friend of mine, a detective with the New Haven PD. The investigative file is off-site, but he's trying to go through some old microfiche records to see what he can find.”
Staring at Marcus Claremont across the table made it very difficult for me to concentrate on the task at hand, but I gave it my best effort.
“So you said you had some things you wanted to talk about?” I asked.
“Yes,” Marcus replied. “At first I thought that Mariah was involved in Chester's murder, but now I'm not so sure. First, she has an alibi.”
I remembered how Chester's alibi had turned out.
“Are you sure this alibi is legitimate?” I asked.
“Airtight,” he replied. “She was at a prayer service for her son, with at least a hundred other witnesses.”
“Maybe she paid someone to do it,” I said. “That's always a possibility.”
“Do you think she had anything to do with his murder?” he asked.
“I'm not so sure,” I replied. After everything I'd learned over the past few days, I couldn't vouch for anyone.
“I have some information that I think is going to interest you,” said Marcus. “Actually, it's not good information for your client.”
“Which client?” I asked.
“Lucius Pileski.”
At that moment the waitress came back with our glasses of wine. After taking our order, she left the table.
I took a sip of my Chardonnay. “Okay,” I said. “What's Lucius done now?”
Marcus stared directly at me. “I think your client shot an unarmed young man in cold blood. Mariah may have been telling the truth. Daniel Brown didn't have a gun.”
“My client claims he saw a gun. His partner backs his story.”
“We have a witness, a very credible witness, who's come forward. She tells a different story.”
“What witness?” I asked.
“Her name is Treva Moore, and she's a sixty-two-year-old woman with no axe to grind against the police department. She was out walking her dog at the time. She says she saw everything.”
“Why didn't she come to the police before?” I asked, but even as I asked the question, I remembered that Mariah had been certain that there was someone else on the scene. Her son had remembered hearing a dog barking and seeing someone. I remembered her phone call to my office when she'd given me this information. My heart sank.
“The lady was scared,” Marcus replied, “and I can't say that I blame her.”
“Why're you telling me this?” I asked.
“I wanted you to know that your client is a liar,” he replied. “I also wondered if you thought there was any connection with this case and Chester's murder—actually, not just Chester's murder, but Irmalee's and Lamarr's. This wasn't a very popular case.”
“You're right about that,” I replied. “There were a lot of people against us defending Lucius.”
“Well, I guess even the devil deserves legal representation,” he said neutrally.
“That's debatable,” I replied. “Still, why hasn't the DA gotten in touch with me about this? I'd think they'd be trying to broker a deal right about now.” Sam Worthy, the assistant DA in charge of the case, had only just recently talked to me about trying to get Lucius to plead to some lesser charges.
“You'll hear from them tomorrow,” said Marcus. “They're just trying to make sure that they've got everything in order.”
“Should you be telling me this?” I asked.
“I'm not breaking any protocol,” he said, smiling. “Sam knows that I'm meeting you tonight, and he suggested I give you a heads-up.”
I was surprised. “How would Sam know about our dinner?”
“Relax,” Marcus said as he reached across the table and took one of my hands in his. “Sam's an old friend. I'd been talking to him about the case and whether it tied into the murders I'm investigating. I mentioned that I'd be meeting you, and he told me to give you a heads-up. He'll call you tomorrow. By the way, he said some nice things about you.”
“I'm not sure I believe you,” I replied. Sam and I often had heated exchanges in court, even though we were always professional.
“He said that you were as tough as you were pretty, and that's saying a lot, because you're beautiful.”
“Sexist statement,” I said, even though I was secretly pleased that Marcus thought I was beautiful.
“True,” he said as he traced his index finger in my palm. I felt a surge of heat grow, and I licked my lips nervously. It had been a while since any man had touched me, and this simple caress had ignited something in me that I thought had died a painful death—passion, pure and unadulterated. I had a strong urge to lean across the table and kiss him.
