Murder on the Down Low (17 page)

Shantel floated into the kitchen amid a cloud of patuli oil. She was a wafer thin, Bohemian type, with short twists. She wore leather sandals and a thin, flowery cape over a pair of jeans. “Hey, sister-in-law.”

Not if I have anything to say about it.

Shantel gave Nichelle a fake air kiss. “I’m glad you’re here. We need to talk.”

Nichelle cast a glance in her mother’s direction. “About what?”

“I heard your interview this afternoon.” Shantel was a social worker and also conducted sex education classes at a local youth facility.

Nichelle figured she was about to offer up a critique and really didn’t want to hear it. She leaned back against the kitchen counter. “And?”

“I think you’re doing black women a disservice.”

Nichelle could feel the
be nice
look her mother was hurling her way. “And exactly how am I doing that?”

Shantel daintily held up two fingers. “Two things. First, you have a great platform to educate women about HIV, but you’re blowing it. I’ve never once heard you mention in your interviews that HIV isn’t a gay disease.”

“Excuse me? It’s a fact that African-American women are being infected primarily through heterosexual sex. No one disputes that. That tells me they’re getting it from men on the down low.”

Shantel haughtily blew out a breath and puckered her gloss-slathered lips. “No it doesn’t. Your problem is you, like most people, think HIV is a gay disease. Well, it’s not.”

Nichelle opened her mouth to say something, but Shantel ignored her and kept talking.

“There’s also a high rate of HIV infection among I-V drug users,
heterosexual
I-V drug users. And you’re completely ignoring the fact that women are out there spreading the disease just like men. If a straight guy gets HIV from a woman and spreads it to five other women, being on the down low has nothing to do with it. And these days, a lot of women are just as promiscuous as men. During your interview today, you gave the impression that all women have to do to avoid being infected is not sleep with men on the down low. That’s just not the case. You’re giving women a false sense of security.”

Nichelle started to argue the point, but then realized that Shantel was echoing exactly what Wanda had said during the support group meeting. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Shantel she was right.

The smell of the lasagna was getting to her. She needed to leave before her mother forced her to eat. “You mentioned that you had two points,” Nichelle said, surprised at herself for encouraging the woman. “So what is your second point?”

“You also never once mentioned anything about black women’s culpability in all of this.”

Nichelle dropped her arms. “I know you’re not trying to blame these women for getting infected?”

“Women need to start taking responsibility for their own bodies. Everybody knows HIV is out there running rampant. So why are women still sleeping with men they barely know and having unprotected sex? And why aren’t they getting tested and demanding that their men get tested before spreading their legs. That’s the first thing I made Marlon do.”

The pan Nichelle’s mother was washing slipped from her hands and rattled loudly in the stainless steel sink. 

Nichelle knew this conversation made her mother uncomfortable. “Thanks for sharing, Shantel. I’ll give what you said some thought.”

“You really should. With all your education, I’m really surprised at your lack of insight on this.”

Nichelle straightened up. “You know what, Shantel? Maybe you should—”

“Baby, help me set the table.” Nichelle’s mother shoved a plate into her hand. “Shantel, go get the guys and tell them it’s time to eat.”

H
aley tried valiantly to play it off, but Vernetta could tell she was trembling like a leaf inside.

They were standing outside Department 5, waiting for the bailiff to open the courtroom. According to the docket posted on the door, their discovery motion would be the first matter heard by the judge.

“Everything okay?” Vernetta asked. “You’re not nervous are you?”

“Of course not,” Haley said with a huff. “This is only a simple discovery motion.” She peered over her shoulder, as if she were searching for someone, then tucked a loose curl behind her ear.

“Looking for somebody?”

“O’Reilly said he would try to get by to watch my argument.”

And when did he make that promise? When you two were curled up in bed together last night?

The bailiff unlocked the double doors leading into the courtroom and Vernetta and Haley, along with about a dozen other attorneys, filed inside. They handed business cards to the court clerk, who checked off their names. As Vernetta could have predicted, their opposing counsel had yet to show up. He was never on time.

Vernetta took a seat in the front row and Haley sat next to her. About ten minutes later, Vernetta heard a quiet murmur go through the rows of lawyers behind her. She turned around and spotted an attorney she recognized.

“What’s all the commotion about?”

“Judge Miller won’t be here today,” the woman complained. “Judge Abernathy’s taking his place.”

Judge Alvinia Abernathy had the reputation of being one of the meanest judges in L.A. She got a kick out of embarrassing attorneys, and she seemed to have a particular dislike for female lawyers. The rumor was, the more attractive you were, the harder she grilled you.

Vernetta turned to Haley. “I think you better let me argue the motion. Judge Abernathy’s not an easy judge to deal with. She’s—”

“No way,” Haley said defensively. “You’re just mad that O’Reilly let me do the argument and not you.”

“No, Haley, right now, all I’m thinking about is the client and how it’s going to look if we lose this motion. This judge is—”

“We’re not going to lose and you’re not arguing the motion. I am.”

Before Vernetta could convince her otherwise, she heard the bailiff’s voice. “All rise, please come to order. The Honorable Alvinia Abernathy presiding.”

Judge Abernathy entered the courtroom from a side door. She was in her late forties with dishwater blond hair which she wore in a short pageboy. She wasn’t a bad looking woman, but could’ve used some help with her makeup. The dusty rose on her lips and the too-dark eye shadow on her lids looked atrocious.

She sat down and began shuffling papers.

Vernetta glanced over her shoulder.  Joe Ross, their opposing counsel, still hadn’t arrived and she was thankful for that. Due to his absence, their case would be moved to the end of the docket. By that time, Haley would have a chance to watch other oral arguments and see how vicious Abernathy could be. Then she would gladly hand over the reigns.

“Jackson versus Spectrum Services,” the judge called out. Just then, Ross bolted into the courtroom. He followed Haley and Vernetta as they took their places before the judge. Haley looked at Vernetta as if she had expected her to remain seated in the gallery.

“Mr. Ross,” the judge said, “do you own a watch?”

Ross shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. He knew what was coming. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Does it work?”

“Uh . . . yes it does.”

“Then why did you come into my courtroom fifteen minutes late?”

“Your Honor, the traffic on—”

“I don’t care about the traffic. Don’t ever come into my courtroom late again. Now explain to me why you haven’t turned over the documents requested by the defense.”

Ross went into a rambling explanation that didn’t make sense.

Haley smirked. “I have this in the bag,” she whispered to Vernetta.

Don’t count on it.

The judge chewed out Ross for a good ten minutes, then turned to defense counsel.

“Which one of you is arguing this motion?”

“I am,” Haley said.

“Okay, then I want to hear from you and only you.”

Vernetta slowly sat down.

“I see you cited
Pembroke
,” the judge began. “What were the facts of that case?”

Haley’s face went blank. They had cited
Pembroke
on procedural grounds, as part of a long string of citations. It had nothing to do with the substance of the motion. Few attorneys would know the facts of a case cited for that reason. The judge knew this.

“Did you hear my question, counselor?”

Haley’s left leg started shaking. “Um . . . yes I did.”

“Well, what’s your answer? I don’t have all day.”

Haley was frantically searching through the brief, trying to figure out where they had cited
Pembroke
. Vernetta rose from her seat to rescue her colleague. “Your Honor, if I may address the court,
Pembr
oke—”

“No, you may not address the court,” the judge retorted. “Ms. Prescott is arguing this motion and she’s the only person I want to hear from.”

The silence was deadly as Haley frantically flipped pages. Vernetta found the correct page and slid her copy of the brief in front of Haley. But Haley seemed to be stricken with stage fright and couldn’t move.

Vernetta scribbled some words for Haley to recite and placed the legal pad in front of her. Still no response.

“Ms. Prescott, I see from your bar number that you’ve only been practicing law for a couple of years. But that’s no excuse for your poor performance here today. If you submit a brief to this court, I expect you to know the cases you’ve cited. Each and every one of them. I figure your billing rate must be in the neighborhood of three or four hundred dollars an hour. When you leave here, call your client and offer them a refund.”

There was shaky laughter from the gallery.

“I won’t waste more time on this case,” the judge said. “The clerk has my tentative ruling. I’m making it final. Next case.”

The clerk handed them a copy of the ruling as they walked through the swinging gate leading back to the gallery. Vernetta scanned it and was relieved to see that the judge was ordering Ross to turn over the documents within five days and had also granted their request for monetary sanctions.

O’Reilly was sitting on the back row. He must have slipped in just in time to hear the judge berate Haley. He did not look happy. Haley was about to get her second grilling of the day.

They followed O’Reilly out of the courtroom, where he motioned them over to a deserted area near the escalator. “What happened in there was unacceptable!” His voice was low, but he was shouting just the same. “How did you let that happen?”

He was staring directly at Vernetta.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m holding you responsible for what just occurred in there.” He pointed his finger in Vernetta’s face. “You know what an asshole Abernathy is. Why did you let Haley argue that motion? You should have taken over.”

“I tried to!” Vernetta shot back. “But Haley wouldn’t let me. And when I tried to address the court, the judge wouldn’t let me speak. Isn’t that right, Haley?”

Haley’s lips didn’t move, then she shrugged. “I guess so.”

“You guess so? I tried to—”

“Let’s continue this discussion when we’re back at the office.”

He abruptly stormed off and Haley followed after him, leaving Vernetta standing there dumbfounded.

J
.C. looked up from her desk and saw Detective Jessup headed her way. Since she didn’t have time to hide, she picked up the telephone and pretended to be engaged in conversation.

“Yes, I’d like the information as soon as possible,” J.C. said to the dial tone.

Detective Jessup pulled a chair up to her desk and sat down. He was apparently willing to wait.

“Hold on a minute.” J.C. hit the hold button and hung the receiver over her shoulder. “May I help you?”

“Go ahead and finish your call. I can wait.”

J.C. frowned, then said good-bye to the dial tone.

“I’m busy,” she said, as she hung up the phone.

Detective Jessup scooted his chair closer to her desk. “Tell me something? Why do you find it so hard to be nice to me?”

“I told you, I’m busy.”

“I just dropped by to find out what you did to upset the boss.”

J.C. hadn’t told a soul about her discussion with Lieutenant Wilson and she doubted he had either. “And who said I upset the boss?”

“Just a rumor floating around. You’re usually in there shooting the breeze with him a couple times a day. I just noticed that you two seem to be avoiding each other. I’m very observant. That’s why I’m such a good detective.”

“I don’t have time for this nonsense.” She opened her desk drawer, pulled out a file and started reading it.

“You’re the lieutenant’s pet. It’s really strange that he’s keeping you out of the loop.”

“You obviously have something you want to tell me. Why don’t you just spit it out.”

He was like a kid anxious to spill the beans. “Another big-shot black guy was found dead yesterday morning, but you were nowhere near the crime scene. I was just wondering why not.”

J.C. could not hide her alarm. “There was another shooting?”

He nodded.

“Where?”

“Ladera. An investment banker with some major bucks. Shot in the head and chest just like the others. Looks like the weapon of choice was probably a twenty-two as well.”

“I didn’t hear any news reports about the shooting on my way in to work.”

“They’re trying to keep this one hush-hush for the moment. Direct order from the mayor’s office. The election is only six months away. He’s concerned about a backlash from the black community. Your people are starting to claim that we aren’t doing enough to solve the murders. When they hear about a fourth shooting, they’ll probably call in Al Sharpton
and
Jesse Jackson.”

J.C. sat back in her chair. She couldn’t believe there had been another shooting and the lieutenant was doing nothing about it.

“So why are you being kept out of the loop?” Detective Jessup asked.

“I’m about to find out.” J.C. was out of her seat before he could ask any more questions.

The lieutenant was talking on the telephone when J.C. appeared in his doorway. After noticing her, he swiveled his chair around, turning his back to her. She folded her arms and waited.