Murder on the Down Low (27 page)

Eugene nodded, relieved. He still saw concern on Lamont’s face. “Is that all?”

Lamont twirled the ring on his baby finger. “There’s something else I gotta tell you.”

Eugene braced himself.

“I’m HIV positive, too. Looks like that test I took when your girl first got sick was wrong. The lab contacted me a while back. Told me my results had gotten mixed up with somebody else’s. Then I found out the guy I’d been with before we hooked up was positive, too.”

Eugene took a big gulp of wine, which went down the wrong pipe. So he
had
been the one who had infected Maya. Not that he’d ever doubted it despite what his attorneys were arguing in court. He would call Eagleman Monday morning and tell him to drop the counterclaim.

His heart went out to Lamont. Eugene understood exactly what he was going through. He recalled his own fears upon first learning the news that he was HIV positive.

Eugene put his glass down and reached out to comfort Lamont. The two men embraced, then kissed like the long lost lovers they were.

E
arly Saturday morning, Special drove down Halm Street and parked half a block from Belynda’s house. If she knocked on the door, she figured Church Girl would run for the phone to call the police. She would have to play it cool and somehow convince the woman to hear her out.

Surveying the houses, she wondered how Church Girl could afford to live in this neighborhood. The cheapest place on the block had to cost close to a million. “She’s probably stealing money from the church,” Special muttered.

Since Church Girl practically lived at Ever Faithful, Special assumed she’d be leaving to go there soon. Saturday mornings were always busy days at a black church. Bake sales, usher board practice, youth events. Special had heard that Church Girl basically ran the place.

She was about to take a sip of the coffee that she had picked up on the way when she saw Belynda’s front door open. Church Girl walked out dressed in tennis shoes and a jogging suit. Special prepared to exit the car. She needed to reach Belynda before she drove off.

Before Special could make it out of her Porsche, Belynda disappeared through a side gate leading to her backyard. She came out a minute later holding a German Shepherd on a worn leather leash. The dog was almost waist high. Church Girl and the dog then headed downhill toward Centinela. Special hadn’t figured the dog into her plan. She wouldn’t put it past Church Girl to order the mutt to attack her.

Special let Church Girl walk several yards before following after her on foot. She was glad she’d worn tennis shoes. Belynda was almost at the end of the block when she spotted Special behind her. Alarm spread like a windshield wiper across the woman’s face.

“I’m calling the police!” Belynda cried out, swinging around to face Special, then taking several steps backward. She pulled a cell phone from the pocket of her windbreaker, but couldn’t dial and hold onto the dog at the same time.

Sensing its owner’s distress, the dog growled and lunged at Special, who darted behind a truck.

“You don’t need to call the police. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you!” Belynda exclaimed. “Get away from me!”

The dog was barking now and baring a set of large, sharp canine teeth.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Special said again, leaving the protection of the truck. “I just need a few minutes of your time. Not even minutes really. Just a few seconds.”

“I said get away from me!”

“I think you should know what Eugene is up to,” Special said hurriedly. “I don’t know what lie he’s been telling you, but the man is still out there screwing around with men. And I have proof.”

When Special reached into her pocket, the woman yelped, which made the dog lunge at Special again.

“Hold onto that monster!” Special demanded. She realized that Church Girl probably thought she was reaching for her pepper spray. “The only thing I have in my hand is this camera. See?” She held the camera out in front of her. “I just want to show you a picture I took.”

Belynda gave the leash some slack and the dog charged toward her again. Special was barely able to jump out of the way. Belynda had to use both hands to restrain the dog.

“It’s okay, Princess.” Belynda gave the dog a pat on her side. “It’s okay, baby.” She sneered at Special. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m letting her loose.”

“I
will
leave you alone,” Special said, “as soon as you take a look at this picture.” She had thought about leaving a copy of it in Church Girl’s mailbox. But she wasn’t that stupid. She was already facing assault charges. Eugene would’ve taken the picture straight to the D.A. and filed trespassing charges

“This won’t take long. Just tie that dog up for a second so I can show you this picture.”

“Whatever it is you have, I don’t want to see it. Now get away from me!” Belynda backed away and started reciting Bible verses. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”

You are sho nuf one crazy ass heffa.
“I’m telling you, you need to see this.” Special held the camera toward her. “Here take it. I took the picture last night through Eugene’s kitchen window. It shows him and another man.”

Belynda repeated the verses louder now, as if she were trying to drown out Special’s words.

“It shows them kissing.”

That stopped Belynda mid-verse. “I don’t believe you.” She loosened her grip on the dog’s leash again. “You’re mentally ill just like Eugene said you were. Now get away from me.” The dog growled and snapped at Special.

“You don’t have to believe me,” she said, backing up. “Just look at this picture.”

An elderly woman stepped onto the porch of a neighboring house. “Ms. Belynda? What’s going on out there?”

Belynda looked from the woman to Special. “Either you get away from me right now,” she hissed, “or I’m telling her to call the police. Now which way do you want it?”

B
abe, you need to wake up.”

Jefferson stood over the bed, gently shaking Vernetta by the shoulder.

“It can’t be six o’clock already,” she said groggily, not bothering to open her eyes. Vernetta hated Mondays. “Wake me up in fifteen minutes.”

“No,” Jefferson said firmly. “Wake up. Now. This is important.”

Vernetta finally sat up. “Why do you have the TV up so loud?”

“Because I know you’ll want to hear this.” He pressed a button on the remote control, turning it up even louder.

The body of local attorney Eugene Nelson was found this morning at his home in Baldwin Hills. He was reportedly shot three times. Nelson was the subject of one of the city’s first wrongful death lawsuits based on the transmission of the AIDS virus.”

Vernetta stumbled to her feet, covering her mouth with both hands. “Oh, my God! Eugene is dead?”

“Sure looks that way,” Jefferson said.

Just last week, attorney and gay activist Barry Eagleman convinced a local judge to issue a gag order in the case and to ban television cameras from the proceedings. The mother of Maya Washington claimed that Nelson caused her death by infecting her with HIV.
   
The lawsuit alleged that Nelson hid the fact that he was gay and HIV positive. Nelson’s body was discovered early this morning by his long-time housekeeper
. . .”

“If I were you,” Jefferson said, “I’d call your girl and ask her if she has an alibi.”

Vernetta fumbled with the telephone on the nightstand next to the bed, almost knocking it to the floor. Her hands trembled as she dialed.

“Special,” she said, the second she heard her friend’s voice, “did you hear about Eugene?”

“What about him?” Special sounded as groggy as Vernetta had just seconds ago.

Vernetta waited a beat. “He’s dead.”

“What? You’re lying! When? How?”

“Turn on Channel 11.”

Vernetta waited as she did. They both listened as the news anchor went live to a reporter camped in front of Eugene’s house. The camera panned to Eugene’s distraught housekeeper, a thin Hispanic woman, who was being comforted by two police officers. Yellow crime scene tape roped off Eugene’s front yard. There were a handful of people from the neighborhood gathered across the street.

“I guess what they say is really true,” Special said when the report ended.

“And what’s that?”

“The Lord really does work in mysterious ways. That dog got what he deserved!”

“Special!”

“I know you can’t possibly expect me to feel an ounce of sympathy for his ass, ’cause I don’t.”

Vernetta closed her eyes. “Special, I’m only asking you this because I’m a lawyer, okay?”

“Asking me what?”

“Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with Eugene’s murder.”

Special laughed easily. “I wish I had. But, girl, you know I’m too afraid to shoot somebody.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t too afraid to hack into his law firm’s computer system, throw nails in his driveway, bash in his car, and assault him with pepper spray.”

“I’ll admit to the pepper spray since they got that on tape,” she said, “but as for everything else, I’m taking the Fifth. And anyway, I should be offended that you think I could’ve done something like that. You know I didn’t kill that man.”

“Jefferson thinks you were angry enough to have done it.”

“Jefferson ain’t my best friend. You are.”

There was hurt in Special’s voice and Vernetta felt guilty for her uncertainty. She just prayed Special was telling the truth.

“Because of your tirade outside the courthouse, you’re going to be the first person the police look at. Do you have an alibi?”

“An alibi?”

“Yes, an alibi. According to that news report, Eugene died either late Saturday night or early Sunday morning. Can you account for your whereabouts during that time?”

It took Special several seconds to respond. “I was at home by myself Saturday evening and all day on Sunday.”

“Well, that may not be good enough.”

“It has to be. I didn’t kill that man,” she said, alarmed.

“Babe,” Jefferson tapped Vernetta on the shoulder and pointed to the television screen. “Take a look at this.”

The screen flashed footage of Special attacking Eugene outside the courthouse.

Vernetta dropped the telephone receiver on the bed. “Oh, no.”

Just a week ago, Nelson was attacked with pepper spray by Special Moore, the cousin of Maya Washington. Sources tell us that Moore was extremely distraught over her cousin’s death. One source even claims that she took to the pulpit at Ms. Washington’s funeral and vowed revenge against Nelson.

Vernetta picked the receiver back up. “Did you see that?”

“I’m suing them for defamation!” Special shouted. “They can’t be using my name like that!”

“You can’t sue them,” Vernetta said sadly. “What they just reported was the truth.”

J
.C.’s Range Rover rolled to a stop in front of Eugene’s house within minutes of receiving the call from dispatch. The front lawn was already crawling with cops. An antsy group of looky-loos and reporters were herded into a tight circle directly across the street.

She hopped out, flashed her badge, and slid underneath the yellow crime scene tape. Her eyes scanned the area. To her surprise, Lieutenant Wilson was standing near Eugene’s front door, no coffee or Snickers in hand. That was a first. He met her halfway up the driveway.

“Well,” J.C. said, “
now
are you finally willing to accept my theory? There’s no disputing that
this
victim was on the down low.” There was too much
I told you so
in her voice, but she didn’t care.

Lieutenant Wilson gave her a harsh look, but said nothing.

“Exactly how many men have to die before we warn the public that somebody is out here gunning for these guys?”

“We don’t know for sure that this murder is connected to the others,” the Lieutenant said stubbornly. “The M.O. here is different. This guy wasn’t capped in a public place. Looks like someone entered through an unlocked window in his kitchen.”

“That investment banker was killed in his home, too, Lieutenant.”

He guffawed. “Anyway, somebody had a definite motive for wanting this guy dead. And I think you know exactly who I’m talking about.”

“What are you talking—” When J.C. realized the lieutenant was referring to Special, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck jumped to attention.

“I know that woman’s a friend of yours. I just hope she has a solid alibi for her whereabouts when this guy was knocked off.”

“I know my friend. She was devastated about her cousin’s death and still is. But I don’t think she’s capable of murder.”

The lieutenant made a face. “You don’t sound much like a cop right now. You’ve been in this game long enough to know that anybody’s capable of murder. And if she does become a suspect, you’re off the case.”

J.C. was well aware of Department policy. She wanted to get back to the real issue. The one the lieutenant was trying to avoid. “Lieutenant, we can’t dismiss the possibility that the same person who killed those other men committed this murder as well.”

The lieutenant ran a hand across his bald head. “So far, only three of the four murders have a link to this homosexual thing, so—”

“No, Lieutenant,” J.C. said, correcting him, “counting Eugene, it’s now five of five. I’ve been reluctant to tell you what we discovered yesterday about your friend, James Hill.”

“Aw crap! Please don’t tell me some guy’s come forward claiming he was Hill’s friggin’ gay lover.”

“No, not that, but we did find some information that raises some questions about his sexual orientation.”

He scratched the stubble on his chin and looked down at the ground. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

“Hill’s computer showed that he was a frequent visitor to several gay websites. And he had a pretty extensive collection of gay porn hidden in a safe beneath a floorboard in his home office.”