The waitress appeared with our meal, and I attacked the food with gusto. I loved Ethiopian food, particularly
injera,
the soft, fluffy bread. We ordered a variety of dishes, which included my favorites:
doro wat
, chicken simmered in
berbere
sauce;
yebeg alecha
, lamb cooked with onions and green peppers;
shiro wat
, ground roasted yellow split peas cooked in sauce; and
doro alecha
, chicken cooked in herbed butter; and ate family style, using the
injera
bread to scoop up the variety of choices.
I licked my fingers when the food was gone. We'd spent the time eating and talking about ourselves. The investigation had taken a backseat as I learned more about Marcus Claremont. He'd been raised by a single dad. His dad was a janitor, who'd worked for City College for over forty years. His mother died when he was four years old, but he still remembered that she liked roses, yellow ones. He'd never been married, but he'd come close. He let me know that his heart had been broken when three weeks before the wedding, he'd been dumped. She eventually came back, he assured me, but by then, the magic had gone. He was an only child who'd gotten in trouble as a teenager. He'd been scared straight by his dad and by an Italian detective who'd taken an interest in him, Detective Spinozzi, who was still a family friend. He'd followed Spinozzi's footsteps and ended up with the NYPD. He'd never looked back. It was easy to talk with Marcus. He felt familiar. He felt like coming home.
As the waitress was clearing the table, his cell phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket, looked at it, and then said, “Sorry. I've got to take this one.”
He flipped open the receiver and listened for a few minutes. Then, he said thanks and hung up. After the conversation, he looked grim.
“What is it?” I asked.
“That was my friend from the New Haven PD. He found the file on Chester's investigation. Had to do some digging, but believe me, it was worth the wait.”
“What is it?” I asked, unable to contain my curiosity.
“It appears the world at B&J is very small.”
“Marcus, please stop talking in riddles.”
“Okay,” he continued. “The woman who accused Chester of raping her was named Gemini Allen.”
Gemini Allen.
That was the name of the cheerleader in the Yale yearbook picture ... the one that was circled.
“What does Gemini Allen have to do with B&J? Did she ever work there?” I asked.
“No,” Marcus replied. “But her sister does. Nina Smyth.”
Gemini Allen was Gem, Nina's sister—the woman I met in the hallway at B&J.
I remembered that Nina had been briefly married before coming to B&J, but I'd assumed that Smyth was her maiden name. I was apparently wrong.
“How did the detective find out about the connection to Nina?”
“Nina was a law student at the time of the incident. She'd come to the police department with her sister. She'd also given a statement. The statement was signed Nina Allen Smyth. My friend did some more digging and found out that Nina Smyth ended up working at B&J, just like Chester.”
I remembered that Nina had come to B&J shortly after Chester arrived.
My eyes widened.
“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” I asked Marcus.
“Let's get the check,” he replied grimly.
 
Marcus paid the waitress for our meal. I called Hernanda on my cell phone and found out that Nina had left for home about an hour before that. Even though the firm was on its last legs, Hernanda informed me that there were quite a few attorneys working late, trying to get their cases in order at Raymond's request. I was certain that most of the associates now knew what Raymond had done, and I suspected that in addition to getting their files in order, they were also polishing up their resumes.
Nina lived on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, in a decidedly more upscale neighborhood than mine. Although there were only about thirty blocks separating us from her neighborhood, it took us almost half an hour to navigate the nightmare New York rush hour (which occurs at all hours of the day, in my opinion).
Marcus flashed his badge, and the doorman let us enter Nina's high-rise building.
“Miss Smyth sure is popular today,” the doorman commented drily. “She's already had two visitors go up there, and she just got in about half an hour ago.”
Two visitors?
“I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't announce our arrival,” said Marcus.
The doorman stared at the badge that was still in Marcus' hand. “I ain't seen you. Go on up. She's on the thirty-fourth floor. Apartment 34J.”
I was impressed by the lobby—with it's soaring ceilings and polished marble floors. Partners apparently made very good money at B&J, I thought as I rode the elevator with Marcus to the thirty-fourth floor.
“Nina can be very difficult,” I said as we exited the elevator on Nina's floor.
“More difficult than you?” Marcus teased.

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