Murder on the Down Low (21 page)

When Nichelle finished, the judge turned back to Eagleman, who did some more grandstanding. Judge Fuller finally cut him off and asked a few questions of both attorneys that gave no inkling as to how he might rule. He then announced that he was taking the case under submission and would issue a ruling within a week.

Vernetta and J.C. ushered Special out of the courtroom as soon as the judge banged his gavel. Special didn’t utter a word until they arrived at the parking lot.

“Eugene is such a dog!” Special snarled as she hopped into the front seat of Vernetta’s Land Cruiser. “How dare he claim Maya infected
him
!”

“Let’s just have faith that the legal system is going to work,” Vernetta said.

“Screw the legal system. We should just kill his ass ourselves. You’re a cop, J.C. Don’t you know any criminals who can do the job for us?”

“Just get in the car,” J.C. ordered. She looked across the passenger seat at Vernetta. “Please take her home. Tie her up if you have to.”

“Did you know he has another girlfriend?” Special said to J.C. “Can you believe that?”

“How would you know?”

“Because I followed—” Special stopped, realizing that she was about to confess to stalking in the presence of a cop. A cop who was a close friend, but a cop just the same.

“Please tell me you’re not still harassing that man,” J.C. said. “If he files a complaint against you, you’re going to jail and there won’t be a thing anybody can do about it.”

“It’s not right,” Special said, settling into the car and snapping on her seatbelt. “Everybody’s treating Eugene like
he’s
the victim.”

E
ugene awoke before five the next morning to the loud shrill of an alarm. In his drowsy state it took several seconds for him to realize that the sound was
his
car alarm and was coming from
his
driveway.

He snatched his robe from the foot of the bed and ran barefoot down the stairs and out of the house. When he saw his BMW—his precious ninety-thousand-dollar BMW—he wanted to cry. The shiny black exterior had been splashed with red paint. The front windshield looked as if it had been bashed in with a tire iron.

He didn’t understand how he could have slept through this.

“Ow!” He lifted his foot and removed a thick shard of glass. Blood slowly dripped from the wound, but Eugene was so enraged he barely felt the pain.

Eugene knew who was responsible for the vandalism and this time he was pressing charges. Somebody had to do something about the crazy bitch even if she was Maya’s cousin. He was about to head back into the house when he saw the word
fag
spray painted across his garage door. He walked around to the side of his house, careful to avoid stepping on another piece of glass. He stared up at more homophobic epithets.

He hurried back inside, bandaged his foot, then snatched the telephone from the kitchen counter. First he called the police, then the
L.A. Times
City Desk. He told the woman who answered that he was the victim of a hate crime and that the vandalism would make good pictures for the evening paper. Then he made similar calls to all five of the local TV stations and at least four radio stations.

After calling his lawyer, he jumped in and out of the shower, dressed, and prepared to be the center of another news story. If Special wanted a war, he was more than ready to do battle.

As he waited for the onslaught, he decided to call J.C. It wasn’t even six yet, but he didn’t care. She picked up on the second ring.

“This is Eugene,” he said, not waiting for a hello. “Special vandalized my car and spray painted my house. I’m tired of her harassing me. This time she’s going to pay.”

“So when was this?” J.C. asked.

“Earlier this morning.”

“Did you see her do it?”

Eugene chuckled. “I didn’t have to see her do it. I know she’s behind it. She even had the nerve to follow me on a date and confront my friend after I left.”

“Nice to know you’re back out there, Eugene.”

“What I do is my business. I know you guys think I’m responsible for Maya’s death, but—”

“
Think
you’re responsible?
Think?
We don’t
think
you’re responsible, we
know
you’re responsible and you know it, too. Despite that crap your attorneys said in court yesterday.”

Eugene closed his eyes. Yes, he knew he had caused Maya’s death and he knew his lawyer’s arguments were nothing but legal maneuvering. If Maya’s family won the lawsuit, his attorneys said the verdict could be in the millions. He wasn’t about to lose every dime he had ever worked for. He had to do what he had to do.

“I know you don’t believe that I loved Maya, but I did. If I could give my life for hers, I would. But I can’t and I will not sit back and let your psycho friend continue to harass me.”

Eugene slammed down the phone just as he heard a knock at the door. Two cops, an African-American and a Latino, stood on his front porch. He opened the door and invited them in. He could tell from their expressions that they recognized him.

The black cop pulled out a small notepad. “You called about the car outside, right?”

Right away, Eugene knew that he would not get the help he needed. The look on both men’s faces conveyed that they believed he had gotten exactly what he deserved. Their indifference infuriated him. He was a goddamn taxpayer and he deserved protection.

“I know who did this,” he said.

“We’re listening,” the Hispanic cop replied. He was barely five-seven and looked like he’d been stuffed into his black uniform.

“Her name is Special Moore and—”

Though he had taken out his notepad, the black cop had yet to write anything down. “Did you see her do it?” he asked

“No. But she’s been harassing me.”

The Hispanic cop was busy checking out the plush surroundings. The living room walls were painted a soft brick color and were bordered with stark white baseboards and crown molding. An L-shaped couch with African-print fabric took up one corner of the room. The officer gawked unabashedly at the baby grand in the corner.

“She lives in Fox Hills on Buckingham Drive.” He picked up a note from the coffee table that he had written before their arrival. “Here’s her address and telephone number.”

“And what makes you think she’s behind this?” the black cop asked.

“Like I just said, she’s been harassing me.”

“I think I heard about your case. You’re the guy whose fiancée died of AIDS and you’re suing
her
for ten mil, right?” He chuckled sarcastically. “I suspect there are a lot of people who could’ve done this.”

Eugene felt a tightening in his chest. They couldn’t care less about his car and home being vandalized.

“Unless you have some hard evidence, we can’t just go around arresting people.” The black cop finally scribbled something on his notepad. “We’ll take some pictures and collect some evidence, but vandalism’s not an easy crime to solve.”

The Hispanic cop was still inspecting the living room. He took a few steps and peered into the kitchen. “You’ve got two refrigerators?”

“One’s a deep freezer,” Eugene said irritably.

He nodded. “Anyway, like my partner said, vandals aren’t easy to catch. Hopefully, you’ve got insurance.”

When they stepped outside, an
L.A. Times
photographer and a news truck from the local Fox station were snapping pictures of the damaged car and the spray-painted epithets. Two other news crews were pulling up. In seconds Eugene had microphones and cameras in his face.

“This is without a doubt a hate crime,” Eugene proclaimed. “And I’m asking anyone who may have witnessed this attack to please come forward.”

After interviewing Eugene, a reporter stuck a microphone in the black cop’s face and his demeanor completely changed. He gave a short sound bite that made it sound like this was the crime of the century and he was determined to solve it.

Two hours later, when all the commotion had died down, Eugene sat on his living room couch and tried to decompress. He felt such a sense of hopelessness that he didn’t trust himself to be alone. He picked up his keys and opened the front door, then realized that he didn’t have a car to drive.

Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed Belynda’s number. Her voice instantly soothed him.

“It’s Eugene,” he said, his voice cracking. He didn’t know where to begin, so he said what he felt. “I need you.”

I
t had taken a while, but Belynda had finally convinced Eugene to seek counseling at the church. He pulled Belynda’s Honda Civic into the parking lot of Ever Faithful and turned off the engine.

At nearly every stoplight, Eugene considered making a U-turn and heading home. But he knew he needed help. For the first time in his life, he felt like he was nearing the breaking point.

Despite Belynda’s assurances, Eugene had no idea how sympathetic Bishop Berry would be. He’d never heard the bishop deliver one of those fire and brimstone sermons condemning homosexuality, but with most ministers he knew, Christianity and homosexuality didn’t mix.

Eugene steeled himself and made his way into the church. The empty vestibule had a serene feeling that welcomed him. He had never been inside Ever Faithful when the church wasn’t packed with people. He looked around, not sure which hallway led to the bishop’s office.

An older woman greeted him. “Good afternoon and welcome to Ever Faithful. I’m Bettie.”

“Hello,” Eugene said. “I’m looking for Bishop Berry.”

Bettie pursed her lips. “Did you have an appointment?”

“No, but I was hoping to speak with him. I was told he held office hours today.”

“Normally he does,” she said apologetically. “But one of our members had a death in the family, so he’s out dealing with that. Reverend Sims is available, though. He’s one of the assistant pastors. Just follow me.”

Eugene hesitated.

“I guarantee you’ll like Reverend Sims.” Bettie patted him on the back. “I’ll show you to his office.”

Without waiting for Eugene to make up his mind, she escorted him down a corridor toward the south side of the church. She tapped lightly on the door and waited for permission before entering.

Reverend Sims stood.

“I have a gentleman here who wanted to meet with Bishop Berry for counseling, but he’s out,” Bettie explained. “I told him he could talk to you.”

“Of course.” The reverend extended his hand, then offered Eugene a seat.

Eugene had expected to see someone in a white collar. Reverend Sims was casually dressed in slacks and a turtleneck. He was a handsome, bearded man who looked to be in his early forties.

“Give me just a second to finish up here,” Reverend Sims said, returning to his desk. “I was working on a sermon.”

“Sorry to interrupt.”

“It’s no interruption at all.” He stacked the papers and set them off to the side. “How can I help you?”

Eugene sat back in the chair. He didn’t know how to begin. He wasn’t one to talk much about his problems, particularly to strangers. “I’m not sure where to start,” he finally admitted.

“Let
me
start then,” the reverend said. “I can’t say that I don’t recognize your face. You’ve been all over the news lately. I can only imagine how tough it’s been for you. But you’re on the right path because you’ve turned to God.”

Eugene stared down at his hands as tears blurred his vision.

“I can’t imagine that there are many people who have a kind word for you these days,” Reverend Sims continued. “But none of us are perfect, though many of us profess to be. We’ve all made mistakes, but the good Lord is all about forgiveness. Just put everything in His hands, and I guarantee you, your burdens
will
be lifted.”

Eugene nodded through his tears. They talked for a long time and Eugene found it easy to share his thoughts and feelings.

“You’ll be amazed at what prayer can do, brother,” Reverend Sims said. “Why don’t we pray right now.” He walked around his desk and stood over Eugene, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s going to be fine, brother. You’re going to get through this.”

Eugene stood and the reverend embraced him.

“I want you to immerse yourself in the Word. I’m going to recommend some verses I’d like you to read.”

Eugene felt such a sense of well-being in the man’s presence, he almost didn’t notice the arousal creep up on him. He winced. He did not want to have these feelings.

Reverend Sims offered to escort him out. “So what do you do for fun?” the reverend asked, as they made their way to the church parking lot.

“I can’t remember the last time I even had any fun. I used to enjoy playing racquetball. But it’s been a while.”

“That’s my game, too,” Reverend Sims said. “I don’t get many invitations to play, though. People don’t think ministers do normal things like play sports. Maybe we can play some time?”

Tell him no
. In light of everything Eugene had been struggling with, he knew he couldn’t handle being around a man to whom he felt even remotely attracted. But who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to turn out a minister of all people. This was the safest male relationship he could have.

Eugene stopped and faced the reverend. “A game of racquetball might be just the thing I need.”

I
t was after six and Vernetta and Haley had been cooped up in a conference room for nearly two hours. Hundreds of computerized payroll records from Vista Electronics covered the table.

When her cell phone rang and displayed Special’s number, Vernetta had a bad feeling even before she picked up.

“The police are here,” Special cried into the telephone. “I think they’re going to arrest me!”

Vernetta stood. “Arrest you? For what?”

Haley’s head sprang upward. Her baby blues were wide with curiosity.

Vernetta silently berated herself. She should’ve had the foresight to leave the conference room the minute Special’s number popped up. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway.